The most pleasant surprise of the recent memoir from the most elegant studio host in sports is, deliciously, all of the boobs and balls and cussing.
“Did you find it too racy?” Rich Lerner asks, bemused but earnest, as if the aristocracy at the exclusive, tennis-whites Philadelphia Cricket Club might look sideways at him during the party that is to follow. He uncrosses his legs, adjusts the perfect collar of his white shirt tucked just inside his slim, tailored blue blazer, and grins like a little boy proud of his mischief.
No. I found it authentic. Him naked in a Scottish bathtub, him learning the ways of the world from the profane teaching pro at his dad’s pitch-and-putt in Dorneyville, Pa., him wisecracking with Tiger Woods in much, much happier times.
Still, why push the envelope with “Aren’t you that Golf Guy?”? Why risk the 30-year reputation of the man who, as the voice of diplomacy and reason on The Golf Channel, has steered the game through the perilous waters of Tiger and LIV and Phil?
“Because that was my experience, and I wanted to be authentic,” Lerner said. “This was not going to be ‘polished Rich’ at the desk. This was going to be Richie in the newsroom, Richie in the compound, Richie with his friends, Richie growing up — schticky, schticky Dicky.”
Lerner has served in various roles at the Golf Channel, most recognizably in marathon sessions of Golf Central: Live From at golf’s biggest tournaments. On that set, analysts dissect each day’s topics with the finesse of a chainsaw, while Lerner more steadily guides them through the wilderness with nudges of stiletto wit.
Lerner generously addresses Phil and LIV and, of course, Tiger, Tiger, Tiger. At 65 and still brimming with energy, he’d set out to write a Tiger book but there was so much more to his three decades on the set and his six decades in the game.
Besides, who needs another Tiger book when you can write a book about the greatest broadcaster to come out of the Lehigh Valley? Perhaps — with apologies to Ernie Johnson, who babysits Shaq and Charles — the best sports studio host on television?
That’s what Lerner ignores in the book, subtitled “Doglegs and Detours from a Life in the Game.” He affects complete avoidance of his colossal presence in the bigger picture of the game. His typical and innate humility serves only to amplify his significance. Jim Nantz and Mike Tirico deliver the live action with trademarked flair that may or may not be contrived, but neither has to act as referee to the two most brilliant and relevant analysts in sports, former pro golfers Brandel Chamblee and Paul McGinley.
It’s hard to put down but easy to set aside and pick up again. It’s great for the beach, the bathroom, or the briefcase, if you travel for work. When it’s light, it’s as light as cotton candy, and he radiates the joy of the game both in the book and in the flesh.
It isn’t all light; ever less so these days, it seems. The stickier subjects affect Lerner far differently. In speaking with The Inquirer at Cricket in the moments before the event, Lerner delighted in culinary discussions concerning Yocco’s hot dogs (IYKYK) or Dalessandro’s cheesesteaks, one of which he was gnawing, standing up, when I walked into the ballroom.
But when the talk turned to Tiger, who just went through rehab again, and Phil, whose spiraling disgraces have attained a level of surreality, Lerner became subdued, like a man whose gifted children have lost their way.
“I think it’s sad,” he said.
He looked sad.
He seems especially troubled about Mickelson’s issues and choices, clearly because Lerner, who adored Arnold Palmer (Golf Channel’s co-creator), knows the game needed its next Arnie, and, just as clearly, the next Arnie was Phil. But then came LIV, and now there are allegations of sexual misconduct, and it appears that Mickelson’s window is closed.
“When he should have been embraced — he should have been the Ryder Cup captain, probably twice. You can just keep going,” Lerner said. “He would have had that Arnold Palmer ambassadorship — show up at a major when you’re 65 and hold court, reminisce about the shot you hit off the pine straw in 2010 — that was his.
“America’s a forgiving country. You never say never, but at this point, he seems adrift.”
Lerner offered that piece of poignancy off the cuff Monday night. He writes it even better in the book, especially in the chapter, “Impossible to F— Up.” Spoiler: Phil F—’s it up.
Lerner is golf’s chief negotiator. He is a conciliator at his core. He loves the game as much for its inherent morality as for its incredible, rewarding difficulty. The difficulty remains even as the morality leeches away.
This turmoil, for him, is torture.
He grew up in the game, twice a champion at old Berkleigh Country Club out in Kutztown, a real-life Danny Noonan, 6-foot-4 and lean and complete with the thick, unruly hair. He began college at Lehigh, recalibrated to Temple, became a local TV legend young — well, I’ll let him tell that story. He’s so good at it; his video essays on The Golf Channel are masterpieces of depth and nuance, and his autobiographical descriptions of the people who made and make him are just as good.
You’ll meet grateful firefighters and graceless pro-am hacks and a couple who fostered at least 80 children, which was my favorite part of the book.
You’ll learn he loves basketball — Big 5 legend Fran Dunphy attended, as did celebrated Sports Illustrated hoops writer Jack McCallum — and, though he was on Broad Street in 1983 when Doc and Moses brought it home, Shaquille O’Neal and Penny Hardaway stole his heart when he moved to Orlando, where The Golf Channel began. Now he and it are both in Connecticut, where he never misses an Eagles game and catches the Phillies whenever he can.
The book also talks about the lure of alcohol on the course and in the booth, and, between that and the boobs and balls and the cussing, you might think it’s not a worthy review for a man so austere.
It is.
