Had anyone, I asked myself, won more of these things, over a wider geographic region, than Rory?

As it turned out, that was an incredibly naive question. Rory has done just fine for himself, with six titles on four continents, but he doesn’t even come close to the all-time greats.

McIlroy’s six national open wins start with the U.S. Open in 2011 (top left) and end with last month’s Canadian Open victory (bottom right). Getty Images (6)

I know that because one weekend day I spent about seven hours compiling a spreadsheet of national open champions throughout golf history. It was as painstaking an exercise as you might guess, and I was doomed the minute I started. The sheer scope of the project occurred to me about an hour into the work, at which point I whispered, “I wish I knew how to quit you,” to the spreadsheet. But the questions nagged: Had anyone won on all six continents? (As far as I can tell, there is no Antarctica Open.) Had anyone won more than 10 different national opens?

I couldn’t stop. The results piled up, country by country, and before I reveal them, I want to set the parameters. What constitutes a “national open”? In my book, the criteria were:

1. It must be named after the entire country, not a city or a region. If it changes names at some point, like the “Polish Open” becoming the “Warsaw Open,” it’s no longer a national open (but remains in that category for the years before the change).

2. It must be a professional event, but not a seniors-only event.

3. It must be an accepted country or an autonomous region—of the latter, the only three I found were the Hong Kong Open, the Scottish Open and the now-defunct Madeira Islands Open.

Before the grand reveal—which we’ve also timed to correspond with the three-tournament stretch beginning this week of the Irish Open, Scottish Open and Open Championship—I want to stress that this list is almost certainly not complete. I found 63 national tournaments spanning six continents, from the Ivory Coast to Mexico to Bangladesh to New Zealand to Belgium. Undoubtedly, there are some I’m missing that are not so “easily” discoverable. In addition, to keep myself sane as I was compiling, I did not list every single winner of every single national open—I picked only the ones who were multiple winners or who had won other opens, meaning that even though there are 172 golfers represented on my spreadsheet, the likes of Mya Aye, the one-time winner of the Indonesian Open in 1976, is not on there. The leader board is mostly accurate in terms of the all-time leaders because I checked and re-checked their records, but even then, some Asian golfers might be short-changed because of incomplete records.

The point is, it’s a comprehensive list without being perfect. Enjoy it with a small-ish grain of salt. Now then, without further ado, the great master list of national open champions can be found here, with the top 10 listed below.

As you see, it’s broken down by player, total wins, distinct open tournaments won, and then wins by continent. For those who don’t want to pore over every cell, here are my favourite findings:

1. Roberto De Vicenzo is the undisputed king. The World Golf Hall of Famer from Argentina (top photo) won 41 separate national opens in 14 countries, both records. He made his mark in North America (Panama Open and Mexican Open) and captured five different European opens (British, German, French, Spanish and Dutch). It was, not surprisingly, in South America where he really racked things up, winning all seven contemporaneous national opens at least once, including nine Argentine Opens. The only South American-based Open he failed to win was the Ecuador Open because that one started in 2014. (Fun fact: Nate Lashley, this week’s big surprise winner at the Rocket Mortgage Classic, took home the Ecuador title in 2016.)

Roberto De Vicenzo

2. Or is Gary Player the undisputed king? He has “only” 28 national open wins to De Vicenzo’s 41, but he has won on five separate continents—the only man to do so. One of the very exciting parts of the research process was discovering the Brazil and Chile Opens late in the game, both of which Player won to give him his South American titles. If only he’d won a single Asian national open, he would have all six. (For the record, Player has won in Asia in non-national open events.)

3. Seve Ballesteros has the most victories in Europe. The revered Spaniard had 22 overall wins in eight national opens, and there are two golfers who tie him among Europeans for the most individual opens played with eight each: Colin Montgomerie and Bernhard Langer. Interestingly, neither one of the latter two won a British Open. Seve could have established total domination with nine discrete wins on the continent, but he lost the 1983 Italian Open in a playoff to—wait for it—Langer.

Ballesteros en route to winning the 1979 Open Championship at Royal Lytham and St Anne’s. (Leo Mason/Popperfoto)

4. Peter Thomson rules Oceania. He’s got three Aussie Opens and a whopping nine New Zealand Opens. Add the eight wins in Europe (including his five British Open titles) and seven in Asia, and he ranks third in all-time Open wins.

