SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. -- Jock Holliman spent most of Friday hushing the crowd around TPC Scottsdale's famous 16th hole and reminding them to respect the golfers -- until the 37th group of the day walked onto the tee box of the par-3, 163-yard hole.
By then it was after 4 p.m. local time and the crowd of about 22,000 -- the large majority of whom were sitting in corporate skyboxes three stories tall surrounding the hole like a coliseum -- had been drinking since breakfast. Three fans had already been ejected. The sun started to set. Shadows began to stretch.
But this is the Waste Management Phoenix Open. When the sun goes down, golf might be coming to an end, but the fun was just beginning.
When the threesome of Jordan Spieth, Rickie Fowler and local favorite Jon Rahm entered the arena through a tunnel three holes from finishing their round, a cheer erupted that would rival any during NFL game introductions. For one of the few times all day, every railing was shoulder-to-shoulder, the crowd up to four deep in some places just to get a look.
Holliman, a 63-year-old, tall, gray-haired man stepped up to a microphone and made his announcement: "Quiet, please. Quiet on the tee."
When Fowler began his approach to the tee box, he changed the script on Holliman. Fowler raised his arms in the air requesting noise, to which the fans, with their camera phones in one hand and drinks in the other, happily obliged. Holliman helped the cause, raising his hands along with Fowler.
But after Fowler hit, an interesting thing occurred: Holliman didn't need to do his job for the rest of the hole. This was one of the few groups that fans, both the obsessed and the casual, cared about. When Spieth stepped up to the tee, the crowd went silent. You could've heard a beer can open at that point.
Holliman just stood back and watched. Then it was Rahm's turn. The Arizona State University product has been a fan favorite all week here, but he has also helped his cause by wearing a personalized ASU No. 42 jersey -- the same number Pat Tillman wore with the Sun Devils. Rahm wanted the cheers. He raised his hands, trying to pump up the crowd. They responded, but not like one would expect. After hours of ignoring Holliman's requests or simply not caring who was teeing off, the crowd did the opposite. It kept quiet.
Rahm hit and the cheers erupted again.
Holliman's role at the Waste Management Phoenix Open looks pretty easy. He stands just feet from the best golfers in the world and tells people to be quiet. If they listen, great. If they don't, well, there's not much he can do it about except ask them again. And again.
After more than 20 years, Holliman has perfected his job. He has been marshaling the 16th hole on and off since 1997 -- when Tiger Woods hit his famous hole-in-one on a hole without skyboxes.
In 1999, the Thunderbirds -- the charitable organization that organizes and runs this PGA Tour event -- held a security meeting and nobody wanted to monitor the 16th. Holliman volunteered and has been there as the regular marshal ever since.
The Bartlesville, Oklahoma native moved to Arizona permanently in 1985 and plays about 60 rounds of golf a year, most at the exclusive Whisper Rock Golf Club. He runs a series of private venture capital partnerships which allow him to make his own schedule -- including a week at TPC Scottsdale every year.
Over the years, Holliman has narrowed his words of choice to mainly two phrases: "Quiet please" and "Please show your courtesy." He studies golfers' approaches year after year, so he knows the exact moment before they lock into their tee shot. This might be the most important part of his job. If he requests quiet too late, he can throw the golfer's routine off. If he announces too early, the crowd loses its focus and starts to buzz again.
Marshaling any other hole on the PGA Tour is a piece of cake compared to the 16th in Scottsdale. Very few, if any, require a microphone with speakers spread out down the fairway stopping just short of the green. Usually all it takes is the marshal to hold up his "Quiet Please" sign and the crowd responds in kind. Not here.
By most accounts, Holliman has the most thankless job in sports, but he doesn't think so.
"It's got a purpose, and it's got a reward," he said. "But when I go home Sunday night and we have a clean tournament, I feel real good."
Starting around noon Friday, Holliman began using the microphone off to the far side of the tee box to announce when golfers were about to hit their shots. For most groups, however, his instructions fall on deaf -- or drunk -- ears, like when Holliman asked the crowd for their courtesy as Luke Donald stepped to the tee. The volume didn't change a decibel. A steady buzz of chatter and laughter filled the air.
Six groups later, Harold Varner III approached the tee and Holliman gave his announcement: "Quiet, please."
