I never played in the Masters, of course. But I did get to play Augusta National during a practice round in the mid-1980s. I was with Mac O'Grady and Jodie Mudd, and when we came to the 16th hole the flagstick was back-left in its traditional Sunday location. Mac says, "Gary, let's not go for the hole; it's too easy. See that little shelf on the back right? It's very difficult to make the ball stay up there. It's probably the hardest shot on the course. Let's aim there." I said sure, and of course my ball doesn't stay on the shelf. It rolls sideways down the tier, all the way across the green and dives in the hole. The gallery, of course, goes wild. All the way to the green I'm bowing, waving and smiling, saying quietly, "Thank you .... I wasn't aiming there. ... Thank you. ... It was a terrible shot.... Thank you. ... I stink."
I don't want to age the way Ben Hogan did. I met Hogan once, a story that has been well chronicled. But what stayed with me from that visit to Shady Oaks was when I went downstairs to the card room. A bunch of guys are playing gin, and they tell me they won't let Hogan in the card game because he was a little overbearing. Mr. Hogan, like a lot of old people who spend their lives being difficult, became lonely. Only then did he make an effort to be nicer to people, and I don't think it went down easy on him or others because neither party was used to him being a people person. He was saying hello when it was time to say goodbye. I came away thinking, I'm going to be nice my whole life.
On the last hole at the Toshiba Classic in 1999, I needed to hole a long eagle putt to win my first tournament on either tour. I thought that was the deal until my good friend John Jacobs, who I'm paired with, holes his shot from 30 yards off the green. Now I need the putt to extend the playoff. The crowd is going crazy, and I'm playing along with the theatrics, making all sorts of gestures to make it fun and dramatic. It finally grows quiet and I settle in over the putt. Then it occurs to me: I haven't read the putt at all. I have no idea how it breaks, and I'm too embarrassed to step away. This is what age does to you. I decided to just hit the putt. Damned if it doesn't go in. I end up winning the playoff, and for a moment, getting old is a beautiful thing.
Before you move into the storage facility, get to know the security guard.
- Text Size:
- Small Text
- Medium Text
- Large Text
