More than a century ago it was derided as an endeavor with “too much walking to be a good game, and just enough game to spoil a good walk.”

Yes, I thought, entering the gates of the FedEx St. Jude Championship at TPC Southwind — that’s golf, by the way — but what if you add a fried chicken sandwich from Andy Ticer and Michael Hudman and a Marcella Simien soundtrack?

It turns out I got only one of those two things — and more than 10,000 badly needed steps — in my first visit to a golf tournament. 

Calkins: The best golf story in Memphis. (And it’s not really about golf).

Wednesday was a kind of public practice day at the FESJC before the stakes rise on Thursday. It was laid back enough that you might look up — as I did — and see a Memphis friend carting clubs for a pro. Only real caddies the rest of the week. (Sorry, Cullen.)

It was also supposed to be the debut of what the tournament was dubbing a “Soul-in-One Celebration,” with Memphis bands and vendors adding more local flavor to one of Memphis’ truly major annual events. Swamp-soul queen Simien and R&B brother band The PRVLG serenading the 17th hole? Maybe next year. 

There was a 70% chance of rain on Wednesday morning, which caused a last-minute cancellation of the “Soul-in-One Celebration.” I was already preparing to add to the Memphis-centric soundtrack, at least in my head: Ann Peebles’ “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” the Dramatics’ “In the Rain,” or maybe the Prisonaires’ “Just Walkin’ in the Rain.”

“Soul-in-One” is why I was there. The organizers wanted to invite someone who didn’t know anything about golf to walk the course, soak in the “Celebration,” and confirm that the tournament is a good hang even if you think “double Bogie” means screening “Casablanca” and “The Big Sleep” back-to-back. 

And I, dear reader, was qualified for the job. Unless you put a “mini” modifier at the front, I haven’t played a round of golf since I was 15, when I played exactly twice. Since then, my most profound engagement with the game — OK, fine, sport — has been repeat viewings of “Caddyshack” and “Tin Cup.” (Fine films both.)

Calkins: LIV golfers have everything money can buy. Except Memphis.

I looked the part of the newbie, as I was among roughly 2% of the male population at Southwind not wearing a golf shirt. I was not trying to be contrarian. I don’t own any golf shirts, though this is a sartorial shortage that can be rectified on-site, with plenty of stylish tournament-branded shirts and other attire available for purchase at The Hub, between the 18th and 12th holes. 

I hope I didn’t act too much the part of a newbie, though. Even for practice rounds, tournament staff held up “Hush Y’all” signs at apparently appropriate times. (Imagine trying this for Ja Morant free throws.) Mostly alone, I wasn’t chattering. But maybe they needed “Be Still Y’all” signs. A few times while walking past a hole I realized everyone around me was frozen in rapt attention. Who was the rube ambling along while somebody was sizing up an approach shot? Probably me. 

Walking past the ninth hole in the afternoon, I was signaled by a palpably annoyed course attendant (I just made up this job title) to quickly move along. But, not 50 yards later, creeping up on the eighth hole, there was a guy on the official side of the rope, a few feet behind teeing off golf ace Jordan Spieth, noshing barbecue nachos. It was practice day after all.

The language of golf etiquette: Like all tongues foreign to one’s own, difficult to comprehend on initial contact. It is not my place to judge. Only to move along — and to do so quietly. 

If the planned Memphis music was nixed on Wednesday, the Memphis food was mostly not.

Andy & Michael head to WGC with Birdies & Bubbles

Two of Memphis’ finest food trucks invited for “Soul-in-One,” TacoNGanas and Soi. No. 9, showed up and stuck around for the day anyway, next to the empty band stage. 

As she handed me a Thai iced tea that’s never tasted so good, Soi No. 9 co-owner Mai Mitrakul said they’d been told that morning that they didn’t have to come, but they’d already been planning on it so decided to take their chances. Anyone who made it to the ordering window of that bright orange bus indeed sampled some real (tasty) Memphis. 

The trucks won’t be back the rest of the week, but Birdies & Bubbles, tucked into a little pine grove between the 14th and 16th holes, is on the scene for a third time, according to co-owner Andrew Ticer. 

Ticer and his chef/restaurateur partner Michael Hudman were both under the tent, expediting and preparing orders. I somehow ended up being the first food customer of the tournament, and while I skipped the “bubbles” half of the setup, I can vouch for The Birdie (a fried chicken sandwich with spiced honey, summer slaw and lemon mayo) and the hush puppies (with red eye aioli and horseradish). 

If I was the first customer served by Ticer and Hudman at the tournament this week, I was not the first tournament attendee they’d served.

An hour before my sandwich, I found myself chatting with one of the 98%, a nice, unassuming young guy in a golf shirt who’d visited Ticer and Hudman’s East Memphis restaurant Hog & Hominy the night before. 

When my new acquaintance walked away, the St. Jude employee who introduced us said, “That kid’s like Kevin Durant.”

Turned out it was Collin Morikawa, ranked 8th in the world. I don’t think the Durant comp means he’s asking for a trade. I think it means he’s great at what he does. Golf expert that I am, one thing I can tell you about Morikawa is this: He loved the Thunderbird! Forty Twice! pepperoni pizza from H&H. Me and Morikawa? We have a lot in common. Or at least that.

Hog & Hominy rising from the ashes to reopen

If fried chicken beckons in one direction, it’s barbecue going the other way. In the shady, picnic-tabled oasis dubbed “The Pit,” you can get sandwiches, plates and nachos from Hog Wild or the (I know they’ve expanded but I’m still calling it Germantown) Commissary. Can’t go wrong, really. 

Fresh squeezed lemonade, Pronto Pups and more adult beverages abound. So do many public places to cool off.

Does fresh air and fine food make for a good hang even if you’re only stepping to the beat of your own quiet footsteps and your handicap is 18 holes worth of ignorance? I vote yes. 

See y’all next year. And maybe I’m the one who’s been missing out by limiting my swings to Putt-Putt.

I’ve got 12 months to get in some coursework of my own, golf shirt or not.