5. Hsieh Yung-yo, whom I had never heard of before, won 16 times in Asia. The 84-year-old from Taiwan had wins in Singapore, South Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand and the Philippines. Meanwhile, Taiwan’s Lu Chien-Soon, 59, pulled off the impressive feat of winning six individual opens in Asia, and each tournament just once. Thailand’s Thongchai Jaidee also won six, but it’s Taiwan’s Lu Hsi-Chuen who is the only player, by my records, to have won seven national opens in Asia: Taiwan, Malaysia, India, Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand and Singapore.

6. Mohammed Said Doche might be my favourite entry of all. He won just one national open, the Egyptian Open, but he won it a marvellous 24 times. Nobody comes close in total victories in Africa—Gary Player is next at 14. Other big one-time-only winners are Amr Abu El Ala (12, also at the Egyptian Open), Larry Montes (12, at the Philippine Open) and Peter Toogood, who won eight Tasmanian Opens.

7. And what about current players? Aside from guys on the PGA Tour Champions, the reigning champ is Jaidee, with 11 national opens in eight countries. After that, you have to head down the list to Miguel Angel Jimenez, Ian Poulter and McIlroy, all with six individual titles. Rory, interestingly enough, has managed to win on four continents—one of only six people, including Player, Bobby Locke, Vijay Singh, Greg Norman and Tom Watson, to do so. At age 30, there’s plenty of time for McIlroy to capture one more each in South America and Africa to become golf’s first six-continent national open winner.

I’ll close with a message to Rory, the man who prompted this whole thing: I know you’re targeting that career Grand Slam every year at Augusta, but if you really want to go global with your ambitions, the Venezuelan and Kenyan Opens await.

The post From the U.K. to Nigeria to Taiwan, we’ve crowned the king of golf’s national opens appeared first on Golf Digest Middle East.

GARY PLAYER SAID IT BEST: “We spend 10 hours a day at the course playing and working on our games, so the least we can do is take two minutes to make sure our score is correct.” Knowing how strict The Rules of Golf are on that, it’s hard to argue with Gary. What’s funny is, scorecard mistakes continue to be made. At least once a year I’ll read about some mishap, and I’ll think, Oh, no, not again.

● ● ●

WHEN I CAME OFF 18 after the final round of the 1968 Masters, everyone, myself included, thought I had tied with Roberto [De Vicenzo]. I walked directly to the scorer’s table just behind the green. It was a little chaotic. Roberto and Tommy Aaron were sitting there, as was my playing partner, Ray Floyd, and I believe an official. I vaguely wondered why Roberto was still there, when he’d been two holes ahead of me. I remember saying something to Roberto along the lines of, “I guess we’ll be playing together tomorrow.” But Roberto didn’t say anything. He seemed lost in thought. I wasn’t alarmed by that. My attention was all on checking and signing my scorecard. When I finished, I left the table and was lingering near the green. Sam Snead had hung around to watch me come in, and he and Doc [Cary] Middlecoff approached me. Doc, who had just finished his hole coverage for CBS, said to me, “You just won the tournament.” I said, “What the hell are you talking about?” I looked up at the scoreboard, and it showed Roberto and me both at -11. Then Doc, who was privy to what was being said through his TV headgear, said, “Roberto screwed up his scorecard.”

● ● ●

WHAT HAPPENED WAS, Tommy Aaron was playing with Roberto and kept his scorecard. For the 17th hole, Tommy wrote down a 4 for Roberto when Roberto actually had made a birdie 3. It’s up to the player to check his scorecard and make sure it’s right, because after you sign it and leave the area, that’s it. I always was careful to check and double-check my card, putting actual check marks by the individual holes. Most players do some form of that, because errors like that happen all the time. I mean, every week, because if I’m playing with you, I’m not as careful recording your scores as I am my own. Looking back, I played with Roberto on Saturday of that Masters. I kept his card. After we sat down to go through them, I hadn’t gotten past my first hole when Roberto tossed his in and left. I happened to get it correct, but it’s a good thing I did. It was just his way. Eventually, it cost him.

● ● ●

THE PRESENTATION CEREMONY wasn’t what it could have been. I sat next to Roberto and did what I could to console him. There’s video of me patting him on the leg. I felt no elation, nothing like you’d expect from winning the biggest tournament of your life. It was awkward. It was tragic for Roberto, but it was equally unfortunate for me. I never did get full credit for what I’d done. I played damned well, especially the last day [the 66 matching De Vicenzo’s amended score].

