Origin of the Name "Dancin' Dogg"
Where once it stood, there is now a supermarket.
Four well-paved lanes carry commuters to and from work at speeds of well over sixty miles an hour. Not a soul for miles has any recollection, even in passing, of the old Birl Tyke Pub.
There are dart pubs, music pubs, soccer pubs, family pubs, political pubs and pubs for private times with your sweetheart. Back in its day, the Birl Tyke was considered a golfers pub. As one might imagine, Scotland in the early 1900’s had a great many golfers pubs.
To know the difference between the Birl Tyke and others of its ilk one would have to be very familiar with true golf celebrity back in those times. Keep in mind there was no ESPN, Golf Channel or Tiger Woods. Celebrity status was achieved by word-of-mouth, lore and legend.
It was at the Birl Tyke, those who were lauded most gathered.
Birl Tyke's owner, Kyle Cready, had a half-blind three-legged dog that would twirl - some insisted it was a dance - to Kyle's fiddle. The Dancing Dog became the unofficial mascot of the pub.
At Birl Tyke it was not so much the golfers as the regulars. They were the ones who crafted ordinary men into golfers - golfers the likes of which the world would never know or hear of. An example would be, Addison McBride. Addison had a massive brace of red curly locks, a wonderfully healthy belly and a smile only made more perfect by his three missing teeth. But neither his teeth, hair or belly were what made Addison a legend of the game in the small corner of the world where the game was born. It was said Addison once broke par at The Old Course with nothing but a 3-iron, niblick and putter.
Word was Addison could shape a ball so closely around an apple tree that his ball would peel a few in the process. Ridiculous? Assume it is. Assume it’s an exaggeration to the tenth power… you’re still left with one hell of a shot.
Mid autumn 1923; Mum Cready, the better half of the Dancing Dog’s owner Kyle Cready had taken seriously ill. Kyle announced he had to sell the pub to a couple of locals who were planning to turn it into a motorcycle repair shop
Weeks later, the night before the Birl Tyke was scheduled to close and go under the hammer, the ‘regulars’ gathered to bid a fond farewell.
They hoisted shots, swilled lager and shared stories that, I doubt, anyone today could even imagine. For the last time they watched the Dancing Dog twirl to the strains of Kyle Cready’s fiddle. The laughter eventually subsided and the ambient morphed to melancholy. For the first time in decades the old friends were beginning to feel awkward amongst each other. It was at about this time Stewart Maiden – probably the most abrupt of the group – pulled from his satchel a large piece of paper that had been clearly folded many times.
Without saying a word, he dried off a section with a few bar towels and unfolded what would turn out to be, the very future of the game. The document spread out nearly four stools deep and draped over both the back and front. He carefully studied the image- a map of the United States of America (all 43 states worth).
Closing his eyes and balancing a pint in his left hand he raised his right finger and slowly brought it down onto a spot – Atlanta, Georgia. “This place is mine,” he announced as he motioned for his friends to ‘step up to the map.’
Soon, each of the men has staked their claim to the new world of golf.
America, they knew, was developing a strong passion for the game. A passion fresh but pure. They could sense that the fire was beginning to burn and they were going to go fan a few flames. Having laid claim to their own piece of red, white and blue turf they turned their attention once again to Pout, the half blind, three legged dog doing its dance or spin or whatever it was around his master for the last time.
The men had a plan, a mission – a future. They were to set out on a grand adventure and excitement and joy had resumed in the small pub.
Maiden sipped his whiskey and thought about Addison, the best student he ever had, spending the rest of his life tending a herd and harvesting barley. He glanced over at the map and word – Atlanta. If only he had known just how fortunate he was to have landed his digit at that precise longitude and latitude at that precise moment.
For in Atlanta a young boy was earning a living as a caddie in a club in Atlanta. Maiden would land a job as a teaching pro at that same club. The boy’s name was Bobby Jones, Jr.
And the dog dances on.
Dancin’ Dogg
Dedicated to Stewart Kiltie Maiden
The Man Who Taught Bobby Jones