Everyone has a different way of winding
down after a round of golf. For pros like David Frost, it's
with a glass of wine from their own cellars.
Nobody has quite figured out whether golf is recreation or
religion. My best guess is that it's both. (My wife, on the other
hand, thinks it's just a glorified outdoor board game, like Sorry!
with sand traps.) The mystical aspects of golf are about as
notorious as Gerald Ford's slice. The whispering of hushed-voiced
commentators during Sunday PGA coverage, for example, works like an
incantation on La-Z-Boy golfers everywhere, subliminally urging
them to call in sick on Monday, dress in styleless white shoes, and
head for the nearest links.
The last time I played golf was in a celebrity tournament in
Sonoma, where I got stuck with a dawdling caddy whom I nicknamed
"Lagger Vance." In spite of the delays, I racked up a score of
eight over par in a field that included Tommy Smothers as well as a
few well-known Sonoma winemakers who like to scoop divots when
they're not busy squeezing the tannins out of Zinfandel. I admit
I'm no Tiger Woods, but it wasn't an entirely bad performance for
someone whose idea of a long drive is the one to his mailbox.
Wine is a lot like golf in some respects. It makes for great
recreation (at least the way I drink it). Both wine and golf have
their hallowed pilgrimage sites, too: Pebble Beach and St. Andrews
for golf; Château Margaux and Romanée-Conti for wine. Some golfers
actually retire to the cellar after the 18th hole, as these three
GREG NORMAN ESTATES 1999 LIMESTONE COAST
Known as "The Great White Shark" for his imposing stature and