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We can’t all be like Scottie Scheffler

For the record, I would have left the game. At least I think I would have.
It was Saturday, Sept. 6, 2003, and my soon-to-be wife was very pregnant. Like ready to pop pregnant.
We had an appointment for Wednesday, Sept. 10 for her to be induced into giving birth, and we were getting ready to finally meet our daughter.
But Montana Tech and Carroll College opened the football season at Alumni Coliseum in Butte that Saturday night. It was a game I had been looking forward to all summer.
I was a sportswriter at The Montana Standard, and I had the Tech football beat. That meant I got to be on the sideline as defending NAIA national champion Carroll beat Tech 19-16 in a double-overtime thriller.
Zach Titus booted a 25-yard field goal in the second overtime to give the Saints the win in what was truly one of the best games in the history of one of the best rivalries in the NAIA.
As the game was going into that second overtime, though, my phone rang. I opened the old flip phone to see that it was the pregnant Kim calling. I figured she knew I was busy, so there was only one reason to call.
The baby was coming, and I had to take her to the hospital.
I answered the phone and said, “I’m not leaving this game.” Or maybe I said, “I can’t leave this game.”
Either way, that is not what you are supposed to say when the mother of your soon-to-be born child calls you. I couldn’t help it, though. I was caught up in the moment.
I mean, we’re talking about Tech-Carroll here.
The timing couldn’t be worse. It was after 9 p.m., and I had to get the story written on deadline. I kept my own stats because the team-kept stats were not reliable back then.
Also, I had my own way of keeping notes. Had I handed them to one of my coworkers, there was no way they could have used them to write a story.
Plus, they were busy covering their games. So, my coworkers were counting on me to write a story that was probably going to be the most-read story in the paper that Sunday. The readers were also counting on me to write that story.
I was part of a team, and I was going to need Kim to wait a few hours because to have the baby. The baby was going to have to hold on and take one for the team.
Luckily, she didn’t have to do that. Kim wasn’t calling about the baby. She was probably just bored at home watching television and wanted to talk to someone.
“Oh,” she replied to my ridiculously insensitive comment. “I forgot you had the game tonight.”
While I have lots of examples that point to the contrary over the years, that night my soon-to-be wife had to be the most understanding and forgiving woman in the world.
She wasn’t even mad at me for answering the phone like a boob.
Our daughter was born, as scheduled, on Sept. 10, and Kim Mulcahy married me the next April. Last week we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. We have three kids and two dogs, and life is good.
I wouldn’t trade lives with any man — not even Scottie Scheffler. I would trade pocketbooks with him, but not lives.
My wife, on the other hand, probably could have done better with a guy like Scottie. At least she could have in September of 2003.
This weekend Scheffler won his second Masters title. Like with me in September of 2003, Scheffler is about to be a father. His wife, Meredith, is due to give birth to the couple’s first child this week.
Like with our first baby, the Scheffler’s bundle of joy waited until after the big sporting event to be born. Unlike me, though, Scheffler was more than ready to walk away from his big-time sporting event.
Scheffler was the favorite to win the tournament, and he said he would leave Augusta National “at a moment’s notice” if Meredith went into labor.
I would like to have seen what he had done had he gotten the call going into the back nine on Sunday, though. Maybe he would have left. Or maybe he would have said, “Hey, babe, hold on for a few more hours and then I’ll jump on a plane.”
Or, if he was like me, he would yell, “I am not leaving this golf course.”
Of course, Scheffler had a couple of things going for him that I did not.
For one, he is a multi-millionaire. Counting his winnings from the Masters, Scheffler has made $15.1 million in official PGA Tour earnings in 2024 alone. That doesn’t count his endorsement money.
If he would have left the course in the middle of the tournament, he wasn’t going to have to eat Top Ramen for the rest of the month.
I was making about $25,000 a year at the time.
Second, Scheffler isn’t part of a team. He plays an individual sport. While modern society has now somehow deemed it socially acceptable for professional athletes to take a paternity leave — even during a pennant race — the quarterback of a football team isn’t going to miss a playoff game because his wife goes into labor.
Not if he wants to keep being the quarterback.
That is because he is a part of a team. He owes it to his teammates, the organization that pays him handsomely and the fanbase that buys his jersey to be on the field.
Plus, there’s really not a lot the father does in the delivery room. If there are complications, he is the first one getting booted into the hallway.