● ● ●

I STATED AT THE TIME that I wished there could have been a playoff, but what I meant by that was, I wished perhaps that the penalty had thrown us into a playoff rather than me winning outright. As it was, there was no way I was going to refuse the victory. To do so would have been very disrespectful to Augusta National and the Masters. And it would have been a one-man mutiny against The Rules of Golf. Consider for a minute how many golfers would have refused to accept rulings in the future had I done that. How many would have imposed their own codes as to what was “right”? I was not about to put myself above the game.

Augusta National
Goalby receiving his green jacket from Gay Brewer.

   ● ● ●

I RECEIVED HATE MAIL like you wouldn’t believe, telling me I was the worst son of a bitch who ever lived. One guy wrote, “They ought to put you and Sonny Liston in a sack of concrete and dump you in the ocean.” The negative-to-positive ratio was 10-to-1 negative. The letters piled up, and every one of them hurt. For some reason, I’ve kept that hate mail. I don’t know why. Maybe to one day explain to people what the experience was like.

● ● ●

IT SHOULD BE KNOWN THAT ROBERTO [who died last year at 94] and I were friends before that Masters and for many years after. Not like brothers, but to the point that we partnered in two Legends of Golf tournaments.

● ● ●

I’LL TELL YOU A STORY I’ve kept mostly to myself all these years. It’s a true story because the man who told it to me, the late Jack Tuthill, had as much integrity as any man ever. Three weeks after the 1968 Masters, Roberto won the Houston Champions International tournament. Jack was tournament director for the PGA Tour and was on-site. He told me that Roberto left the scoring tent without signing his card; the penalty is disqualification. Jack told me he struggled with himself at that moment, because on one hand there was the letter of the law, while on the other was the unholy mess that would arise if Roberto was DQ’d by, of all things, another scorecard incident. What do you do? Jack searched for Roberto, found him and brought him back to sign his card.

● ● ●

TUTHILL HAD A LOT OF INTEGRITY. He was working as an official at the Masters in 1972. On the second hole, Arnold Palmer left a bunker shot in the bunker, then whacked the sand with his club in anger. Jack immediately hit Arnold with a two-shot penalty for grounding his club in the bunker. It was absolutely the right call, but after the round officials convened and decided to rescind the penalty. That kind of thing happened at Augusta on occasion. This one did not sit well with Jack. He felt belittled by it. He refused to work as an official there again.

‘There was no way I was going to refuse the victory. … It would have been a one-man mutiny against The Rules of Golf.’

● ● ●

ONE OF THE TV NETWORKS seized on the idea of a head-to-head match between Roberto and me. Within a couple of days, the offer came in: We’d play that Thursday at Firestone in Akron, and the offer for me was $90,000 [Goalby made $20,000 at the Masters to De Vicenzo’s $15,000]. I don’t know what Roberto was offered, but I declined. Put yourself in my spot. If I agreed and Roberto beat me, I in essence lose the green jacket. If I win, it’s a nice bit of cash, but so what?

● ● ●

SAM SNEAD AND I PLAYED practice rounds at the Masters together for many years. I always came ready to play, because Sam had a huge following there and treated it like the tournament itself. He also loved to bet, and when he won, he would insist on getting paid on the 18th green. “Hey, boy, you owe me $10,” he’d say so all the patrons could hear him. But when you beat him, he fled to the clubhouse. You had to collect in a corner of the locker room, where nobody could see.

● ● ●

IN 1960, Sam and Mickey Wright partnered in the old Haig & Haig Scotch Foursome, a mixed-team event. Sam was still a dynamite player, Mickey was the best woman there was, and everyone figured they’d win by 10. On the first hole, Mickey bombed a drive, and Sam hit the approach to three feet. Mickey missed the putt, and Sam grumbled within earshot of Mickey, “I guess I’ll need to hit the goddamned thing closer next time.” Can you imagine saying something like that to any partner, let alone Mickey Wright? But that was Sam. It really upset Mickey. They both played lousy and didn’t contend.

● ● ●

SAM WAS THIS AMAZING PHYSICAL SPECIMEN. Not only did he have super-long arms—he wore a 36-inch sleeve—he had enormous thighs and huge calves, which I thought were the source of his great agility and balance. Coming off the second green at the Masters in a practice round one year, Sam chose to go over the gallery rope rather than use the walkway. The rope was about 20 inches off the ground, and Sam casually jumped over it, clicking his heels in midair as he flew to the other side. It might not sound like much, but try it. He was in his 70s at the time.

