My Shot: Ken Venturi

I began seeing my wife, Kathleen, while I was undergoing treatment for prostate cancer. She made 35 trips with me to Loma Linda, and she fell in love with me when I was going through a difficult time. I wouldn't wish cancer on anyone, but there's something to be said for starting a relationship when one of the parties is in a tough situation. When you get better, the relationship has deep roots. Every day is like heaven on earth for us because together we overcame a difficult experience.

Someone complimented Ben Hogan once on his terrific "muscle memory." Ben wasn't flattered. "My muscles don't have memory," he said. "I tell them what to do."

The story I love most is Jack Fleck on the 15th hole at Olympic in the 1955 U.S. Open. An official approaches him and says, "If you make two birdies coming in, you'll tie Hogan for the Open!" Fleck turns to his playing partner, Gene Littler, and says, "What do you think?" And Littler deadpans, "You've got to par the other two."

The uproar over the seventh hole at Shinnecock during the U.S. Open was ridiculous. I couldn't help but think of Billy Casper at Winged Foot in the 1959 Open, when he deliberately laid up at the third hole, another tough par 3. Every day, Billy deliberately played short, then chipped up and made his par. On the other hand, the players this year just bombed away at that par 3 like lemmings heading over a cliff. They complained that it wouldn't hold a well-struck shot. Well, so what? What did you expect, Bermuda Dunes? If they had looked at it as a par 4, which it really was under those conditions, and accepted that score and moved on, they would have been fine. But they couldn't do it. The USGA people promised a total test—skill, endurance and patience—and boy, did they deliver. The bottom line is, the section of the exam marked "patience" is the part a lot of them flunked.

Forgive me, but I don't quite have Frank's modesty.

My victory at the 1964 U.S. Open at Congressional is viewed as heroic because I played the last 36 holes on the verge of collapsing in 100-degree heat. But I have to admit, my getting sick and dehydrated was my own fault. In the morning, I was so focused on playing I didn't take one drink of water. At the break I drank a lot of iced tea, which has caffeine in it, which is bad for you in hot weather. In the afternoon round I was in bad shape again. The doctor who followed me around, Dr. John Everett, kept feeding me salt tablets—I consumed 18 that afternoon. We know today that taking salt tablets on a hot day can further dehydrate you. In the end, I beat a tough golf course and a great field, but I also overcame my own mistakes.

Hogan gave me a great tip for playing under pressure. All you do is grip the club at the far end of the handle, so the butt end of the grip barely reaches the little finger of your left hand. Because your left-hand won't feel quite as secure, you'll swing the club easily instead of with the fast, violent action we're all prone to when we're under the gun.

Another surefire tip for handling pressure: Picture in your mind an apartment window exactly on the line you want your ball to fly. Now pretend that someone will give you $1,000 if you break the glass in that window with your shot. It won't cost you anything if you miss, there's just a reward if you pull it off. It's a very positive, effective little gimmick.

My favorite Pebble Beach moment: The incomparable Phil Harris is sitting to my right, and Jim Nantz is on my left. Phil, who'd been slaking his thirst all day, gets out of his chair, sticks his head over my shoulder and whispers very loudly, "I'll be back; I have to take a piss." The microphones are very sensitive; everyone heard him clearly. Someone is playing a wedge shot to the 18th, and I quickly say, "This is a shot he'll either make or miss." Frank Chirkinian, our coordinating producer, says into my headset, "I don't know what the hell is going on down there, Venturi, but you are good."

Gene Sarazen told me he lost a U.S. Open once because there was one hole he hated and played poorly every day. "It didn't fit my eye," he said. Everybody has a hole, or type of hole, that just doesn't jibe with their imagination. The key is to make it fit your eye, even if it means hitting an iron off the tee and then a fairway wood to the green. Never fight your eye. The hole will win every time.

Retirement isn't so bad. Give me a tall drink, a plush sofa and a rerun of "Matlock," and you can have the rest. Matlock is my hero. He never loses.