The doctor isn’t saying, “Uh oh, this one is breech. We’re going to have to do an emergency C-section. Dad, scrub up and grab a scalpel.”
All I did in that room for three deliveries is get yelled at.
As if trying to listen to Rex Grossman come off the bench and lead the Bears to a come-from-behind victory over the Raiders in Oakland in 2007 (while my son was born) is such a bad thing.
But I was there during the births of all three children, and I got to be the first one to hold each of those babies — as if that is fair.
In the old days, the dads would hang out in the waiting room while the mom delivered the baby. That is, if he wasn’t at the bar handing out cigars.
Did I mention my wife is very understanding? At least 99 percent of the time I end up in the dog house, it is because of my initial reaction to things.
It is like I am Michael Scott on the office. He always does better with his second chance to answer the phone. If only I had a Pam Beesly to filter my marital conversations.
This time, though, Kim got it. She knew the Tech-Carroll game was a big one, and she knew that I couldn’t help myself when I get caught up in big football games.
She is, after all, the girl I knew I wanted to marry the second I saw her buying a “Yankees suck” T-shirt outside a Red Sox-Mariners game in Seattle 16 months earlier.
She has been there with me through good times and through hard times. She is funny, smart and beautiful, and she always has my back. She is the best teammate in the world. She gave me three children who turned out to be pretty incredible.
She is why I wouldn’t even consider trading places with any man. Not even Scottie Scheffler.
His pocketbook and short game, though, are another story.
— Bill Foley, who is now craving Top Ramen, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.
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Podcast No. 181: Irish Johnny

Today’s podcast guest is the “Director of Blarney” of the brand-new Shawn O’Donnell’s American Grill and Irish Pub in Uptown Butte.
He is “Irish Johnny,” and that is a name almost everyone in town knows. Johnny might have set a record for the most friends made in the Mining City in the shortest amount of time.
He is off the charts polite, but not in an Eddie Haskell sort of way. No, Johnny is as genuine as they come. He grew up in County Armagh in Northern Ireland, and he dreamed of coming to Butte.
As a boy, he learned of the miracle that is the “Our Lady of the Rockies” statue, which was put in place in 1985 high on a mountain top in what Johnny calls the “Ireland of the Rockies.”
Johnny got his first taste of Butte in 2020, and he fell in love.
Last summer, Johnny and the O’Donnell family purchased Mac’s Tavern and got to work on bringing an authentic Irish pub to Butte. They opened the doors on the beautiful new pub on March 8, nine days before St. Patrick’s Day.
Listen in to this podcast as Johnny talks about growing up in troubling times in Northern Ireland. Listen to how he always dreamed of coming to Butte. Listen to hear what his full name is, and why Shawn O’Donnell’s is a pub where you will not find a television.
Today’s podcast is brought to you by Casagranda’s Steakhouse. Eat where the locals eat.
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Yes, it was an illegal screen

Yelling from his seat was not enough for the Corvallis dad late in a junior varsity boys’ basketball game at Anaconda’s Memorial Gymnasium.
He had to run down to the rail behind the scorer’s bench to let me know he did not like my call.
“You can’t decide the game like that,” he yelled before the Anaconda team inbounded the ball in the final seconds of a win. “You can’t decide the game like that.”
The first thing I thought was, “I used to joke that the Anaconda refs are the worst. Now I’m being accused of being one of them.”
I did not blame the father because he was sticking up for his son and his team. I am sure I have yelled out something very similar when watching my son play.
So, I just shrugged and we went on with the game.
The father was mad at me because I called a carry violation on a player from Corvallis as he dribbled around an Anaconda defender at center court. He carried the ball on his hip for three steps between dribbles.
It was the easiest call I made all game, and I reacted out of instinct.
When I administered the inbound pass just before the call, I knew that there were just 7.9 seconds to play and that Corvallis trailed by 3-points.
No matter what any fan might say, I did not care which team won the game. I also did not care if the game went into overtime and delayed the varsity game. The varsity officials — and a lot of the fans — don’t want to see overtime in a subvarsity game throw off the schedule, but I had nothing else to do.
What happened was I saw a clear violation, and I blew my whistle.
If I was going to call that carry in the first quarter, then I should definitely call it in the final seconds. Every second of the game is important, and the outcome of a game should never be blamed on one play or call.
