"Had I really been invited to play in the Swallows?"

Alan Shipnuck managed to crash the elite gathering where grown men gather to discuss their vegetarian diets, the best Birkenstocks and in general, their desire to foster world peace. Though I'm getting a better idea why SI, the leaflet that it has become, wanted $100 to renew my subscription (and didn't get it!):

Had I really been invited to play in the Swallows? Still, deep down I knew I was unworthy, and I figured Perocchi would either come to his senses or get talked out of inviting me. Months went by without any contact, and slowly my hopes dimmed. Then one day in March, I opened my mailbox to find a beautifully designed invitation. I couldn’t have been more excited had I found one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets. I read and reread the schedule of events: rounds at Cypress Point, Pebble Beach and Spyglass Hill; cookouts by day, ­jacket-and-tie dinners by night. According to the invitation, all events were mandatory to foster “the Swallows spirit.

Well how else are you going to foster Middle East peace?

There was only one problem: The entry fee was $5,500. I have four young kids and a bloated mortgage. Devoting that much of the family budget to three days of golf was out of the question. I called my editor in New York City, who I knew has always had his own fascination with the Swallows. I gingerly explained that I was in need of a corporate sponsorship.
“We’ll pay,” he said, in the tone of a fairy-tale bad guy offering a magic potion, “but you have to write a story about it. ”

Damn editors...

Shipnuck goes on to detail how the Silver Oak set gets Pebble Beach closed for the day so they can brainstorm how to grow the game. I tell you, I was touched. Especially after reading this item from Steve Elling about Open qualifiers having to dodge various outtings the week before the U.S. Open.