On Par with the Agenda: Off Course but On Point with the Rocket Mortgage Classic

Yesterday, I worked the opening party for the Rocket Mortgage Classic—the one where they announce the tee times for the teams. What’s funny is I didn’t even realize the Classic was this week until, like, two days ago. I was walking home and saw two Escalades parked outside the Shinola Hotel, both with "Rocket Classic" on the side and numbered like player shuttles or something.

Naturally, I googled “Rocket Mortgage Classic 2025” and—surprise!—it starts June 26th at the Detroit Golf Club.

How did I not know this was happening? How did I find out just two days before working the opening event? I really have my moments… more often than I care to admit. The kind where I catch myself saying, “I am a natural blonde,” or “Good thing I’m pretty…” right after realizing (or blurting out) something absolutely ridiculous. Usually out loud. Usually followed by me awkwardly walking away like, “If I don’t make eye contact, nobody can see me.” Kind of like when dogs know they’ve done something wrong and won’t look at you—well I’m the dog, and the thing I did wrong was not think through what I was saying before I spoke.

Anywho, I digress. Back to the party…

After the quick downpour we had yesterday, the weather ended up being incredible. Total summer-in-Detroit magic. The Tigers game had a bit of a rain delay, but honestly, that worked out—because we won.

And the best part? The spot where the party was held actually had a view into Comerica Park. So many guests were watching the game through the window while grabbing drinks, and I’d point them to the other side of the room where there was a door leading out to this amazing wraparound rooftop patio.

They could sit outside, enjoy the view, soak up the weather, and literally watch the game from up there. Not too shabby, if you ask me.

Some of the guests I helped were players, others were their friends or family. One pair that stood out to me was this father-son duo. The son looked maybe 18 or 20—didn’t order a drink and had a total baby face. I overheard the dad proudly telling people that his son was playing in the Classic… and he was going to be his caddy.

And I thought… how cool. You always hear about kids being their parents’ caddies, but rarely the other way around. And being a caddy isn’t just carrying a bag. It’s strategy. Emotional support. Knowing when to speak and when to shut up. It’s reading the golfer’s rhythm, mindset, and tendencies, and either confirming their choice or gently pushing them to reassess—especially under pressure.

So the fact that this young man trusted his dad enough to be that person for him? That’s amazing—and says a lot about their bond. Years of closeness and communication. The kind of relationship you can only hope to have with your kid.

Honestly, it was probably the most wholesome moment of the night.

As they kept drawing table numbers to pick tee times, you could feel the room start to relax. Especially the groups that already knew when they were playing.

When it got down to the final two table numbers, the presenter joked that the “loser” would actually be a bit of a winner. Turns out, the very last table to pick got the first tee time of the day: 6:45 AM. But—they also won a golf trip for four to Europe, valid anytime between now and next July. Not too bad. No wonder they say, “Saving the best for last.”

All four of them came to my bar afterward. Each one said something like, “Ugh, we’re teeing off first,” and I’d just shrug and say, “Honestly? That’s better. It won’t be as hot, and the greens will still be fresh—no divots.” Every single one of them paused, nodded, and agreed. But the free trip? That was their favorite part.

One of the guys said it was the first thing he’s ever won in his life. Another told me he was from New York, so I asked if work brought him here. He said yes. I asked what he did, and he told me public speaking and broadcasting. Naturally, I was like, “Okay, so when are you teaching me how to speak in public without panicking?” He laughed and said he’d help.

Then he flipped it and asked me how to make an Old Fashioned. I listed the steps off the top of my head, and he asked how I remembered them so easily. I told him—repetition and making them over and over.

He nodded and said, “That’s how you get good at public speaking too.”

And ugh. That moment—the one where you’re like, Damn it, I knew that… was just really hoping there was a shortcut.

So yeah, turns out the secret to getting better at anything—from making a solid Old Fashioned to not completely blanking and having a full on anxiety attack during public speaking—is just… doing it. Over and over. On purpose.

And honestly, kinda like the Rocket Mortgage Classic—an event I completely forgot was even happening in town this week—sometimes the biggest stuff is going down right under your nose, and you don’t even realize it until you’re smack in the middle of it.

I mean, I talk to strangers all the time behind the bar. It’s literally my job. So you’d think public speaking wouldn’t bother me.
Wrong.

It still freaks me out. Weird, right?

But the truth is, whether it’s making small talk or getting up in front of a crowd, sometimes you just have to show up—even if you’re awkward, anxious, or would rather be doing literally anything else—and figure it out as you go.

Annoying. But also kind of comforting? Knowing the things that freak us out aren’t impossible—they’re just unfamiliar and uncomfortable. And the only way to get past them is to stop avoiding them and just keep showing up.

It’s time to get comfortable being uncomfortable. Even if it’s awkward. Even if I’d rather be doing literally anything else.

So yeah—here’s to showing up, awkward moments and all. One Old Fashioned—or awkward interaction—at a time.

Most of life is just figuring it out as you go. Say it wrong, stumble through it, laugh it off, and keep it moving.

So even though I was having an off day, the night somehow still ended on a good note. Sometimes that’s all you really need.

Because hey, I have my moments.
And good thing I’m pretty (in a high-pitched tone as I walk away, pretending no one saw that).