Any story about Brian McBride requires a mention of his Chicago roots (he led Buffalo Grove High School to a state championship in 1988), the titanium plates that reinforce his eye sockets (thanks to his fearless headers around the goal) and what an absurdly nice person he is.
Even during a five-plus hour round at Kemper Lakes, which played like Carnage Lakes because of the strong and swirly winds that acted as a fence around some of the greens, he didn’t get the slightest bit frustrated.
Our foursome played “Wolf,” the best-ball game that calls for a rotating captain to either choose a partner or go solo. I was the lone wolf on the 377-yard 14th and scratched out a bogey.
McBride missed a 5-footer for par — and then the comebacker.
“Sorry, team,” he said earnestly, even though his two teammates had been M.I.A. on the hole.
On No. 16, I pulled my iron approach. The shot was left, low and quite lame.
“Good ball flight, though,” McBride said.
That’s when it hit me: McBride is so encouraging, so upbeat, I want him to be my coach. Too bad I’m not a youth or teenage soccer player.
“It’s better to be nice than all negative,” said McBride, who opened McBride’s Attacking Soccer Academy (mcbridesacademy.com) to help develop the next generation of goal scorers.
Among his favorite all-time coaches is Chris Coleman, the former manager of Fulham in England’s Premier League.
“A great communicator,” McBride said. “He understood there was a time to have a laugh and a time to get serious.”
McBride takes that attitude to the golf course. He liberally rips on his game, responding to a compliment about a nice up-and-down on No. 6 by replying, “Thanks, but it was an up-and-up-and-down.”
That sixth hole measured 170 yards with a back pin, and the wind howled in our faces. But McBride chose an 8-iron.
“He’s an athlete,” observed Greg LaBonar, a former high school soccer teammate of McBride’s.
“Was an athlete,” McBride replied.
McBride’s father, Matt Jr., who played at Olympia Fields and sold ads for Golf Digest, introduced him to the game. But Brian said he “despised golf at the time. I probably had A.D.D. I spent 90 percent of my awake time as a kid running around.”
His parents split when he was 3, and he was raised by mother Maddie, whose brother teaches golf in Omaha, Neb.
Brian is a member at Rolling Green, where last June he was beating his brother, Matt III, a low-80s shooter. But two of the holes were under water, and Matt III told him: “It’s not an official round unless you play all 18.”
A few days later he returned to complete those two holes, so his career-best 80 would be legit.
McBride, 38, was my teammate on the first hole, and he won it for us with a bogey. I went in for a bump but walked off with a high-five.
“Not a fist guy,” he said.
McBride generally favored low-key celebrations after goals, kissing his ring for wife Dina and making the sign of the cross. While playing in Kansas City in 1996 for the MLS’ Columbus Crew, he mimicked defensive end Neil Smith’s sack celebration — swinging a pretend baseball bat. That effort fell flat.
McBride found the net 30 times for the USA Men’s National Team and 145 more as a professional, but cockiness never suited him.
After LaBonar recalled how McBride predicted his team would win the state title before a junior English class at Buffalo Grove, McBride responded: “That doesn’t sound like me.”
No, but McBride does impressions, so he sometimes sounds like a generic Irish/Scottish/English futbol announcer, “Borat” or Arnold Schwarzenegger.
And his stories are self-deprecating. In 2000, he played in the celebrity “Fairway to Heaven” Pro-Am in Las Vegas.
Partner and tour pro Rich Beem let him try his Callaway driver that was so new, it had not hit the market. McBride swung as hard as he could, and the head came flying off.
Beem, on his cell phone, looked over and said: “Gotta go.”
“Please tell me you have another one,” McBride told Beem.
Nope.
During our round, McBride’s embarrassing moment came after he missed a short putt we all expected to fall.
“Justin Bieber was right,” he said. “Never say never.”
We all looked at him quizzically.
“Hey,” he replied, “I have three daughters!”
Twitter @TeddyGreenstein
