Simply Fred

By John Hawkins
Photos By Joey Terrill September 2003

The scene occurred at a Buick Classic a few years back, although it could have been any PGA Tour event involving Fred Couples and a herd of excitable golf fans. As the Prince of Cool strode across the large grass oval outside Westchester Country Club, an animated conversation among a half-dozen or so middle-aged males ended with a bulletin, uttered, like the rest of the group's dialogue, loud enough for others in the vicinity to take notice.

"There's Freddie!" shrieked one of the men, touching off 30 yards of Beatlemaniacal pursuit — beers flying, bellies spilling from faded golf shirts. Upon their arrival, Couples scribbled his name a few times and lobbed the autographed paraphernalia back over his head, unable to truly grasp the commotion that follows him like a stray Labrador.

Why is Fred Couples forever fashionable? If you only knew. When the Westchester tale is re-enacted in the kitchen of Couples' Southern California home, Fred and Thais (pronounced "Tie-ees"), his wife of five years, break into hysterics. Away from the golf course, Couples is far more relaxed than he is lazy, an overgrown kid who still plays lots of recreational golf but is just as likely to be found pruning trees or shooting hoops in the driveway.

At age 43, the stepfather of two kids from Thais' previous marriage, these are the best of times for Couples. The family's Santa Barbara property is a horticultural amusement park, snuggled atop a hill at the north end of town and heavily garnished with tributes to Fred's green thumb.

Amid this life, golf's matinee idol has endured his share of trauma. His mother, Violet, died of pancreatic cancer on Mother's Day in 1994, and his father, Tom, died of leukemia in 1997. Just as Fred and Thais were becoming partners that year, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And in 2001, eight years after a painfully public divorce, Couples' first wife, Deborah, committed suicide near Los Angeles.

Couples was No. 1 in the world in 1992 after winning three tournaments, including the Masters, but by 2003 his career was a candidate for the endangered-species list. He hadn't won since May 1998 and seemed less interested in professional golf than ever, finishing 131st and 103rd on the PGA Tour money list. His chronic back problems provided him with a built-in excuse, but his competitive soul had become just as fragile.

A man and his remote: Couples keeps up with the world of sports.

A commitment to swing instructor Butch Harmon at the start of this year changed everything. Couples began contending, then ended his winless stretch in April at Houston. Golf Digest's timing couldn't have been better — we arrived in Santa Barbara right after the victory and spent two days with Couples, joining him for 18 holes at The Valley Club of Montecito and enjoying unparalleled access to a man whose peaks and valleys have always made for a breathtaking landscape.

GOLF DIGEST: Here we are, three days after your first victory in five years. What does winning again mean at this stage of your life and career?
FRED COUPLES: Honestly? It felt just like being a tour rookie and winning for the first time. I started working with Butch, and it wasn't a huge swing change, but enough to make me feel a little uncomfortable. As I got better, I had some chances to do well, but I struggled on Sunday under the pressure. So at Houston, it was like winning for the first time.

How instrumental has Thais been in pushing you to play?
When I met Thais, she didn't know anything about golf. A year and a half ago, she said, "Why don't you play like you used to?" Simple question. I said, "Well, I don't practice. My swing isn't nearly as good. My back doesn't feel good," all that. She said, "Why don't you practice?" I told her Paul [Marchand] is in Houston; he's my teacher. She said, "Have you ever thought about changing teachers?" I said no. She said, "Well, Butch is always around. That would be a great thing for you."

So at the AT&T I said, "Butch, I just got done with the Bob Hope, and I feel so bad hitting the ball." He said, "I just saw your scores — it can't be that bad." I said, "You'll see." So we go to the range and I start hitting 9-irons. He stopped me after three or four balls and said, "Wow, it is bad." Rarely has anyone told me that. So six hours later, my hands were bleeding, and I actually had a great time. It was like what I used to do.

Are you really as naive about the swing as everybody has been led to believe?
I don't know if I've ever given a player a tip in a practice round. I have no idea. You play with all these amateurs — I'd rather talk to them about something else. I feel like if I tell them something, it does it more harm than good.

You got emotional after winning again. What got you going after putting out on 18 at Houston?
I usually get emotional for people when they do well, whether it's Davis [Love] or some guy winning a gold medal in the Olympics or a charity event. I turned around, and Peter Kostis asked me, "What does this mean?" I never even thought about it. It meant that all the hard work with Butch paid off. And I've got a great wife who asked me a simple question: "Why don't you play like you used to?" It all just hit me so quick, and then I was done. I turned and got the hell out of there.