Golf & Greatness, The Jim Brown I Was Lucky To Know

Jim Brown and Kai Sato

Jim Brown and I were on the fourth hole of Mountaingate Country Club’s North Course. I was around 25 years old at the time; he was in his 70s. My golf ball was on the green in regulation, and I had a 20 foot birdie putt. It had taken Jim an extra shot to reach the green, so he was staring down a par putt from 10 feet. I hit my putt, and it started tracking on a great line, heading right toward the center of the cup. At the very last second, the ball broke hard to the right, and I had to settle for a tap in par. Jim then stalked his putt, spitting a little bit with each stride. Once he’d decided on the line, he calmly stepped up and sank the par putt to tie the hole. Right after the ball fell into the cup, he POUNDED his fist on his chest and yelled out, “That Jimmy Brown is a bad mothafucka!”

Jim was the most competitive person I’ve ever met. It was just the two of us playing against each other that day. It was a small stakes game, heads up for $20. But, he wanted to win and to also teach me a lesson, one of many that I’d learn from him over time. 

First, let me rewind a bit. I got to know Jim through my late mentor, Mace Siegel, shortly after graduating from college. Mace was a real estate mogul, who had founded Macerich (NYSE: MAC), and he was also a significant philanthropist, often donating anonymously. Mace and I became extremely close when I worked for his company, and he tasked me as his proxy to various nonprofits that he supported, including Jim Brown’s Amer-I-Can Foundation and Pete Caroll’s A Better LA. 

Kai Sato, Jim & Monique Brown, and Mace Siegel

During our earliest encounters, Jim was guarded and didn’t talk to me all that much. He later revealed that he’d initially asked himself, “Why does the old man (Mace) want this kid involved?” Then at a formal luncheon hosted by Mace, Jim and I were able to speak openly and found that we had a lot in common. We both grew up without our fathers. We both had our worlds expanded when we attended affluent high schools. We both played lacrosse and loved the game, but lacrosse wasn’t the only sport that connected us. Even more than lacrosse, we shared an obsession with golf. 

As we left the luncheon, Jim and I agreed to play a round in the near future. Walking out of the restaurant, he asked, “You think you can win?”

“I like my chances,” I replied. 

“You can’t win. I practice every day,” Jim countered. 

Mountain Gate CC

Days later, Jim and I met for our first ever golf game at Mountain Gate Country Club, which I referenced above. When I arrived at the first tee, he asked again, “You really think you can win?” Figuring he was trying to get into my head, I just smiled and looked ahead toward the fairway. Even though it was just the two of us, he had us ride in separate carts so that no player was ever waiting on the other one to bring him his clubs. But, the separate carts didn’t limit our banter, especially from his end. He was chirping at me before AND after nearly every shot.

He also won the match, straight up, refusing to take the shots he was theoretically owed from his higher handicap.

Walking off of the 18th green, he kept jawing at me, saying, “I can’t believe you let me beat you. When I was your age, there’s no way I'd let an old man beat me at anything!”

Eating lunch after the round, Jim explained why I’d lost. He said, “You can hit the ball a long way, but you got so focused on trying to beat me that you weren’t focused on executing the shots, which is all that matters. Always ask yourself, what do I need to do in order to get this ball in the hole. Ignore everything else.”

It was an experience unlike anything I'd ever encountered. Jim possessed a different level of intensity, a different level of competitiveness, and a different level of determination. He could easily napalm your comfort zone, and you both knew it.

I wanted to learn more from him.

NYC

When I was in New York for a work trip, Jim happened to be there at the same time and invited me to join his group for dinner. It was an exchange that showed me another side to him and also helped me better understand myself. 

We’d gotten to know each other fairly well at this point, on the golf course, in meetings, and even during late-night chess matches. With just the two of us talking at dinner, he acknowledged my intense drive and ambition, calling out ways that it could be both a blessing and curse. My ego enjoyed the recognition, to be seen by Jim, the ultimate alpha. Then, he dropped the bombshell, when he said that I was also “sensitive.” I was taken aback. Like most hard-charging guys in their mid-20s, I didn’t want to hear that I was sensitive, let alone admit it.