At the same time, a man in the stands behind him responded with a loud "Quiet!" A group of men sitting midway down the right side of the fairway in a luxury box had their backs facing Varner as he prepared to hit and were chanting something about drinking to another fan in the stands. A group of women above the entry tunnel kept their conversations going, oblivious to the fact that Varner was about to tee off.
"I used to fight it," Holliman said. "I go with the flow now. I just try to get the people's energy moving in the right direction."
A few times throughout a round, between groups, Holliman will remind the crowd that they're at an actual golf tournament, and they really do need to be quiet. He calls it coaching the fans. He'll walk them through his instructions: When he calls for quiet, there should be no talking, no walking or no yelling. He asks them to be respectful. "I just try to softly reinforce that," he said. "If you get in their face too much, they'll push back. There's a fine line."
And it's a line that has been crossed before.
Holliman wasn't always as laid back and relaxed during tournament rounds. There was a time in his life when he tried to find every perpetrator who disobeyed his instructions or yelled during a backswing.
"I used to go up in the stands and yell and scream at them and throw them out," he said. "Zero tolerance kind of thing. But that's not fun for them and that's not us. But if they're so disrespectful or so inattentive with the noise relative (to the golfers), we just got to protect the pros. That's it. So you cross your fingers and hope that they're going to be good little boys and girls."
Years back, Holliman remembered, someone sitting in a corporate skybox above the tee threw a ball onto the tee box when Briny Baird was about to start his swing. Baird backed off and was a good sport about the incident, Holliman remembered. But Holliman wasn't. He ran into the stands and demanded the host of the box tell him who threw the ball. All he wanted to do was throw the person out and eliminate a disruption. The host of the box wouldn't comply. The back-and-forth intensified to the point where Holliman had to be held back before an altercation ensued. The tournament later discontinued its relationship with the company who bought the skybox.
In more recent years, Holliman lets the security people in purple shirts and the Scottsdale Police Department do the dirty work. Two years ago, as Ryan Palmer was in the midst of his back swing, someone screamed. Holliman saw who it was and told the cops, who threw the person out of the hole.
Holliman has been marshaling the 16th long enough to know the ebb and flow of each week.
He doesn't start using the microphone until midday because the drunks don't get too rowdy in the morning. And he knows to expect most of the shenanigans by late Friday afternoon, when corporate hosts have usually gone home, leaving the boxes to their clients.
He was spot on.
As Friday afternoon dimmed into Friday evening, the hollers grew more frequent.
When Louis Oosthuizen teed off, a man in a Stars and Stripes jacket without the stripes let out a bellowing "Looooouiisssss" in the seconds between when Holliman made his call for quiet and when Oosthuizen took his swing. Holliman shot the man a look but turned quickly around to watch the tee shot.
"This is their profession," Holliman said of the PGA Tour players. "They're playing for money, but we do want the people involved. This is the 'People's Open.' It's worked out pretty well.
"It's on the edge. A lot of people say it's too much of a party. A lot of people say this is good for the game. I've seen over the last 10 years, 99 percent of the players embrace the hole, embrace the experience. They come in here, and they know what they're going to get. If they hit a bad shot, they're going to get booed. We don't like the boos. It's not sporting, but it's become part of the hole."
About nine years ago, a group of fans in the bleachers lining the left side of the fairway started doing the wave, continuing it while players hit. Holliman was less than pleased. He emptied the entire section for 90 minutes before letting them back in. The wave has returned, however, and made an appearance Friday afternoon.
"They were just out of control," he said.
On this day, Holliman's request for quiet works about one-third of the time.
The crowd noise will dim for some golfers, while not changing a beat for others. Aside from the featured group of Speith, Fowler and Rahm, the only golfers that typically have a quieting effect on the crowd are Phil Mickelson and Bubba Watson -- who, Holliman said, likes whipping the fans into a frenzy. Otherwise, with the exception of about a handful of others who don't mind the noise, Holliman is on duty for every other golfer. After Gary Woodland lined up his tee shot, chants of "Ga-ry! Ga-ry!" broke out. Before Vaughn Taylor's swing, and after Holliman's instructions, someone yelled out "Go Taylor!"
It's irritating, Holliman said, but such is life at the 16th hole at TPC Scottsdale.
Silence is the goal, but Holliman is pleased when he accomplishes a quiet buzz from the fans.
"It's do the best job we can," he said. "We're on pins and needles just like the pros are. Every group that comes in, I'm really locked down trying to make sure they get their shot in."
