As Golfweek celebrates its 50th anniversary, relationships still matter

I’ve often told my non-golfing friends that one of life’s greatest teases is spending an hour or two along 17-Mile Drive — that breathtaking stretch of road winding through the Monterey Peninsula. It brushes past legendary courses like Pebble Beach Golf Links, Cypress Point, Spyglass Hill, The Links at Spanish Bay, Monterey Peninsula Country Club, and Poppy Ridge.

For around 12 bucks, even those indifferent to the game can enjoy a scenic sampler of the region, leaving with a phone full of Instagram-worthy shots of some of the most stunning landscapes imaginable.

But for those of us who live to walk mist-covered fairways and strategize our way through the world’s finest golf holes, the experience is bittersweet. We leave a piece of ourselves behind, wondering if we’ll ever find the time — or the access — to check off any boxes on this nearly mythical bucket list. The slow cruise is both exhilarating and agonizing. It’s like being offered a taste of hors d'oeuvres at a Michelin-starred restaurant, only to be shown the door just as the main course begins to emerge from the kitchen.

That was exactly how I felt two decades ago, when my daily concerns revolved around the Buffalo Bills and the Sabres. I was working five nights a week as executive sports editor and lead columnist for a daily newspaper, and two more as a weekend sports anchor on the local ABC affiliate. It was a hectic, uneasy existence, shaped by a city and its struggling franchises — post-Jim Kelly, pre-Josh Allen — when the Bills were barely a blip on the national sports radar.

Yet every summer, my personal 17-Mile Drive would resurface. The Porter Cup rolled through town, bringing the world’s top amateur golfers to Niagara Falls Country Club. I’d mingle with rising stars like Rickie Fowler, Dustin Johnson, Jason Kokrak, Colt Knost, Gary Woodland, and more. The event took over Lewiston, N.Y., the small village where I resided. A friend who hosted players built an indoor hitting bay just for Adam Scott. One rain delay gave me unexpected hours with Billy Horschel, who walked me through the finer points of his game. Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson had come through just before my time, and Max Homa and Justin Thomas followed after I’d moved on.

It was a delicious dive into a world I didn’t experience for most of the year, and when the entire circus left town after a post-tournament party in the backyard of a friend, I was always left wondering what it would be like to follow these young stars each week.

But while the golfers were the main attraction for fans, my eyes each summer turned to Ron Balicki.

Born to a family in public housing in Connecticut, Balicki spent time in Arkansas, but eventually found his way to Florida at a time when the golf scene was rapidly ramping up, and after a dozen years at the daily newspaper near Destin, he was named Golfweek’s first managing editor in 1983. While others might have used that as a means to focus solely on the pros, Balicki eventually worked his way back into the game’s grassroots, becoming a legendary college and amateur reporter.

By the time I got to tangentially know him, Balicki was a quiet, kind, and incredible presence, a man who knew the amateur level like few others. When he came to town, one of my local friends — then the tournament director — would hang on Balicki’s every word, asking for his opinion on future fields or potential changes to the tournament’s schedule and celebrations. Balicki was there to cover the event, which held crucial Walker Cup ramifications, but while he was there, those in the event’s braintrust interviewed him throughout his entire stay.

When Balicki died in 2014, Golfweek’s then managing editor Jeff Babineau (who has also since passed) penned these incredible paragraphs:

Balicki was an ambassador, serving as Golfweek’s introductory calling card and first handshake to promising amateurs and college players. He not only got to know players, but grew close with their families, too, forging lifelong friendships. Phil Mickelson called him from Doral a few weeks ago to thank Ron for his integrity. When amateur Rickie Fowler decided that he was turning pro in 2009, he stopped mid-practice round and made the one call he knew he needed to make, phoning Balicki.

His span covering the college game dated to the powerhouse teams of Coach Dave Williams at the University of Houston in the 1980s, and he wrote a great deal about the Stanford teams of the mid-90s that included a rising star named Tiger Woods. Every young American champion of the last three decades who has risen through the amateur ranks – from Scott Verplank to Davis Love III to Mickelson to Justin Leonard to Woods to Ryan Moore to Fowler – was anointed somewhere along his early path with a story carrying a Ron Balicki byline. For years, before the Internet rolled around, he’d even keep his own stats and scribble out Golfweek’s weekly college and amateur rankings by hand on tall, yellow legal pads.

Ron Balicki’s story is foundational to Golfweek’s existence — not just for what he contributed to the game, but for how he did it. He was revered not for bravado, but for depth of knowledge. His legacy is built on longevity, expertise, and humility — not bombast.

As Golfweek celebrates its 50th anniversary, we honor the journey from Charley Stine’s garage in Winter Haven, Florida, to becoming a global voice in golf. Originally printed on paper, Golfweek was the lunchpail-toting publication that mirrored Balicki’s ground-up approach — building trust with players and fans alike. As Curtis Strange recently told me, “We read all the golf publications, but we couldn’t wait to get to Golfweek — to see the stats from every amateur event and compare ourselves with other players. We had to have it.”

Five decades later, the spirit of Balicki, Babineau, Stine, and others who shaped this publication lives on. It’s reflected in Cameron Jourdan’s extensive amateur golf coverage, Jason Lusk’s deep dives into courses, David Dusek’s exhaustive equipment testing, and Eamon Lynch’s incisive columns. And while Beth Ann Nichols and Adam Schupak lead our extensive pro tour coverage, Golfweek remains committed to celebrating the entire game — not just when the purses are biggest.

These relationships endure. I was reminded of that at this year’s Valero Texas Open, when Brian Harman lit up recalling his 2007 Porter Cup win — a record-setting performance that still tops the event's all-time leaderboard. Or when I heard a touching story from the family who housed Horschel during his amateur days near my hometown. Soon after the family patriarch passed away, Horschel won the 2014 FedEx Cup, a moment that changed his career’s trajectory. Yet he found the time to quickly text them a photo of the trophy, adding, “This one’s for your dad.”

Golfweek’s 50th anniversary isn’t just a milestone — it’s a tribute to the relationships, stories, and spirit that have defined the publication for half a century. And it’s a promise that those values will continue to guide us into the next.

Tim Schmitt is the managing editor of Golfweek, and has just two of the 17-Mile Drive courses crossed off his list.

This article originally appeared on Golfweek: Golfweek at 50: Relationships still matter