● ● ●

IN THE FINAL ROUND of the 1967 U.S. Open at Baltusrol, I was paired with this unknown guy from Texas. His name was Lee Trevino, and he finished fifth, one stroke ahead of me. I told my wife, “Don’t worry, this guy will linger, but he won’t last.” Dumbest prediction I ever made. Years later I made the mistake of telling Lee what I’d said. For years he’d begin his speeches with, “Bob Goalby said I’d never make it.” He got a big kick out of hanging me out to dry.

● ● ●

ONE TIME I WAS PAIRED with Jerry Barber. He was a feisty little guy, only 5-5 but a heckuva player. He won the 1961 PGA Championship hitting a tee ball that rarely went more than 220 yards. He also looked for every advantage and was not above pulling a little gamesmanship. On the first hole of this tournament, after I’d marked my ball with a dime, Jerry walked over and put a penny on top of my coin. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked. Jerry said, “I can see the glare from your dime when I putt.” I didn’t like that, but I let it go. On the next hole, he covered my dime again, and I started to boil. On the third hole, he came again toward my dime, which wasn’t near his line. As he stooped over, I said, “Jerry, if you cover my dime again, I’m gonna cover you.” I meant it. Jerry backed off, but that’s how it was in those days. You had to stand your ground.

● ● ●

THERE WERE SO MANY CHARACTERS. You’ve heard of Moe Norman. In 1958, during one of his tries on the PGA Tour, we were playing in New Orleans. After Saturday’s round, Moe was in second place. Doug Ford and I invited Moe to dinner at Morrison’s Cafeteria. Moe said, “I’m going home tomorrow night. I’m out of money; out of money”—he said everything twice. Doug said, “What do you mean? You’ve been making money, and you’re going to make more. How could you be out of money?” Moe explained he’d been given $1,500 by the Canadian PGA to play the American tour, and that he’d gone through it paying expenses. “But what about the prize money you’ve made?” Doug asked. Moe said, “Oh, that’s my money. I’m not going to spend my money.” Like I say, he was a character.

● ● ●

BILLY CASPER used to visit wounded soldiers in hospitals in Vietnam. He was a great humanitarian that way. One day, my nephew, Jay Haas, was walking on the beach near Charleston, S.C. He started talking with an older guy who also was out walking. It turned out that the man had been a captain in the Army, had been wounded badly and was close to taking his own life. He said Billy saved his life. Jay got the man a ticket to the Masters, and there was this moment when Jay brought Billy over to greet the captain. It was the most emotional thing I’ve ever seen.

● ● ●

IN HIGH SCHOOL, I fouled out of 14 straight basketball games. When someone took the ball from me, my first instinct was to get it back. I’d get a little aggressive. One time I fouled out before halftime, which really made my coach mad. “You’re no damned good to me sitting on the bench,” he said. But it didn’t sink in. I’d do anything to protect what was mine, including the basketball.

● ● ●

WILT CHAMBERLAIN never fouled out of an NBA game. He also revealed a personal stat of sleeping with 20,000 women. A buddy of mine from Kentucky told me he was very upset by that. When I asked him why, he said, “Because Wilt beat me by one.”

● ● ●

GROWING UP DURING THE DEPRESSION made you careful with money. As a pro, I was pretty frugal. I felt like I had to be, because the first four tournaments I won, I collected a total of $8,000. You’ll find it hard to believe, but in 1958 I played every tournament, 42 in all.

‘At some point, we have to acknowledge that golfers today are better in every way.’

● ● ●

CORAL GABLES OPEN, 1960. Final round, I’m playing with Arnold Palmer and have a two-stroke lead playing the last hole. I hit the green, and Arnold’s in the bunker. So if he gets up and down, I still have three putts to win. As my caddie, Walter Montgomery, breaks through the people onto the green, damned if he didn’t accidentally kick my ball off the green. It was a one-stroke penalty, and the rules said I had to play from where my ball came to rest. Walter kicked the ball into a tough spot, too. Arnold hit his bunker shot close. Standing over the pitch I thought, This is a tough way to make a living. Fortunately I chipped to five feet and made it to win by one.

