There's just something special about Memphis

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Ian Poulter was going to play this week at the Stanford St. Jude Classic in Memphis, but he didn't have any blue suede shoes in what must be the largest luggage chest on the PGA TOUR. He wears so many outfits you would think that he was related to Mary Poppins. Wait a minute -- I could be on to something here. But neither Mary nor Ian would have any clue what to do with a peanut butter and "nanna" sandwich.

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So, he won't be walking in Memphis this week, but many of the other top players in the world will, and they will be doing something this week that they don't normally do. Since the arrival of the second fitness trailer in the parking lots of PGA TOUR events, the most popular item on the buffet every week has been the salad bar. Of course, if they happen to have dry chicken breasts with all the fat cut off, then they might add that to the top of their rabbit food. But not in Memphis ... not this week.

There are a few tournaments every year where even the most committed fat-a-phobics on the PGA TOUR expand their culinary horizons for a week. You can probably guess the most popular dining stops on the PGA TOUR. Obviously, New Orleans is farther ahead in the diet-buster category than Tiger is in the world golf rankings. But Memphis is vying for second against some pretty hefty competition -- pun entirely intended. And second is not a bad spot to be, is it Mr. Mickelson?

I bet that 10 years ago Phil could make an afternoon out of a trip to the Rendezvous. There might not be another restaurant on the schedule every year that is so touted than Charles Vergo's famed establishment down the alley from the Peabody Hotel. Golfers, fine dining connoisseurs and culinary degenerates alike flock down under the street for what are simply the best ribs in the world.

If you are inclined to disagree, I will be more than happy to start the evening nibbling on sausage and cheese while you outline your position. I will continue to listen while enjoying dry rubbed ribs that fall off the bone and an icy beverage served by a man who has been doing it for half a century. I won't even argue, I will just sit across the picnic table down in the dungeon and hear you out. By the time the last finger is licked and the check arrives, I feel certain that you will have convinced yourself in my silence. It is likely that you will feel guilty enough to pick up the check for making me listen to such an idiotic proposition.

But have no fear, stuffed and satisfied we will walk over to Beale Street. Even round, old, has-been TOUR pros know that you can't go to bed on a full stomach -- especially when there is so much to see. I will pick up the check at Patty O's. I might even treat at the B.B. King Blues Club where we will listen to live music. You never know, the king might show up (or XM's own guitar hero, Larry Rinker) and finish the night off in style. And I will ask you the question that a musical sage posed a few years back: Do I really feel the way I feel?

Of course, evenings like that happen early in a tournament week. A regime like that during the event itself will turn you into a broadcaster or worse, an insurance agent or traveling salesman.

I digress. The point is that Memphis is a magical old Southern port city. Walking around certain sections is like going back into a time before corporate America owned all the good stuff. Being among people in a place where local ownership comes with a type of pride that can't be bought is nostalgic. And at the end of the day, there are few cities that have such a defined identity as Memphis. It truly is an amalgam of all its interesting citizens from Elvis to the guy on Union Avenue who can play you anything that you want to hear on his harp and shine your shoes at the same time.

So when you touch down in the land of the Delta Blues, enjoy yourself. That is the greatest compliment that a visitor can give to Memphians. Your smile is thanks enough, even if there is a little pronto-pup mustard in the corner of your mouth. And if you don't know what a pronto-pup is, then you really haven't lived -- go for the foot-long.