July 1, 1999
We pick up the action on the green at the 10th hole at Montauk Downs on Friday afternoon. My brother-in-law, John Kernell, who is to be married the next day, faces a 14-footer for a birdie.
He is sanguine for he is presiding happily over a five foursome tournament that he, when questioned earlier in the round by his personal reporter, had, tongue-in-cheek, labeled “The John Kernell Memorial.”
The bridegroom had gone out in 42, which is to say, given his handicap, in 34, and was feeling pretty feisty. But four putts later, when queried cheerily as to his feelings at that double-bogey point in time, his brow darkened. “A little angry, Jack. I’m feeling a little angry,” he said in tones barely audible and a tad menacing.
But if the measure of the man lies in how he takes the bad with the good, my subject is as fine an example of the temperate spirit as any. For soon, the clouds have parted and his inner sun is shining again.
“Personally, I could play Montauk every day for the rest of my life and never get bored,” he says, setting forth on the par-four 11th. “The weather can change four times in a day . . . there’s always a different challenge. . . . You could shoot the round of your life one day and the next day shoot 100. If you have any expectations, this game bites you in the ass real hard.”
“First of all,” he adds, when encouraged to elaborate further on golf’s mystique by one who’s been hesitant to take up the game, “the perfect round would be to shoot an 18. But that’s unattainable. So,” he said, brightening, “there’s always room for improvement. Even for Tiger Woods. Even if Tiger Woods plays a perfect round of golf, he can still play better.”
Seeing that his amanuensis had been rendered reflective, he continued: “It’s like predicting the future. If you can predict the future, you’re where you want to be.”
“But then it wouldn’t be any fun.”
“Oh yeah, it would be,” said my brother-in-law, whose putter — though not his patter — had left him on the back nine. “Oh yeah, it would be.” — “Point of View”
July 8, 1999
The late John Villaplana’s jersey, number 17, was retired and given to his mother in a halftime ceremony at the Eastern Long Island Soccer League’s all-star game played under the lights at Greenport High School Saturday night.
. . . At the halftime ceremony, Donald Nunez, a friend and teammate of Villaplana’s, said to the spectators, the players, and a gathering of the late young man’s family, “In my wildest dreams I would love to play soccer with as much love and passion as our close friend and teammate, John Villaplana.”
“. . . This was the jersey John wore when he scored many goals and defeated countless opponents. It was this jersey that shone on John’s back when his agile body moved around the field in the sun.”
“It was also this jersey that shone even brighter each time John was happy with his performance. At those moments his smile and his eyes showed all of the pride, happiness, and joy inside of him.”
“I ask all of you to remember that face, and that jersey, which as of this moment belongs to Mrs. Cuevas, Dona Vicky.”
In addition to her late son’s jersey, Mrs. Cuevas also was given the all-star game’s most valuable player trophy, which was awarded to her son posthumously, and was told that his name will appear on the cup that is given to each year’s most valuable player at the all-star game hereafter.