Augusta National

● ● ●

I’VE READ A FEW PEOPLE say that if Nicklaus was in his prime and playing today, he’d be as long as Dustin Johnson. I’m not so sure. Jack was immensely powerful, but keep in mind, he was only 5-10. Dustin is 6-4 and has long, sinewy arms. The width and length of his swing arc are incredible, and he has the strength to go after it. Even allowing for equipment, I doubt Jack could keep up with some of these guys, at least not with the driver. At some point, we have to acknowledge that golfers today are better in every way. If they weren’t, it would mean my generation didn’t do a good job bringing them along.

● ● ●

THE BEST CURE FOR A HOOK is to turn 88 years old. I play three times a week but don’t hit the ball hard enough to curve it an inch one way or the other. I’m so short I can hear the ball land—without turning up my hearing aid.

● ● ●

UNTIL 1965, I fought a hook with my driver something awful. At Colonial that year, Ben Hogan took me to his plant in Fort Worth and gave me a club that was stamped “3” on the bottom but was really a strong brassie, or 2-wood. “Don’t show this club to anyone,” he said. This club was incredible. It was bored 3 degrees open and had a very deep face, with very little roll from the sole to the topline. The ball came off low, hot and straight, with very little spin. It rolled forever. At the 1967 U.S. Open at Baltusrol, I had the longest drive of the week at No. 17—308 yards—and my driving game was transformed. I’d crush a tee shot out there and then hold the club so they could see only the “3” on the bottom.

● ● ●

I BROKE THAT BRASSIE before the 1968 Masters, and the fear of the hook came back. I tried everything. For a time, I traveled with a 20-pound metal bar in the trunk of my car. I’d swing it with my left arm only, thinking that it would build up my left side while keeping my right side in check. It kind of worked, but the fear of the hook never did go away.

● ● ●

EARLY THAT SUNDAY AFTERNOON at Augusta in ‘68, while I was on the range warming up before the final round, the parking lot filled up. In those days, the overflow spilled onto the range. Just as I reached for my driver, a Pinkerton guard said, “That’s it, the range is closed.” There was no use arguing with the guy. So on my way back toward the course, I stopped at a small short-game area near the clubhouse, teed a few balls and launched them into an area where I knew there were no patrons.

● ● ●

I WALKED TO THE 15TH TEE right in the thick of it. Understand, I was a good player, but not a world-beater. I won 11 tournaments, played the Ryder Cup. But the Masters is a different animal. I knew that what happened over the next 40 minutes could change my life.

● ● ●

AT THE 15TH, I was feeling the heat. I hit a huge drive and had only a 3-iron left. I hit it solid, a nice draw that stopped eight feet from the hole. And then I made the putt for eagle. On the wall of my home in Belleville is a letter, framed, to me from Bobby Jones. There’s a part where he says, “I was particularly thrilled by your exquisite second shot to the 15th, which was the finest I have seen played to that hole.” Jones was present when Gene Sarazen made his double eagle there in 1935, so that’s some high praise.

● ● ●

I WAS ON THE GREEN at 17 but a long way from the hole. I left my first putt well short, which is what tends to happen when you’re choking like a dog, and missed the par putt, my only three-putt of the tournament. On 18, my tee shot clipped a tree branch on the right and left me a long way to the green. My caddie that week was Frank Stokes, known as Marble Eye. He wanted me to hit a 3-iron, and I thought it was a 2-iron. He told me the 2-iron was too much club. I told him, “If you’re wrong, you know where this club is going.” I hit the 2-iron anyway, but I took something off it due to Marble Eye’s advice. I hit it to the back of the green and lagged my first putt down to four feet. I felt I needed that putt to tie and was very nervous, which made me angry at myself. As I stood over the ball I growled to myself, You choking [expletive], stand up there like a man and hit the [expletive] thing. Forgive my language, but that’s what I said. I took two quick practice strokes, then drilled it dead center.

● ● ●

AT THE CHAMPIONS DINNER, Cliff Roberts always invited players to give suggestions to make the tournament better. One year, Art Wall, who won in 1959, suggested that more attention be given to starting times for past champions. He complained that he’d had many that were very early and late, and that he was embarrassed by them. When Art got home, a letter from Cliff was waiting for him. It included every one of Art’s tee times from 1959 on, and it turned out they all were excellent. Art told this story on himself. He said he kept quiet at the dinners after that.

‘The letters piled up, and every one of them hurt. For some reason, I’ve kept that hate mail.’

