DATE: Friday, October 10, 1997              TAG: 9710100902

SECTION: SPORTS                  PAGE: C1   EDITION: FINAL 

SOURCE: BY SCOTT HARPER, STAFF WRITER 

DATELINE: WILLIAMSBURG                      LENGTH:   88 lines

AT CRAZY EIGHT, EVERYTHING'S WILD AH, NO. 8 - WHERE GOLF, COCKTAILS AND ONE-LINERS COLLIDE.

The beer was flowing well before noon. It was opening day of the Michelob Classic at Kingsmill and the marshals already were hushing the fans surrounding the eighth green.

Traditionally one of the most popular, and rowdiest, spots on the golf course for fans, the shaded hills around the eighth green did not disappoint Thursday.

Jay Powelson of Richmond was betting tequila shots with his buddies Brent Robbins and Ron Bolden just after 11 a.m. ``Betcha he makes this putt,'' Powelson announced in a loud attempt at a whisper, just as pro Blaine McCallister was lining up a birdie try from about 10 feet.

McCallister missed. Powelson hung his head. His friends high-fived. ``It's gonna be a long day,'' Powelson grinned.

The eighth has a bad-boy reputation here. Its fans, who come early and stay late in the corporate hospitality suites (read: free beer) that line the near side of the green, are lovingly called the ``Crazy Eights.''

Bud Tunstall, a marshal at the hole for the past two years, recalled a caddie yelling at volunteers during a tense moment last year, ``Can't you keep them quiet?!'' When Tunstall and his crew from the Norfolk Sports Club tried to intervene, he said, a group of beverage-toting fans lifted their middle fingers in unison and went back to partying.

``Something's always going on here,'' Tunstall said, shaking his head. ``And just wait for the weekend; it'll get a lot more crowded.''

Friday afternoon, after work, is perhaps the zaniest time, veterans said. A neighbor, who lives in a home on the far side of the hole, said Saturday afternoon is perhaps the loudest time. ``It was fun for the first couple years we were here,'' he said of the big crowds and excitement that camp near his back yard. ``Now, it's kind of a pain.''

Popular for its proximity to the clubhouse, parking areas and a clutch of hospitality condos, where food, liquor and bathrooms are easily available, the eighth also is just a nice place to watch golf. The grassy hills offer a wide, clear perch for eyeing approach shots to this roller-coaster green. Big oak trees provide fans a shady respite, but there also is sun for those seeking a tan.

The players, meanwhile, face a nervous test of ball control off the tee and slippery putting on the green. They often make a birdie or much worse. Curtis Strange three-putted for a bogey here, while Dave Stockton Jr. sank an impossible, double-breaking downhiller for a birdie, then spun his hat around on his head and started laughing out loud.

Given these colorful factors, some fans never leave the eighth. Like Dianna Morely.

The Richmond resident said she and her husband sit at the eighth green all four days of the tournament, never moving. They have done so for seven years now.

``They change the pin placement, and it becomes a completely different hole each day,'' said Morely, herself a golfer. ``It's like a different story each day, and always a drama.''

A family friend, Rick Moore of Chesapeake, has been a marshal at the eighth for 12 years. ``It's shaped like a theater,'' Moore said. ``We're in the audience, and the players are below us on stage. It's beautiful.''

Then there is the fact the Morelys have friends who rent one of the nearby condos each year. (``Nothing like having a bathroom right there,'' she said.)

And then, of course, there is the babe factor. ``I like seeing the players so close like this,'' said Morely. ``They're really cute.''

So are some of the spectators. The eighth has become a weekend gathering spot of so-called beautiful people, a kind of yuppie haven where young professional men dress like the models in a Dockers ad, hang around, smoke cigars and scout for young professional women.

``Absolutely right,'' said Sean Trestin, a 20-something engineer who was busy making small talk with a 20-something girl he'd just met. ``This is a great place to hang out.''

Meanwhile, Powelson and his friends were still making bets and needling each other with friendly digs. The laughter was beginning to get louder, and the marshals kept casting them steely stares, waving their ``Quiet, Please'' signs at them.

To the green stepped Chris Perry, a tall, hefty, powerful-hitting pro.

``I like a beer gut on a player,'' Robbins said. ``He looks like he likes a good steak and a good beer. That's what golf's all about.''

During his round late Thursday, Roger Maltbie stood over a testy downhill putt and could clearly hear talking and laughing from a nearby suite. The easygoing Maltbie smiled at the distraction and turned his head toward the guilty. ``Shhh!'' he gently scolded, then missed the snaking putt.

The crowd groaned at his miss, but applauded his sense of humor.

Welcome to the eighth green. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo

NHAT MEYER/The Virginian-Pilot

``Something's always going on here,'' said one spectator at the

eighth green Thursday. ``And just wait for the weekend.''

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