My Shot: Hubert Green

Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Ben Van Hook March 2005

Age 58 • Mountain Brook, Alabama

People assume I was angry at Jim Kelly for what happened at the 1978 Masters. If you've never seen the tape, I had a three-foot putt on 18 that would have put me into a playoff with Gary Player. I was ready to stroke the putt when I overheard Jim, who was doing radio in those days, describing the scene. I backed away and indicated that I needed quiet. Then I got reset and pushed the putt. End of story. People are amazed that I wasn't distracted, but after I got reset it truly was like hitting the putt the first time. Pros know how to handle that stuff. Only an amateur would have been put off by the interruption—or would try to make excuses about it.

People are curious as to what exactly I overheard Jim saying. I used to be able to tell you, but now I don't remember. I have radiation brain, from the dance I had with oral cancer awhile back. A few things have left my memory, and it's always a surprise when some simple fact goes on vacation. I played in the Bruno's Classic in Birmingham, and a guy asked me to sign a photograph and put down the year I won. Well, I couldn't remember that it was 1998. My friends who know my wedding anniversary, I'd appreciate it if you stay in touch.

There was this nurse. Her name was Debbie. She was extremely competent, but she also was as gruff and demanding as a person could be. No sympathy at all. I never felt sorry for myself when she was around, because I was preoccupied with being mad at her. Anyway, one day I had to be rushed to the hospital. I'd lost 43 pounds from the chemotherapy, my morale was low and I was in a real crisis. After my IV was hooked up and the rest of the staff had left, Debbie appeared. She led me down the hall to an unoccupied room, closed the door and pulled the drapes. There, in the dark, she held my hand and cried with me. Debbie cared far more than I realized, and I can't think of her without getting choked up.

I started the final round of the 1985 PGA with a three-stroke lead over Lee Trevino. There were three par 5s at Cherry Hills, and I hit irons off the tee on all of them. It wasn't to keep the ball in play. See, at that time my fairway-wood play was terrible. Those holes are reachable in two if you hit big drives, and I knew if I was in the "go" position I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. So I hit the irons to protect me from myself. That's experience.

Lee is a beauty, no doubt about it. Nick Price was in our group that day and also had a chance to win. On the ninth hole Lee and I both stuck our approach shots close, but Nick, who was struggling, missed the green. Nick hits his pitch, and as his ball nears the hole I hear Lee mutter under his breath, "Get away from the hole, ball! Get away!" After Nick's ball stops rolling I said, "You're pulling against me, too, aren't you, Lee?" And Lee says, "Oh, no, Hubert, I always root for you. You're my man!" I said, "You think I'm stupid enough to believe that?" And we both cracked up.

One year I was paired at the Bob Hope with President Ford, Clint Eastwood and Mr. Hope. As we're standing on the first tee, Moose Wommack, who was a rules official, came up to me. "We need to get around in 4½ hours, so keep your group in position. Don't get behind." I said, "Let me get this straight: You want me to tell the host of our tournament, the President of the United States and Dirty Harry to pick up their balls and get moving? I think not. We're not playing fast, and we're doing it very slowly, if you get my drift. Goodbye, Moose."

We're playing a par 5 at Eldorado, and President Ford is looking over his third shot. I sidle over and see he's got 128 to the hole, the pin back. "What are you gonna hit, Mr. President?" I ask. "A 9-iron," he says. "The pin's in the back, sir—better hit the 8," I said. President Ford hits the 8-iron—and airmails the green. I can feel him sort of glaring at me. I just shrugged. "I'm a private in the National Guard, you've been the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, and you're listening to me?" I got out of there.

Years later I'm paired with President Ford again, this time in another pro-am. On a par 3, I ask, "What you got out?" Immediately he replies, "I have a 5-iron. And I remember what happened at Eldorado." I just nodded and backpedaled over to my caddie.

My pet peeve of the pro tours is seeing the empty glove and golf-ball packages strewn all over the practice range. It's like these guys expect someone else to pick up their trash. It's a small sign of disrespect and entitlement we never used to see.