Pebble Beach offers a multitude of character -- and characters

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Chris Condon/PGA TOUR

Celebrities, like Tony Romo, take the game more seriously nowadays, but the event is always very entertaining.

This is one week where, for a few days at least, we refuse to look ahead.

We'll know soon enough if Dustin Johnson can make a run at a three-peat. Or if another one of those fresh faces we don't know will climb the leaderboard and morph into a character that will seriously grab our attention. Or if Phil can indeed give us an early-season thrill.

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We've got plenty of time to sort out how -- or if --Tony Romo's healed-up collarbone will change his scratch swing. To chime in on the what-will-Bill Murray-do-next thread. Or just to get a little sidetracked watching Drew Brees, Ray Romano and Craig T. Nelson tee it up. Or to just wish we were standing on the Monterey Peninsula taking in the view. A heck of a lot better than sliding on ice, shoveling snow or shuffling papers on a desk, right?

But until they actually tee it up in the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am, we like to remember the week for what is was.

Pebble.

Call us old, but that's what we've always called it. Some prefer the Crosby. Headlines loved the nickname Clambake, even though no one's sure one was ever really held.

It was THE event of the West Coast season -- both socially and for the golf. A week of sideways rain, waterproof jackets, fog and double sweaters that sooner or later gave way to a bright, warm sun. It was The Lodge. Club XIX. Black-and-white days and Technicolor nights.

Bing Crosby. Jack Lemmon. James Garner. Dean Martin. Lloyd Mangrum. Dave Marr telling stories with Dan Jenkins, who was always "waiting for Lana Turner" and telling grander tales. Cocktails. A haze of cigarette smoke. A party that always seemed to last until close to dawn.

The character of Pebble was, well, the characters. It was a time long before cell phone cameras and 24/7 news cycles. It was people -- not celebrities, players and sports writers -- just sitting around and having one hell of a time. Every night.

Best story ever -- and it never gets old -- is the one about Jimmy Demaret. Just having him in the room meant a party and, after one particularly long night, shall we say, he woke up, opened the curtains in his room and saw snow. "I know,'' he said, "I got drunk last night, but how did I wind up at Squaw Valley?"

So Demaret. So Pebble.

Back then, it was as much about enjoying yourself as playing great golf. It was about friendships and not taking yourself seriously once you left the golf course. It was Bing's smooth way of blending Hollywood with his love of the game and it led to players like Demaret and Arnold Palmer making cameos in movies.

If you grew up in Texas, Demaret and Jenkins and Marr and Jack Burke raised you on tales of nights around the piano and things that, today, might find their way onto You Tube. Or Twitter. Think Bubba Watson-Rickie Fowler-Ian Poulter, but with a PG-17 -- at least -- rating. Stuff not even Jenkins could make up in one of his novels.

Pebble was an annual highlight reel for those guys. They partied hard and played harder. They laughed at each other and themselves.

It was Palmer, up by six shots, asking Marr as they walked onto the final green at the 1964 Masters if he could do anything for his friend. Yes, Marr said. Make an eight.

It was Demaret's advice to a golfer who was struggling with his game:

"Take two weeks off -- then quit the game."

It was Lemmon always missing the cut and making a semi-comedic shot -- often that all important seventh or eighth shot of the hole -- usually reserved for a movie.

It was an amateur who found his ball behind a tree and Dutch Harrison weighing in with this piece of advice on how to hit it: "Under an assumed name."

We talk about the rich history of Pebble Beach. Of how it ranks as one of best in the U.S. Open rota. Of the beauty and the terror. Of how it always gives us a memorable Father's Day story.

Pebble was rich too. It was an old black-and-white film come to life. A Road-To movie with Bing, Bob and all of their closest Hollywood and golf buddies. The only challenges back then seemed to be hangovers and the weather.

Don't get us wrong. Today's AT&T still makes us laugh. Just not quite as often. The celebs take their golf -- and sometimes themselves -- much more seriously. You can't watch Romo swing without wondering if there's an Open or HP Byron Nelson qualifier in his future. The amateur field is a who's who of the business world. Guys whose companies and products are household names, but whose faces aren't.

The players? They don't gather at The Lodge and sing until dawn. They rent houses, eat early dinners and are in the fitness van before they tee off.

The golf? Give or take some grumping about the greens, the tournament seldom disappoints. Three-time winner Phil Mickelson and Johnson, whose trying to win his third-straight headline the field. Ditto for two-time champ and Ryder Cup boss Davis Love III and past champion Vijay Singh. There's a gaggle of young guns looking for their first wins; a field of celebrities that starts with Murray and Romo and keeps right on going.

The fun? It's all on the course. And on camera. You'll see Murray in bunkers and Romano giving fans a little grief. You'll likely see a slow-mo or two of Romo and Brees' swings. And who knows what we'll see on Twitter.

We'll enjoy watching. We'll celebrate the winner.

But we'll still miss the old days.

Melanie Hauser is a columnist for PGATOUR.COM and can be reached at melaniehauser@gmail.com. Her views do not necessarily represent the views of the PGA TOUR. Follow her on Twitter @melaniehauser.