The sound was unmistakable. The sharp rapping of knuckle, of bone wrapped in thin flesh, pinging rapidly upon glass encased in metal. Its cacophony started off in the distance, unseeable through the warm, heavy darkness. With each tap, it came closer, and yet I remained unable to locate its origin. Then suddenly, its clarity was made obvious, and its proximity immediate. It was the morning of our pop-up at Project Pabst, and I had overslept.
With hurried abandon, Nile, Jenn, and I packed the van up with the various accoutrements I had prepared late into the night before. Golf towels, signage, displays, ball markers, headcovers, and coolers were all swept out the front door of Matchstick HQ and onto the sidewalk. I had spent more than 200 hours over the past two months preparing to see 10,000 people per day at the Portland Waterfront, and in the final hour, I had turned my alarm off in my sleep and drifted blissfully into another REM cycle.
And despite hoping the frenzy of the morning would even over the course of the day, nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.
When the gates opened for festivalgoers at noon on Saturday, the steady flow of people to the Matchstick event space was immediate. People in Devo hats and full sleeve tattoos lined up to get a chance to throw corn hole bags and take their chance on our putting mat to win a Pabst Light Towel, golf ball marker, or both.
As Saturday continued on, it only got busier. I barely had time to scarf down part of a giant deli sandwich Jenn snagged from Safeway that morning, hiding behind the headcover display as a means to block the bevy of sesame seeds adorning my Golden Tee graphic shirt.
Sunday was much the same, with the Millennial crown there to see the likes of Japanese Breakfast, Built to Spill, and Death Cab for Cutie a bit more tame than the Iggy Pop-centric folks from the day before.
And still, the thing that surprised me the most was the fervor for the space. For several hours on Sunday, we had a line of 15+ people extending to the middle of the festival, all waiting to take a chance at the putting green. We staffed at least three people at all times, and it often wasn't enough. With a corn hole station, the putting mat, and our own booth, it was constant, and exciting, and tiring.
If you've been following along on Instagram, you know I've been refinishing a van specifically in time for this event. The Matchbox was completed late on Friday night, with Nile and I carefully applying the temporary Pabst Light vinyls to the side.
One of my favorite interactions came on Sunday, when a woman playing corn hole next to the van told me, "My husband wants to know how he wins that."
Not knowing what she meant, I asked her to clarify.
She turned around, pointed to the van, and said "That! He wants to know how to win the van?"
I laughed, told her that it wasn't part of the prizes, and thanked her for her compliment. It meant I had done a good job on refinishing the big beast — enough to where someone thought it was valuable enough to win, at least.
Most heartening from the event were the amount of people who were new golfers. Throughout both days, so many people had told us that they had just gotten into golf this summer, and we excited to see a small, local Portland company working at the event. Portland is an incredible golf town, with a very unique vibe to its golf culture. That this was a common refrain reiterated just how special it is here.
All in all, Matchstick ended up giving away 500 golf towels, and somewhere close to 850 golf ball markers. I haven't done the final count yet, but the fact there's more than a thousand new pieces of Matchstick gear floating all around the city and the country is something I couldn't have imagined when I started this company out of a hallway storage closet five years ago.
There's so much good that came out of the event for this little golf accessories company, and I can't wait to see what fun people we connect with in the coming seasons because of it.
Sunday ended as Death Cab for Cutie came on, and we made the decision to pack up. Light was fading, and I wanted to see one of my top five bands play live for the very first time. The Matchstick team broke down all our gear, re-organizing it into the Matchbox to be hauled off to HQ. By the time Death Cab was on their third song, all that was left was the artificial turf we'd rented and our own chairs. We left those, and with a Pabst in one hand and a slice of pizza on the other, I put my feet up on a cooler as Ben Gibbard sung the songs of my college days.
I tried best I could to thank Nile and Jenn for their hard work, but it'll never be enough. So many people helped me these past two months, it's not enough to thank them in person or here in writing. My mom, a schoolteacher with an open summer, helped wrap markers, sew headcovers, lay vinyl, and more. My friend Tyler stopped by to help scuff van parts in prep for paint. Friends Logan and Kelsi, from just down the street, spent an entire evening sanding trim on the van before letting me utilize their driveway for painting. My friends Jesse and Brian spent an entire day sanding the van in preparation for the main paint job. And of course, Nile and Jenn donated their time despite being 50+ hour workers at during their weekdays.
If you want to know who loves you, look for who shows up around you when you need it most. That's the best part of golf and of life. It's the community of people around you, who play with you and who help you, that makes this special chance at consciousness fulfilling. That I have those types of people around me, and all of you, is something I'll not soon forget.
I'm back at work now after a day off. My email inbox was full come Tuesday morning, and there's more artwork to draw, ball markers to wrap, and headcovers to make. We had a full weekend of 16-hour days, and now it's time for a full week of work.
Thanks to all of you who came to Project Pabst this weekend. It was a milestone for Matchstick, and in my life as an individual. I can't wait for what's next.
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