● ● ●

ONE YEAR I TOOK MY MASTERS GREEN COAT home with me to get it tailored. It was getting a little tight, and it’s a pain trying to get it tailored at Augusta. I had the coat on when I got off my morning flight, and darned if I didn’t get a call from Augusta National that same afternoon, asking me to return it immediately. Heaven knows how they found out I had it.

● ● ●

LAST YEAR, MY ALMA MATER, Belleville High School, installed artificial turf on the field. They named it Bob Goalby Field. I don’t cry easily, but at the dedication ceremony, people said such nice things about me that tears came to my eyes. That never happened in golf. Even though I won the Masters, it’s the memory of quarterbacking Belleville to a 6-0 win over East St. Louis High School in 1946 that thrills me the most. I still dream about it. As I see it, naming something after you in your hometown is the greatest honor a man can have.

● ● ●

WE’RE AT THE 50-YEAR mark of that Masters, and history is being kinder to me. Young people especially don’t know about the controversy because it was so long ago. To them, I’m just a Masters champion. They’ll say, “That’s so cool. What year did you win? Can you tell me about it?” And I tell them about how I shot 66 on Sunday, the overflowing parking lot and the letter Bobby Jones wrote me about my shot to the 15th. Time is allowing me to be at peace and to feel even more proud and satisfied.

The post Bob Goalby: Finding Peace 50 Years Later appeared first on Golf Digest Middle East.

The 2017 Open Championship is one we’ll never forget for many reasons, but the image that will undoubtedly stand the test of time is that of Jordan Spieth hitting a 3-iron from the range, next to a Titleist truck, over a huge mound, without really knowing the yardage, all after a 20-minute delay. It led to an incredible bogey save that sparked Spieth’s remarkable final five-hole stretch, ending with him lifting the claret jug.

Earlier this week, Spieth signed and sent the famous 3-iron back to Royal Birkdale, where it will be on display for years to come. In light of this news, we thought of some other indelible golf mementos that also deserve their place in history.

The 1999 U.S. Ryder Cup Shirt

Two words: Fire Flames.

All of the clubs Jean van de Velde used on the 18th hole in the 1999 British Open at Carnoustie

David Cannon

The driver, the 2-iron, the wedge, the putter, hell throw the shoes and socks in there, too.

Tiger Woods’ mock turtleneck

Icon Sports Wire

Among Tiger’s many accolades, perhaps the most impressive is that he won at Augusta while wearing a t-shirt. Truly remarkable.

Rory’s alarm clock from the 2012 Ryder Cup

Hero Images

Were iPhones not a thing five years ago? They literally change the time to whichever time zone you’re in.

Roberto De Vicenzo’s 1968 Masters scorecard

Bettmann

Yes, the Rules of Golf lacked common sense in 1968, and still do now. Shocking stuff.

Ian Woosnam’s 15th club from the 2001 British Open at Royal Lytham & St. Annes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYV-csdgRv0

Not many know who caddie Miles Byrne is… but we do know he had one job.

Robert Allenby’s bar tab from Hawaii

Does this guy know how to party or what?

Dustin Johnson’s socks from his 2017 Masters fall

Image by cesarr t.

We are, of course, assuming that the staircase was one of those slippery hardwood ones.

The fire hydrant Tiger Woods’ crashed into

Caja Digital

Sorry, we had to.

Anthony Kim’s ‘AK’ belt

Sam Greenwood

Swagger on a billion.

Woody Austin’s Presidents Cup goggles

Scott Halleran

One of like three things the Presidents Cup is known for. Not sure what that says about the event.

Jordan Spieth’s divot from the 12th hole at the 2016 Masters

David Cannon

Can you frame grass? If so, probably going to need a large frame for this sod.

Martin Kaymer’s scarf thing

Hitting the slopes or playing in the WGC-Accenture Match Play? Hard to tell.

The post 13 other great golf mementos that deserve their place in history appeared first on Golf Digest Middle East.

By Jaime Diaz

Last week when Roberto De Vicenzo died at 94, our website revisited a story about a 2006 visit I made to Buenos Aires to see the great Argentine. Although the Roberto I met carried himself with a beautiful equanimity, he revealed that throughout his career he had carried an ever-present inner tension. The same man who chased the perfect swing with such intensity that the face of an old 7–iron (the club he called “my professor”) became concave enough to cradle a ball, also resisted spending extended periods in the United States.

Of course, he knew that only steady exposure to the competition and the arenas in the U.S. would make him the best golfer possible and afford him the most significant historical mark. But it also meant missing the profound peace he found among family and friends in his native culture.

