Overdue Diligence

Nikki caddied for her husband his first four years on the PGA Tour. Photo: Courtesy University of Wisconsin

When Stricker was home, he would get away from the game, at times to an extreme, but when he showed up at tournaments mentally unprepared or rusty, his intolerance for poor shots would light a two-inch fuse. It all added up to three miserable years. From 2003-05, Stricker missed 38 cuts in 69 starts and had just two top-10s.

"My tempo stunk," he says. "I wasn't controlling my emotions out there, which led to bad tempo. I'd get quick and short -- short in a bad way because I wasn't completing my backswing -- which caused me to get quick in transition." It got so bad that in '05, Stricker, despite leading the tour in putts per round and ranking second in putts per green in regulation -- still finished 162nd on the money list.

One might consider this a statistical impossibility. Others might see it as a reason to think about a new line of work. "We talked about it many times," Nicki says. "He'd say, 'If there's something else I could do, I'd try it.' The thing is, he likes his time off too much, and you can't make that kind of money [even during bad years] doing something else." Nine years had passed since Stricker's breakthrough season of 1996: victories at the Kemper and Western Opens, seven top-threes, fourth on the money list, a berth on the U.S. Presidents Cup squad. At some point, a gentleman must come to terms with the rough edges of reality. "I don't think I came really close," Stricker says of ending his golf career. "I did wonder what I'd do if I didn't play this game. Every time I thought about it, I came up with the same answer. I'd rather be doing this."

The big thing was that he would do it on his own. Anyone who employs his wife as a caddie and her dad as swing coach might eventually see the value in a bit of separation -- the personal and professional needed their own space. After the Q-school bust Stricker spent at least two hours every day for the better part of a month refining a swing that had always been plagued by loose parts.

Tiziani, one of the Midwest's most decorated club pros and the former golf coach at the University of Wisconsin, would remain involved, but instead of counseling his son-in-law on mechanics, his primary purpose was to serve as a second set of eyes. No question, Tiziani's role had been downsized. "He's very articulate when it comes to teaching," Stricker says. "He knows a lot about the swing, but sometimes it was difficult to grasp some of the things he was talking about."

If the relationship is half as complex as it is fascinating, somebody call a scriptwriter. Stricker is the guy every mother wants their daughter to marry -- Prince Charming without the cheese. Humble and courteous, softspoken and a bit pensive, you wonder how a fella who would seem to feel bad about killing a mosquito finds it in him to fire a rifle at a deer.

"He goes with me up [to northern Wisconsin] on a hunting trip, and it [male bonding] gets pretty rough up there," Tiziani says. "I've never heard him use foul language or say anything derogatory about anybody. There's none of that stuff."

Then there's Tiziani himself, the owner of a giant personality whose candor and straightforward intellect produce a stream of edgy opinions and introspective one-liners. Nicki's dad is a metaphor machine. Decades of working with young adults have empowered him with insight he has no trouble transmitting, but when it came to communicating with the best golfer he has ever coached, at least a few of the messages misfired.

"The player usually has one idea of what to do and the teacher may have another," Stricker adds. "That's when problems start to arise."

Still, they remain closer than close. "You have to get to the point where you understand your own swing," Nicki reasons. "You have to take what someone tells you and make it yours." At the end of '05, Stricker's commitment to improvement wasn't without a difference of interpretations on the cause of his woes and how to find a solution. Tiziani frequently refers to his son- in-law getting "stuck" on the downswing, meaning his body and arms weren't synchronized, and can explain the problem in four or five technical languages.