Golf returned last week, its familiar cadence heralded with images of paradise splashed across our TV screens from the traditional starting point in Kapalua, Hawaii. But for those of us who chronicle the sport, covering golf will never feel quite the same again.
During the brief break between the finish of the Hero World Challenge in the Bahamas and The Sentry in Maui, our golf journalism family lost two mainstays too soon. On Dec. 9, veteran golf writer Jeff Babineau died of a heart attack in his Oviedo, Florida, home at the age of 62. On Jan. 1, just three days after hundreds of us gathered to celebrate Babs’ life, news came that longtime USA Today/Golfweek writer Steve DiMeglio, 63, died in his Ponte Vedra Beach apartment after a well-chronicled three-year battle with cancer.
It’s hard to articulate just how big a presence both Babs and DiMegs were in the golf world and how numb the rest of us are without them. You can read linked tributes by their Golfweek colleague Jason Lusk for Babineau and DiMeglio to get pertinent details of their careers.
... they were so much more than just golf writers. They were friends. They were family. They were integral parts of our lives.
Babs was a big man with a bigger heart, revered by his peers and trusted by his subjects. DiMegs was a little man with a giant personality, revered by his peers and trusted by his subjects. Scribes of their magnitude with those qualities don’t just show up fresh out of journalism schools every day.
Readers might see their bylines and enjoy their stories – and in the case of DiMeglio his followers got a rare candid peek into his personal cancer fight through social media – but to those of us who toiled in press tents, walked fairways, ate meals and closed pubs with them all over the world, they were so much more than just golf writers. They were friends. They were family. They were integral parts of our lives.
In nearly three decades of covering golf and having credentialed access to hundreds of majors and tour events along the road, you can recall most of the winners and a few details from all those events. But the memories that stand out most are the shared experiences with Babs, DiMegs and the rest of our peers.
For Babs, we’ll always be sharing the top row of the old Masters press building, cracking jokes with Jeff Rude, Rex Hoggard, Steve Elling and David Westin as we covered the most meaningful tournaments of our lives. We’ll always be playing Oakmont the day after the 2016 U.S. Open and being more excited hitting into the Church Pew bunkers than if we’d found the fairway. We’ll always be laughing about that streaker at Muirfield Village and Babs’ stoic stance captured in the picture that pops up every year in our Facebook memories. We’ll always be marveling at his willingness to intervene to make sure every golf writer had the access they needed to do his/her job.
For DiMeglio, we’ll always be fuming about the point-missers who get in the way at press conferences or the transcript that shows up a minute too late. We’ll always be stepping outside to drink a pint so he could grab a smoke or following Tiger Woods in a practice round. We’ll always be howling in laughter as he pretends to be offended by another short joke from Bob Harig or his own attempts to dish out a good comeback. We’ll always be walking to Ladbrokes in St. Andrews to bet our hunches and collect our winnings. We’ll always remember his confusion about computer viruses.
It was only weeks ago that Babs was filing a story for GGP from the LPGA finale on Sunday night, sending texts complaining about my moribund fantasy football team springing to life to beat his and heading home to meet his first grandchild later that week in the neonatal intensive care unit on Thanksgiving. It was only last month that DiMeglio made the big effort in spite of his health to make it to the Bahamas and stand on the practice range bantering with Tiger and catching up with colleagues and golfers who were genuinely excited just to see him there.
Life comes and goes fast, and death has a cruel way of letting you know that. Hug your friends and family and tell them you love them. Like Babs and DiMegs, you’ll realize just how much they meant to you when they’re gone.
Scott Michaux
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Top image: Scott michaux, GGP