You know the surest sign that somebody grew up spoiled with a silver spoon in their mouth? When they hit a brand-new ball into the woods and don't bother looking for it. That disgusts me. It's shows a wastefulness and lack of respect for what they have that's hard to put into words. Half the time, I'll go into the woods and look for that ball for them. If I find it, I make a point when I give it back to the guy: "Here's your brand-new ball, man," I'll say and sort of slam it into their hand. Most of the time they don't know what's eating me.
A guy was arguing to me once how every young person in America would really benefit from compulsory military service. He said the discipline, the self-reliance, the respect they learn to show others is amazing. He asked if I'd ever served, and did I agree with him, and I said yes, and yes. I didn't tell him that I'd been discharged after six weeks because I had asthma. I just kept agreeing with him. Heck, the Army turned my late brother Elbert Jr. into a perfect gentleman. It still sounds like a good idea.
The best golfer I ever played with was Greg Norman. Period, end of story. He really had a more complete game than Nicklaus. But under stress, Greg's thinking became clouded. He definitely had some rotten-ass luck, but he also went at too many flags, pulled the wrong club, tried the wrong kind of shot, all kinds of things. I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but even watching him on TV I'd say out loud, "What are you doing, man?" If he had a Nicklaus on his bag, he probably would have won 10 majors.
A lot of guys in my spot will look back on their life and career and say, "I'd do it all over again." Not me, man. There were a lot of years of scratching around, hustling, doing a few things wrong and a few right, of hanging out at the racetrack, at the craps tables, living hand to mouth at times. Lots of harrowing stuff. It was fun, but I wouldn't do it again.
Now if I feel that way, how about Carol? I married her when I was 29, and she was pretty brave, buying a ticket to win on me. She never let go of it, even during the times when I was bringing up the rear. She raised two fantastic daughters and kept steering me toward the straight and narrow, which I've yet to find. She's just an angel, straight out.
I had three wins on the PGA Tour, two of them at the Seiko-Tucson Match Play. It was the only match-play tournament every year on tour at the time, and I got it twice. That tournament brought out the hustler in me. I'd give guys the lip a little bit, which they aren't accustomed to at the pro level, and I'd do a little gamesmanship. Against Jack Renner in the final one year, he hit a driver off the first tee, and I just blistered a 1-iron. I stopped at the short ball in the fairway and said to my caddie — so Jack could hear — "This has to be my ball; I only hit a 1-iron." That got inside his head a little, and I handled him fine.
The next year, at one point I went up against Tim Simpson, who was just a fantastic ball-striker. All day I told him what a wonderful ball-striker he was, and all day he hit it inside me. But he couldn't make a putt to save his life, I beat him easily, and my remarks about his ball-striking had a lot to do with that. You know something? If I were in that WGC Match Play deal, I could beat some people.
You want to beat me? Take me to a course with lots of water. I'll play chicken, because I can't stand to risk hitting a new ball into a water hazard. It's like throwing money away, man. Even playing for $100 a hole, I can't make myself take a chance of losing a $4 ball.
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