Whole-in-one: Fatty Golf comes to Yale

At up to 530 lbs. apiece, these golfers plan to give Tiger a big run for his money.

"The tournament is not about score or even about golf, but about weight," explained David Horton as he cooked up a burger at Widdy's, the restaurant at the Yale Golf Course. "I want people to enjoy themselves, not worry about the score. The day is a celebration."

For the past three summers, hundreds of obese men—some flying in from as far as Florida—have descended upon the Yale Golf Course to participate in Horton's annual Fatty Golf Tournament: an enjoyable round of golf, a fundraiser for the Yale Psychiatric Institute for the Study of Eating Disorders, and, at heart, a festival of food.

The tournament has only two rules. First, all contestants must weigh at least 250 lbs. Second, prizes go not to the lowest score, but to the highest weight and highest blood pressure.

Weighing in at 528 lbs., John Hardy of Newington, Conn., was the runaway—er, wobble away—winner in the weight category. Greg Laugeni, the second-heaviest player in the field at 390 lbs., was amazed at Hardy's Tiger Woods-esque dominance: "It's impossible to beat him. He's head and shoulders and stomachs and chins above everyone else." For his victory, Hardy got to walk home with a 50 lb. slab of butter, a chocolate chip cookie about three feet in diameter, and a 24-pack of toilet paper just in case. Hardy also picked up the hardware for highest blood pressure: 10 lbs. of pepperoni and a George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine.

"His blood pressure?" Horton said. "200 over 100. The nurse taking it told him it was a new world record."

But Fatty Golf isn't about winners and losers. Everyone got to take home a free gift bag, which included Oreos, Slim Jims, and a packet of Alka Seltzer. And there were a ton of second and third place prizes, ranging from turkeysand glazed hams to specially prepared three-foot-long hot dogs. Expanding markets for expanded waistlines "It started as a joke, actually," said Horton, 32, a full-time chef at the Yale Golf Course and the creator of the Fatty Golf Tournament. "My buddy and I were out on the Yale course one day. We saw a bunch of chunky guys, and my friend said `What a bunch of porkers,' and it just popped into my mind that there should be a tournament for them. So I started one."

Horton, a slightly chunky man himself, spends a fair amount of time organizing the event. "I do everything myself, from getting T-shirts made to calling sponsors to cooking the food." Although Horton didn't create the tournament as a fundraiser, he has since decided to give away all the profits. "I felt like I should give something back," he said with a tinge of regret. "I'm sorry we couldn't give more. The players ate a lot of food. It's expensive to run this type of tournament."

Horton may be worn out, but his industry is paying off. Three years after its inception, his tournament has hit the big time. Fatty Golf received coverage in Sports Illustrated, ESPN magazine, Golf magazine, and Senior Golfer. Horton was interviewed by sports radio shows in Boston and Chicago, appeared on the cover of the New Haven Register, and was profiled in the San Francisco Examiner. "I love the press," Horton said with a grin. "They've been very good to me."

Meanwhile, sponsors are already clamoring for a piece of next year's action, and Horton has long-range plans to turn Fatty Golf into a legitimate tour, with tournaments every weekend all across the country. On any given day, Horton spends time talking with various courses around the nation that are interested in bringing Fatty Golf tournaments to their neck of the woods.

But golf courses aren't the only ones interested in tapping the big-eater market. "We have a lot of restaurants who want to be affiliated with us. Next year, I hope on every hole we'll have a booth from a different restaurant."

Down the road, Horton's ultimate dream is to turn Fatty Golf into a clothing company. "I've always wanted my own line," he said, and his aspiration is not far from reality. He has hired graphic designers, trademarked the Fatty Golf logo, and printed hundreds upon hundreds of shirts and hats.

Could the fatty golfers ever steal network coverage from their slimmer PGA brethren? "I dunno," Horton says with a laugh, "but it's gonna be huge." `Those are the biggest clowns I've ever seen...' This year's Fatty Golf tournament sounds more like a carnival than a golf tournament. On the first tee, Horton set up a scale, a forklift, a nurse's station, an undertaker's office, and a carnival mirror, "just to make `em look even fatter." To the left of the fairway, on the third hole, a few intrepid chefs were barbequing all-you-can-eat hamburgers and hot dogs. (The player who drove his ball closest to the vat of mayonnaise on the buffet table won a microwave.) A snack bar provided refreshments on the ninth hole. On the 10th, a band serenaded the golfers with what Horton termed "food music," selections from the likes of Meatloaf and Fats Domino. And finally, for those who had finished, Horton set up another free, all-you-can-eat buffet in the clubhouse.

The heaviest players, including Hardy, the champion, were given individual golf carts to get themselves around the course. "Would you want to share a cart with him?" Horton explained.

Unfortunately, a downpour in the middle of the round kept some players inside. Hardy and Laugeni quit after the ninth hole. "Fat men don't work so hard," Laugeni said. He explained after walking off the course, "I said to my buddies, `Let's go inside, play cards, watch television, and eat our free buffet.'"

Despite the rain and the emphasis on fun, some players actually managed to squeeze in quality golf. "The Sports Illustrated reporter was very surprised when we birdied the first hole," Laugeni said. "He thought we were just a bunch of fat guys. But we all can play. Hardy was an athlete in college, [a defensive tackle for Ole Miss], and he still is. He can play." The lowest score of the day would be the envy of any professional golfer: "Using the scramble format, one foursome finished the round at eight under par," Horton said, sounding impressed for a second before returning to the heart of the matter—"but their foursome's combined weight was only just over a 1000 lbs." The heaviest foursome was, of course, Hardy's, reaching a combined total of 1520 lbs., an average of 380 lbs. a man, a new Fatty Golf record.

The lightest player in this year's tournament was Rich Safton, who weighed only 149 pounds. "I wanted to insist upon a 250-lbs. minimum, but I didn't want to discriminate. So, now everyone can play, but for every pound under 250 we charge you the 25 cent surplus." Horton also doesn't want to discriminate against women. "We had no women this year. I want to start a women's division. It might be tricky 'cause a lot of obese women aren't as carefree about their weight as some men. The men don't care. They're proud of it. They let themselves go and flop about. But we'll see. I think the women's division might fly."

Horton may have serious plans for the future of fatty golf, but he and his "porkers" have already gotten a lot of pleasure out of simply getting to "flop about." Laugeni summed up the players experience: "It's a lot of fun. It's a lot of laughs. It reminds you to have fun and not take life too seriously."

Reflecting on this year's tournament, Horton gets nostalgic about the press coverage. "I knew fatty golf had made it when Sports Illustrated flew a photographer up from Florida for the day. They also sent a senior editor to write the piece. He had been with them for 30 years or something like that. Great writer. Great guy. But my fondest memory of the day came after the tournament was over. The two SI guys, me, and five of the golfers went over to Sally's. We had just finished the free, all-you-can-eat buffet here at the golf course, but the guys were still hungry and really wanted pizza. We polished off six large pizzas between the eight of us. Six. Do you know how big six Sally's pizzas are?"

Six Sally's pizzas may be enormous, but they couldn't possibly be as large as the 50 lb. slab of butter that Hardy trucked home. If fatty golf is going as far as Horton hopes, Sally's, Pepe's, and especially Land O' Lakes better make sure they're ready.

Photo of John Hardy courtesy of Sports Illustrated.

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