I’m no student of poetry, but De Vicenzo’s narrative gave me a chance to quote the opening lines of the W.B. Yeats poem “The Choice” to capture the dilemma that particularly confronts the gifted: “The intellect of man is forced to choose/Perfection of the life, or of the work.”

In De Vicenzo’s era, it was almost a given that American professional golfers chose the work. It was partly due to how career progress took on preeminence in post-World War II America, and also the nature of golf. The game’s imperfectability, solitary nature and moments of intoxicating joy make it particularly susceptible to obsession. For the professional golfer, the requirements of extensive travel and the devotion required to stay competitive against the other gifted obsessives further the vicious cycle. As Ben Hogan, the paragon of “the work” provided a mantra: “Every day I missed practicing takes me one day longer to be good.”

But last week, Phil Mickelson, a champion since childhood and the winner of 42 PGA Tour events including five major championships, informed the world that he had chosen the life. Specifically, that on Thursday of the U.S. Open in Wisconsin, he plans to attend his daughter’s high school graduation in California, where she will give the valedictorian speech, and thus will not play in the championship.

At first there was shock. Everyone knows that the U.S. Open is the missing piece in Mickelson’s career mosaic—the culmination of the career Grand Slam, redemption for his record six runner-ups. Besides, the clock is ticking. He turns 47 during Friday’s scheduled second round at Erin Hills.

Cynics might say the decision was easier for Phil than it would have been when he was 36 or 26. He hasn’t won since 2013 (the year of his last second place at the U.S. Open, which was followed a month later by his surprise win at the Open Championship), and simply doesn’t believe he’s playing well enough.

 But remember, Phil was 29 when he said before starting the fourth round of the 1999 U.S. Open in contention that if his beeper went off during the round to signify that his wife, Amy, was about to give birth to their first child, he would withdraw and immediately leave Pinehurst for California. His announcement last week retroactively bolsters the credibility of that claim.

Wherever you stand on Mickelson, his decision illustrates the constant tradeoff between the professional game and family. Put energies into one basket, there is less to put into the other. As Jay Haas once described the conflict: “When I’m on the tour, I want to be home. When I’m home, I want to be on the tour.”

Some negotiate it better than others. Johnny Miller couldn’t reconcile his spectacular prime in the mid-1970s with his sense of duty to his wife and their first four children at home. Bruce Lietzke, whose stealth talent is legend among his peers, by his early 40s was choosing to coach his son’s Little League games over playing the tour. On the other hand, Lee Trevino candidly admits that he wouldn’t have been as good a player if he had been a more present father with his elder children.

Up to the current era, with perhaps one noteworthy exception, most of the greatest professional golfers, almost by definition, chose near or total obsession. This group would include Hogan, Snead, Player, Watson, Ballesteros, Norman, Singh, and Woods. Among the less obsessed, and as a group slightly less great, would be Nelson, Casper, Miller and Mickelson. It’s easy to understand how it became common to believe that choosing the work over the life is the price of greatness.

Family has become a priority for many of today’s young superstars, including Jason Day and Dustin Johnson

But in the current era of already great or potentially great players—McIlroy, Spieth, Day, DJ—it seems the foot isn’t quite as heavy on the pedal.

The biggest reason might be Woods. At the same time his accomplishments remain an inspiration, he’s also a cautionary tale. The lonely, “winning takes care of everything” approach that may or may not have been integral to his astonishing success has been quietly but firmly questioned. Woods’ ordeal the Monday before the Memorial spoke volumes that could be left unsaid.

There are other factors. Practically, it’s much easier today for a moderately successful young tour pro to get rich quick. The human response by at least some of those so fortunate is understandably “Why grind?”

There is also the cultural climate. Millennials, who have seen plenty of grinding by their parents as well as the fallout from the Great Recession collectively, clearly value the life over the work. More than previous generations, they aspire to live in the moment, enjoy adventures and value friends. The PGA Tour manifestation is #SB2K17.

And so, in the different examples set by Woods and Mickelson, my sense is that more young players would now follow the approach of Lefty than even a pre-scandal Tiger. Rickie Fowler surely spoke for many of his peer group when he said, “I think the decision shows what kind of person Phil is, that he understands that there are more bigger things in life than golf. Yeah, it’s a major, and yeah, he wants a U.S. Open. But he’s obviously making family his priority.”

