SAN DIEGO — Welcome to the 2021 Farmers Insurance Open, a PGA Tour event with laryngitis. No weekend warriors, 10 Bud Lights in, barking “It’s in the hole!” like they invented the phrase. No applause after morning introductions, no applause after sexy sand saves … no applause at all.
When San Diegan Xander Schauffele teed off Thursday at No. 10 on the North Course at Torrey Pines, dead silence topped the leaderboard. As in, literally not a single, solitary sound. Not a golf cart. Not a casual conversation. Not a whiff of wind rustling a tree. Not an airplane dragging a strip-club banner.
The cackling, beer-spilling heartbeat surrounding the South Course’s iconic 18th green … gone. The pop-up social scenes at viewing platforms … AWOL. Cart paths normally bustling, elbow to elbow … clear enough to accommodate a stage of the Tour de France.
Awkward, and in some ways wonderful, stillness dominated the day.
The PGA Tour felt just like, well, regular old golf — even if nerves should have amped to 11. Willie Mack III had less than a day’s warning to make his Tour debut after sponsor’s exemption recipient Kamaiu Johnson pulled out after testing positive for COVID-19.
“Not having any fans out here, it was just a regular round of golf,” Mack said.
Or a highly irregular round by normal PGA Tour standards, though you get his point.
This was golf, stripped down to its skivvies. There’s something about seeing and hearing the best in the world, burdened by nothing other than their swing and thoughts tap-dancing across the cerebral cortex. That’s the striking metamorphosis when a tournament goes from 162,644 fans in 2020 to zero in the flip of a calendar.
The global pandemic caused the Farmers’ raucous environment to screech to a halt like a drag racer deploying the postrace parachute. The caddie for Patrick Reed rushed to raise stop-sign hands as a cart neared a tee box because it sounded like a freight train amid the odd sound vacuum.
As Phil Mickelson worked his way around the putting green before his round, no one hugged the surrounding barrier to pick up crumbs of conversation. The course settled into its normal rhythms 51 weeks a year, except for the collective quality of the people applying club to ball.
When something cracked the calm, it came through as clear as Waterford crystal.
Mickelson asked pairing partners Schauffele and Jordan Spieth which numbered balls they planned to play as the prepared to tee off.
“I’ve hit a wrong ball here in the past,” Mickelson said.
No one milled around to appreciate the wispy clouds framed by the Pacific Ocean’s boundless blue, a scene seemingly plucked off a gallery painting. The raging winds and wetness of Monday retired to the 19th hole, with plans to return Eddie Haskell-style for Friday’s second round.
Those who could made their proverbial hay while the sun and skies cooperated.
“It’s huge,” Ryan Palmer said of his 6-under start on the South. “Especially when you’re going to have some wind and rain and there’s going to be a lot of high numbers (Friday).”
The brief weather reprieve offered an olive branch to a tournament finding unusual legs. Shots off the tee never sounded more crisp, clear and impressive than the Thwack! echoing without competing noises to elbow it out.
The lack of fans serving as shot-by-shot benchmarks created more than a few unique situations, though.
As the approach of Scottie Scheffler flew toward the pin on No. 16 North, the Texan knew he had struck a good shot. Normally, the crowd would reinforce just how good. The roar never came, but a group standing on a nearby tee box used hand signals to relay the message.
“You could see the guys on the tee box behind and a couple of them were watching and … I was like, ‘Oh, I hit it close,’ ” said Scheffler, whose eagle fueled his round of 7-under. “Then they’re like in, in, and I’m like, ‘Oh, sweet.’ They’re not going to make any noise up there, so definitely missed hearing something happen.”
The dialed-down atmosphere did the Torrey Pines pro shop no favors, though, as few waded through the merchandise.
The only Farmers items came in the form of generic balls, divot-repair tools and one small rack of shirts. Nothing fresh was ordered for 2021, since the people most inclined to buy them could not get within a 3-wood of the front door.
Even those in charge fumbled with how to navigate the strange scene. As players were announced at No. 10 on the North, Century Club chairperson Barbara Savaglio needed a mulligan.
“Should I clap? Should I not?” said Savaglio, head of the local group behind the tournament during its bizarro lap in 2021. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”
Nobody was able to appreciate Rickie Fowler’s mustache acting as a Leonardo DiCaprio stand-in from “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” at close range. The scorecard for the pond protecting No. 18 South remained stagnant for hours: Ducks 2, Golf Activity 0.
The most painful ruckus came off the mostly empty course.
Tournament CEO Marty Gorsich told the Union-Tribune the lack of fans is likely to wipe out 80 percent of the event’s revenue. Red numbers take on a completely different meaning when you’re hemorrhaging cash.
But the golf soldiered on.
The thing about laryngitis? Eventually, you get your voice back.