But, coming from Jim it was different, and there was always a purpose to his words and actions. Seeing my consternation, he said, “Why do you think I'm telling you this? It takes one to know one.” He then expanded on a situation that exposed his own sensitivity.

Around that time, Jim was going through a public episode with the Cleveland Browns, under Mike Holmgren’s leadership. To my dismay, he opened up to me about it and shared his sentiments. I’ll never forget when he said, “That shit hurt my feelings.”

It helped reinforce that even under the toughest of exteriors, we’re still human. It’s OK to be vulnerable. In fact, there’s great strength in it.

Mace Siegel hosting Jim Brown at his second office: Izzy’s Deli

Balboa Golf Course

My favorite golf match with Jim took place at Balboa, a public course in Encino. By this point, I’d learned to tune him out, and he sensed that I’d made that adjustment. We would still talk trash to each other, but I could now focus on executing each shot, instead of him. On this particular day, I was locked in and playing well. At one point, I even rattled off three straight birdies for the first time in my life. I could sense that Jim was genuinely happy that I was playing well because it meant that we’d have a good match, and he’d be challenged to play better, if he didn’t want to lose. 

Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying to throw me off of my game. On one tee box, he jumped out of the cart, put up his fists, and challenged me to a boxing match right on the spot. 

I declined.

Shortly thereafter, Jim dropped the ultimate trump card of psychological golf warfare. 

He said, “You can’t beat me because I know what it's like to be the best in the world at what I do. Russ (Bill Russell) and I used to talk about that all the time. You haven’t tapped into that yet. And, while you may never know what it’s like to be the best in the world at what you do, it's your job to become the best you can possibly be.”

Needless to say that gave me some things to think about…sometimes standing over the ball. Was he right? Was he just saying that to mess with me? Did he know that either way, it’d make me want to beat him more than ever, maybe causing me to press too hard?

After that, our match tightened up, but I was still one up going into the 18th hole. We both missed the green on our approach shots, but I was farther off in the rough. Right before I attempted my chip, a random golf cart bounded towards us. Two guys were driving all over the place ostensibly looking for a golf ball. Perhaps, they recognized Jim and simply wanted to drive up for a closer look, but the meandering cart delayed and distracted me. Instead of waiting for them to vacate, I hastily chipped the ball well past the hole. Jim gave the cart time to drive off and then knocked his ball close. His par beat my bogey, and we halved our match.

In the parking lot, he told me, “You should have stopped. You let those guys (in the cart) take you out of your rhythm. You should have gathered yourself before you hit that last shot. You must never make concessions when you're competing.”

With the help of his coaching, I did finally learn to beat Jim, leveraging my relative youth and length. The first time I pulled out the victory, he said nonchalantly, “Of course you won, look how far you hit it.”

Like Jim had done when he was younger, I’ve always sought out mentors and have been blessed with some great ones. But, there was only one Jim Brown, and his style of tutelage was unique. He wanted to beat you, but he also wanted to better you as a person and help you reach your potential. On the golf course, over meals, or during late night chess matches, we’d discuss a wide range of topics, like:

“How fear is the most powerful motivator”

“To never mistake popularity for respect”

“How Tiger Woods had built an aura of invincibility,” which Jim had also done during his playing career.

Thanks to Jim’s urging, I took meticulous notes of those years. He knew how special it was for me to have people like Mace and him guiding me at that stage in life. Long before I began publishing articles for HuffPost and Inc, he encouraged me to write, prodding rhetorically, “You’ve got the power of the pen, don’t you?”

One day I’ll share more of Jim’s lessons in a book about mentorship. For now, I’m grateful to have known that “bad mothafucka” and for all that he taught me. As the new NFL season gets underway, there will rightfully be many gestures to honor him. I wanted to offer mine. 

May you rest in peace, Big Fella.