A few years back, I sat next to Dan Hicks in an Orlando steakhouse talking about working in television, which he’d been doing to acclaim for decades and I, stutteringly, for a hot minute. I asked a question that I often put to accomplished companions at dinner: what was the worst screw-up from which he learned the most? He didn’t hesitate to search for an answer.
Dan recalled one of his earliest assignments in golf for NBC Sports, at what was then known as the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. He was emceeing the trophy presentation on the 18th green, during which he was to be alongside the tournament host, who even then was well stricken in years. Ahead of the ceremony, he received a final word of advice from Tommy Roy, the longtime NBC golf producer.
“Do not, under any circumstances,” Roy told him, “lose the microphone.”
Sitting in that restaurant years later, Hicks gave a comical account of a tug-of-war that went entirely unnoticed by viewers. As he welcomed in Hope, Dan hovered his stick mic closer to the legendary entertainer so that he might offer a few words. Hope attempted to take it. Dan held on. Almost imperceptibly, Hope tugged a little harder. Smile fixed, Dan kept a Vulcan death grip. In the end, he lost out to guile and experience when Hope snatched the mic and turned to address the crowd.
Dan described hearing an anguished, guttural groan in his earpiece from the production truck.
“Uggghhhhh.”
What remained of the broadcast would now run on Bob Hope’s schedule, not Tommy Roy’s.
That was the last time Dan lost control of the microphone, which he wielded with assurance and diligence until his unexpected passing on Nov. 11 at the age of 64. His was a career that seemed to have precious few screw-ups that might be rendered fodder for laughs over dinner, but he’d probably argue the over on that.
A summer evening in St Andrews with Dan, 2022. We joked about being the only guys in the photo without a PGA Tour win. pic.twitter.com/919WqGzmzt
— Eamon Lynch (@eamonlynch) November 12, 2026
For more than three decades, he was the soundtrack to some indelible memories for sports fans, whether they were following the exploits of Tiger Woods, Michael Phelps, or Notre Dame football. He knew exactly what to say and — just as importantly — when to say nothing at all.
Some of his finest moments have been played on a loop in recent days, like the “Expect anything different?” call as Woods forced a playoff at the 2008 U.S. Open, and the frantic closing seconds of the men’s swimming relay race at the Olympics that same summer. The blessing of having excelled in a high-profile job is that he leaves an admirable body of work through which he will be remembered.
Others have memories that are more personal, but equally enduring. My relationship with Dan was one of casual friendship. He’d text occasionally about a column he’d read or show he’d seen, or to joke about Brad Faxon’s fashion sense (sorry, Brad!). I’d study him to see what I could learn, admitting to him that I felt like a 15-handicap chop trying to borrow moves from Scottie Scheffler. We’d see each other a handful of times each year walking the range at tournaments, and at the Payne Stewart Award dinner that he hosted. A few times we went from there to Nan’s, a Thai restaurant in Atlanta where Dan was as well-known, as comfortable and as loved as in his own kitchen at home.
Those dinners were like every interaction with Dan: flush with sharp observations, memorable storytelling and riotously funny one-liners. But what I’ll remember most from those times is his unfailing encouragement. He was a one-man tide intent on lifting all boats. Everyone felt a little better about themselves after time in his company. That’s rare in a business riven with insecurities and egos.
He was a Colossus in sports media, but you wouldn’t have known it from his demeanor. Dan knew his place in the firmament, but had no compulsion to remind anyone else of theirs. But more than the applause or the accolades or the Emmys, he was just a good hang, and for that alone he will be sorely missed.
His grip on the microphone has been loosened for the first time since Bob Hope wrestled it from him all those years ago. Dan Hicks leaves the world of sport — particularly ours, and the many people within it— richer for his presence.
Eamon Lynch is a columnist for Golfweek and frequent contributor to the Golf Channel. Follow him on X/Twitter (@eamonlynch).
This article originally appeared on Golfweek: Lynch: Remembering Dan Hicks | Opinion
