I was never much of a showman. I was too scared. No matter how big a lead I had, I could never punch the air with my fist after, say, a birdie at the 17th. Because in the back of my mind, I was aware that I could double bogey the 18th hole and bring about the most embarrassing situation of my life. Emotionally, I preferred to keep my cards close to my vest.
It was a good move on my part. In 1979, I came to the last hole of the PGA Championship at Oakland Hills with a two-stroke lead. One of the golf magazines—it wasn't yours—had offered $50,000 to anyone who broke the PGA 72-hole scoring record, and another $50,000 if he broke the 18-hole record. A par would have given me a 63 and the first record; a birdie would have given me both. Well, I blocked my drive well to the right, and although I had an open shot, there were too many people about to figure my yardage. So I asked my caddie, Willie Peterson—you remember Willie, he was Jack Nicklaus' caddie at Augusta for years—to get a yardage. Willie's answer was shocking: "You haven't asked me one question all the way around. I don't know. Figure it out yourself." I said, "Excuse me?" Willie just clammed up.
I ended up guessing the yardage and hit a 6-iron dead on line but over the green. I chili-dipped the chip shot, then chipped up and missed the putt. I made a double bogey, and the next minute I'm in a sudden-death playoff against Ben Crenshaw. Walking up to the scorer's tent, Willie says, "Don't worry, Boss, we'll get 'em in the playoff." I said, "Don't even speak to me. The farther you stay away from me, the happier I'll be. Just carry the clubs."
Frankly, I don't know how I got from the scorer's tent to the first tee. Ben hits a beautiful drive, and I hit a duck hook. I chipped out 100 yards short of the green, then hit a wedge shot about 20 feet to the right of the hole. And then I made the putt. And on the second hole I made a 10-footer to tie him again. Finally I won on the third hole with a birdie.
Standing over that 20-footer on the first hole, I had no inkling I would make the putt. You talk about players willing the ball into the hole? Well, my will and composure were shot. I can only conclude that a higher power was in control that day.
If I'd lost that tournament, it probably would have been the end of David Graham the golfer. There's a good chance I would have gone home and thought myself a choker for the rest of my career. Can you think of another instance where a guy blew a two-shot lead on the last hole and then won the playoff? It just never happens, but that day it happened to me.
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