KATHY WILLEN
Jack Nicklaus famous juggled his schedule to make sure he wasn’t away from wife, Barbara, or his five children for long stretches

All this becomes another way of validating the aforementioned noteworthy exception—Jack Nicklaus—as the greatest champion of all. Yes, he won 18 majors and was top three 46 times. But at 77, he also remains a best friend to his five children, who have given him 22 grandchildren. Of course, he always credits his wife, Barbara, for shouldering the biggest “life” load. And no, he never missed a major between 1962 and 1998. But overall, Nicklaus’ life, like his work, has been a triumph of his favorite word: management.

I find that what Nicklaus said to Golf Digest in 2010 remains instructive. After reflecting, not boastfully, that he accomplished in golf about two-thirds of what he could have, he went on to explain:

“Every player’s got to find his balance between ambition and sanity. Now, were major championships my focus? Yes. Where they my sole focus in life? No— my family was always before that. Could I have worked harder and won more majors? Probably. Could I have driven myself crazy doing it? Absolutely.”

For all we know, Mickelson has at times driven himself crazy. But never enough that he seemed to be short-circuiting his life away from the course.

Like De Vicenzo, Mickelson has made a choice. If he does miss Erin Hills, it won’t be with regret.

The post Priority No. 1 for Phil Mickelson appeared first on Golf Digest Middle East.

De Vicenzo is a member of the World Golf Hall of Fame, to which he was inducted in 1989 on the basis of 231 international victories, including eight on the PGA Tour, his victory in the 1967 British Open and his win in the inaugural U.S. Senior Open in 1980.

But it was at the 1968 Masters that he made the news for which he is most remembered. He and Bob Goalby completed 72 holes tied for first, but De Vicenzo, who had shot a 65 in the final round, signed a scorecard that added to 66. A 4 was entered as his score on the 17th hole, yet he had made a birdie 3.

“What a stupid I am to be wrong here,” he famously said, one of sports’ most enduring quotes, though usually it is shortened to, “What a stupid I am.”

De Vicenzo said in an interview with ESPN Radio that when countryman Angel Cabrera won the Masters in 2009, it “brought a few tears to my eyes … because I would have loved to have that jacket myself as well.”

He likely would have won with greater frequency in the U.S. had he elected to travel more.

“Of course, part of me would have liked to have won more major championships and been more famous,” De Vicenzo told Golf World editor Jaime Diaz in 2006. “But my character is more comfortable where I have no obligation. I was not like Palmer, or Nicklaus or Gary Player. I wouldn’t like to be Tiger Woods. Their life has been one of work, of sacrifice, of leaving many beautiful things in life behind to dedicate to success. Yes, I played all over the world. But more in my own time.”

On the European Tour alone, De Vicenzo won the French Open, the German Open, the Dutch Open, the Spanish Open and the Belgian Open, in addition to his British Open title at Royal Liverpool. In the latter, he defeated Jack Nicklaus by two shots to win the claret jug.

“When somebody passes it’s a sad thing,” Nicklaus said on Friday. “Roberto De Vicenzo was not only a great golfer, but he was a great friend. I think the last time I was with Roberto we were in Argentina, and it was only about three or four years ago, I think. And we were with him and he always talked about how he said, I’m stupid, because what he did at the Masters that one year. He still talked about it, 40 years later he still talked about it.

“He was a nice man, nice player. We had only one time that we came down the stretch playing against each other, which I guess was the British Open in ’67, I believe. That hole I ended up losing to him. I think he birdied 17 and I did not birdie 17. And then I didn’t birdie 18. I think I may have bogeyed 18. But I don’t really know what to say except that I think he represented his country. He represented the game of golf. He was one of the really good guys.”

Cabrera paid homage to De Vicenzo via Twitter on Friday.

https://twitter.com/cabrera_pato/status/870357472850173952

The translation: “A great sadness of Roberto de Vicenzo! No doubt Argentina and the golf today are mourning! Thank you for both master!”

According to golf writer David Mackintosh, a longtime friend, De Vicenzo began to decline a few weeks ago after falling and fracturing a hip. A fixture for decades on the course and the practice tee at his home club, Ranelagh GC in Buenos Aires, De Vicenzo in the last few years had stopped playing golf. “Roberto was goodness,” said Mackintosh. “All the way through. Everyone loved him.”

The post World Golf Hall of Famer Roberto De Vicenzo, first Argentine to win a major, dies at 94 appeared first on Golf Digest Middle East.