Stuart Appleby: The Golf Digest Interview

By Bob Verdi September 2007

Australians are everywhere on the PGA Tour, each with a distinctive personality and background. Stuart Appleby is no exception, as you will see in this extensive interview, and never mind that he’s frequently confused for Robert Allenby, a good friend from Down Under.

Appleby left his parents’ dairy farm, and instead of playing in Europe or climbing golf’s ladder through college, he went directly to the Nike Tour (now Nationwide) in 1995. He won his first tournament and became a fixture in the United States shortly thereafter.

Appleby possesses a droll sense of humor that he thinks Americans occasionally misinterpret. “When I say you folks travel like prawns on a hot day, it’s not a criticism,” he says. “But when I talk about your bread, that’s a different story.”

Appleby has lived in the same Orlando neighborhood as Tiger Woods for years and is a big fan of the world’s No. 1 player. Appleby also thinks Phil Mickelson is supremely gifted, but if the left-hander can’t use his plane to keep a pro-am date, what about jumping in a car, Phil?

Appleby voices a number of strong opinions about fellow players, the remarkable success of his countrymen and the Presidents Cup. Also, Appleby might have been one of the first people to have a clue about the O.J. Simpson verdict.

Appleby has built a fulfilling life and happy family after enduring tragedy when his first wife, Renay, was killed in a freak auto accident in 1998.

“I was sure I would never play golf again,” he says. “People told me to ‘move on,’ but how do you do that? There’s no list of instructions. You can’t find out in a book.”

Golf Digest: Let’s start with a question a lot of international players are asked: Why aren’t young Americans doing better on the PGA Tour?

Stuart Appleby: You would think, because of sheer numbers, that wouldn’t be the case. Golf is still a country-club attitude over here. It’s not as accessible to the masses as it is in other countries, like Australia. To play golf, to belong to a course, just isn’t that expensive back home. The same can be said for quality coaching. First-rate instruction that costs $100 in Australia costs thousands over here. You won’t get a lesson with Butch Harmon for $100. You won’t even get lunch with him.

Maybe there’s a hunger factor. Things are just more comfortable here. In America, if you want to make it as a golfer, you go to college on a scholarship. In Australia, you go to the airport with a plane ticket. The competition just isn’t there. You have to leave the country. Some of us did both. Steve Elkington went to college here. Adam Scott, same thing, although for only a year in Las Vegas. Then there’s Robert Allenby. He had family in Europe. He went there.

You took a path of your own.

I came directly to the States. I didn’t know if I could compete. But there was only one way to find out.

And you found out quickly?

Photo: J.D. Cuban

I won my first tournament, the 1995 Monterrey Open in Mexico. I came over straight from Australia, jet-lagged. Didn’t get out of bed for three days. I had enough money saved to get me through the season. But the balls Bridgestone sent me didn’t get across the border in time. So I started with six balls. Had to ration them. I knifed one in the first round. Now I’m down to five. Fortunately the package arrived in time, because I won a seven-hole playoff with Rafael Alarcon and made $40,500. Holy ----! Ridiculous! I’m rolling in money! Then I won again. My year’s earnings [$144,419] were enough to finish fifth, which got me a PGA Tour card. Which I didn’t keep. Back to Q school, made it and won early in 1997 at Honda.

About hunger: Are you saying Americans are softer?

Drive comes from within, wherever you’re born. But I know this: In Australia, if you’re a promising athlete, you never, ever hear, “We’ll get you whatever you want.” Or “Anything we can do for you?” Over here, young hot-shot athletes are promoted early and can get caught up in it.

It’s a societal thing. You hold your people up; we chop them down. If a coach drives up to a lesson here in a nice BMW or Mercedes, you’ll say, “Ooh, this guy must be good.” In Australia, we’ll say, “Ooh, this guy must be charging me too much.”

You “majored” in golf, but not in college, correct?

A lot of us came out of the Victorian Institute of Sport. The objective was more long-term. In the States, you play college golf for a coach who wants to win this big match—now. In Australia, it’s not a three- or four-year plan. And the first coach I had there when I was 18, Steve Bann, is still my coach. I’m 36. In the States, if you have a coach as a teenager, you’ll have a new one in college and another one after you leave.

What other skills did you learn?

Life skills. You grow up independently, or else. I never went past grade 11. I don’t want to say one system is better, but there are some things you can’t learn in a book. I wasn’t too good with those anyway.

Americans believe if you go to college, you have something to fall back on, which makes sense. I don’t have any degrees. If I hadn’t become a golfer, I have no idea what I would be doing with my life. I don’t think you’d be interviewing me.

Are you aware that some players on tour don’t think you’re very fond of Americans?

Really? Couldn’t be further from the truth. America has given me everything Australia couldn’t. I grew up on a dairy farm. Now I live in Isleworth, a gated community in Orlando with Tiger Woods down the street. When I say, “Americans travel like prawns on a hot day,” that’s my attempt at humor, and I think some of you misinterpret it. What I mean is there’s so much over here, so many opportunities, why would you go around the world to play golf? If Australia had offered me what America has, I wouldn’t have left home, either.

So, there are days when you pinch yourself?

Absolutely. I’ve been incredibly fortunate. That said, the older I get, the more I feel connected with my home, my childhood. When I go back to Australia for Christmas and we have barbecues or fish on the river or drink a few beers with my family, I love it. If I can have 10 or 15 more years of good golf, I’d go back and stay. Fortunately my wife Ashley—my American wife—fell in love with Australia the first time she saw it. So, America is my physical home, and Australia is my spiritual home.

What’s it like growing up on a dairy farm?

Coolest thing in the world. As a kid, I’d get up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning. I’d fish on the Murray River, my mecca, or hunt or trap rabbits. Maybe I could sell a skin for 20 cents. Then I’d come home and have to wash my hands in bleach so I wouldn’t stink up the school bus. My dad, Malcolm, pretty much handled things himself. In the summer, the busy season, I’d do chores like baling hay. I started “playing golf” with palm fronds. I was lucky to take to it, but not lucky to work hard. I learned that from my parents. They never sat me down and told me, “If you work hard, you’ll succeed.” They didn’t have to. I just watched them.

Your parents played?

At Cohuna Golf Club. When I go back, people ask me to play, but I want that part of my life frozen. I don’t even want to take a divot out of that place. If I had one round to play in my life, though, it would be there. And the fee for adults to join is $250. Like I said, affordable. What do you do at Isleworth when you want to play? Do you ring up Tiger and say, “Let’s have a game”?