Well, unless you’re talking about those calls in Lambeau Field.
It was December of 2022, and I was only a few games into my subvarsity high school refereeing career, but I knew that you don’t let violations go because it is near the end of the game. Plus, not calling that carry is a call, too. Ignoring the clear violation might have altered the outcome of the game the other way.
The fans from Corvallis didn’t see it that way. If it was the other way around, the Anaconda fans certainly would not have agreed with me, either.
That night, I went straight home and watched the end of the game on the NFHS Network. I was relieved to see that the film showed that the carry violation was as egregious as I thought in real time, so I was able to sleep that night.
I thought about the carry call Friday night when an illegal screen call allegedly “decided” the outcome of the Iowa-Connecticut semifinal game of the NCAA Women’s Basketball Tournament.
It was if the two teams didn’t play the other 39 minutes, 55 seconds.
The Washington Post headline read like it was written by that Corvallis dad.
“Illegal screen foul call helps decide Iowa’s win over Connecticut in Final Four.”
Social media was ablaze after UConn’s Aaliya Edwards was called for the offensive foul after colliding with Iowa guard Gabbie Marshall in the final seconds.
The call gave the ball back to Iowa, and the Hawkeyes won 71-69.
I was watching the Red Sox beat the Los Angeles Angels that night, so I didn’t watch most of the game. I have no idea how well or poorly the game was officiated (though I assume the NCAA assigned the best of the best), but everyone on Facebook and Twitter certainly had an opinion.
When I finally watched the play, my first thought was a line from Billy Maddison.
“That’s assault, brotha.”
It was clearly an illegal screen — even if the UConn player wouldn’t have give a little shove with her arms. An offensive player cannot move into a defender like that. She cannot extend her arms or legs past the frame of her body.
Plus, it was a play that looked more like a pulling guard and a shooting guard. No way would any decent official let that go even in a high school game.
This wasn’t a ticky-tacky call made by an official trying to “decide the game” just to get Iowa and superstar Caitlin Clark into the championship game. It was as obvious as a five-step traveling call.
That is a foul in the NBA, WNBA, college, high school, middle school and grade school. If you argue otherwise, then you were probably rooting for UConn.
Some people agreed that the call was obvious, and they still didn’t want the official to make that call. The problem wasn’t the call itself, but the timing of the call, they said.
Yes, it was a big call. It meant that UConn wouldn’t get a chance to get off a last-second shot to tie or win the game.
What if the official decided to swallow the whistle because it was the finals seconds, and that meant Paige Bueckers sank a game-winning shot as time expired?
That would have meant that Iowa was cheated because the referees ignored an obvious call.
Others argue that the NCAA is doing everything it can to make sure Clark and the Hawkeyes played in that championship game. If you believe that, then you probably will never be able to be convinced that we put a man on the moon in 1969 or that Lee Harvey Oswald actually was the lone shooter of John F. Kennedy.
Sure, Clark is good for ratings because she is the greatest scorer in the history of college basketball — male or female.
But if the NCAA was really into manipulating the outcome of games like the NBA, then it would have never put LSU on the same side of the bracket as Iowa.
A rematch between Clark and the Hawkeyes and Angel Reese and the Tigers in the championship game was the way to go if you are writing a script. That title game last year was fun — except for the part when people yelled at Reese for being a poor sport for make the exact gesture toward Clark that Clark made to her teammate earlier in the game.
If the script was for Clark to make the championship game, wouldn’t you think the screenwriters would have made sure her team won the title game? After all, even Stallone knew not to have Rocky get knocked out at the end.
Having conspiracy theories is fun. Sometimes there is even some truth to those crazy claims.
If you are using that illegal screen call as an example, however, then it is time to go back to the evidence board and rearrange your photos and strings.
No, I did not watch much of the game. Maybe the referees really did cheat all night long to get Iowa into the championship game.
Here is another thought, though. Maybe — just maybe — it was just a really good basketball game between two teams filled with talented young women playing their hearts out.
Maybe — just maybe — Caitlin Clark really is a good player on a really good team.
Maybe — just maybe — the referee who called the play was simply trying to be the best official possible, just like I was trying to do in Anaconda that night.
Hopefully that dad from Corvallis will see that someday.
— Bill Foley can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.
















