I'm fortunate enough to be sitting green side in the air conditioned Champions Club overlooking the 8th Green at Quail Hollow.
Its Thursday in Charlotte and people are for the most part at work. Accept of course the 20 thousand or so who are watching the golf tournament formally known as the Wachovia Championship.
Tiger fans have been out on the course since seven AM and they were not disappointed. Tiger took control on the back nine and posted a solid 65 opening round.
About the time Tiger finished, Phil Mickelson, Anthony Kim and Davis Love walked down number one behind, Camilo Villegas, Padraig Harrington and Vijay Singh.
Harrington is playing with a bothersome blister on his left heel. Taking time on the to pull off the shoe and inspect a growing blister on his heel. He applies a second skin bandage and continues his round, but with a noticeable odd step.
Unlike the Masters or the US Open most fans in Charlotte don't come to watch golf, they come to do everything else.
There are five well aged guys sitting at the corner table over looking the number eight green, but they are oblivious to Vijay's failed birdie attempt. They are lost in a low stakes game of Texas Hold Em with cash piled high in the center of the table. The player with his back to me has nothing but raises the pot anyway by another dollar.
Three bright yellow sun dresses scan the crowd for eligible men, finding none, myself included, they move on. One noticeably more wobbly than the other two.
There's a father and his son. Dad, I learn is 78 and his son is asking if dad likes his window seat. He smiles, and comments: "What's not to like, golf, beer and a hot turkey sandwich. The son is pleased and I notice that dad's hand trembles as he reaches for his beer.
I bump into Randy who I met at the Heritage a few weeks ago. He's nearly 45 and is hitting on a couple of 17 year olds who use my hello to flee. He's standing with another patron who introduces himself as Tim somebody, though his volunteer's badge says Robert somebody else.
A mother and daughter, share a table. The daughter is pretty and so is the mother. The only trouble is the daughter who is a rather tall 5'10" or better doesn't weigh more than 100 pounds. She's clearly in trouble and it doesn't take long to suspect that mom is part of the problem.
There's a guy standing behind me, talking to women of 35 or better. She asks him what he does for a living. His response: "Brain Surgeon". I about spit my beer across the room trying not to laugh. She takes him at his word, though I suspect he's an out of work used car salesman. Later she'll agree to met him for drinks and maybe dinner.
A large heavy set women, with a five year old boy in tow pass between me and my view of Phil Mickelson. She has a chocolate ice cream bar which I mistakenly assume is for the child.
As Lefty makes his way up 18 with a nice 4 under on his score card, I step through the elegant Quail Hollow Club House and head for the parking lot. I'll watch the rest of the tournament from the comfort and quiet of my Charleston water side home. Closer to Phil Mickelson and Tiger Woods and far away from brain surgeons trying to hookup with wobbly yellow sun dresses.