This bit killed me
Before Smith and his wife, Kerri, had kids, they used to go back to the course a lot during the offseason. He bought his wife a chainsaw. She'd cut the trees; he'd mow the greens.
There is nothing exclusive or pretentious about Railwood. It exists for everybody in the tiny town of Holts Summit, Mo., and nearby Jefferson City. In the clubhouse, they serve Budweiser and a handful of one-syllable American beers. (Smith, by the way, has an Anheuser-Busch tattoo on his left bicep.) "He gives me trouble because I like wine," said his father, Dave. "He's like, 'Geez, Dad.'"
It is clear that the golf course means a lot to Justin Smith. It was built on his granddad's old farmland. His dad grew up there. When the course was in financial trouble 10 years ago, it was Smith who came in and bought it from some local investors. On the 17th green, the highest point, you can see the Missouri River and Jefferson City, a town of 43,000 where all of this started for a rancher's kid who didn't grow up with cable TV. He didn't have time for it.
Someday, Smith tells his friends, his little boys will know about this land, and this community. Smith might not have known this when he bought it, but Railwood is more than just a golf course. It's a place where people connect. The high school teams hold banquets and fundraisers in the clubhouse. The locals drink coffee and eat breakfast there and talk about sports.
Basically, his wife is tougher than most men, he loves where he comes from and he supports it and doesn't give two site decorums what anyone has to say about that.
Who deserves a ring more than this guy? God I love this team.