Read Online Chasing Greatness: Johnny Miller, Arnold Palmer, and the Miracle at Oakmont by Adam Lazarus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adam Lazarus
Tags: United States, History, Sports & Recreation, Pennsylvania, Sports, Palmer; Arnold;, Golfers, Golf, Golf - General, Oakmont (Allegheny County), Golf courses, 1929-
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roller coaster of emotions. Crowds—young and old, male and female, die-hards and casual observers—worshiped Palmer.
Player was more mysterious. Nicklaus was hefty, Palmer the brawny one, but Player was the most physically impressive. A fitness fiend of the Jack LaLanne ilk, he jogged obsessively, lifted weights, and earned the admiration of every ex-military man by knocking out fingertip push-ups on Ed Sullivan’s popular variety show. Just 150 pounds in his prime and all muscle, Player never hesitated to single out his peers who could stand to lose weight and exercise (including Nicklaus, his closest American friend on tour).
But Player did not live in the United States and, for practical reasons, could not compete in as many PGA tour stops as Palmer and Nicklaus. Besides the major championships and a handful of other featured PGA events, Player took his game worldwide and—like Gene Sarazen before him—portrayed himself as the sport’s international ambassador. With his large family occasionally in tow (six children, plus nanny and tutor as well as his wife) and at great personal expense, he logged more miles competing worldwide than any golfer in history. “The Americans have no idea how tough it is for me. No one does. I can’t fly home for a day or two to see the family. It’s 8,000 miles.”
As a result, Player rarely finished a season near the top of the PGA money list, and never won more than three PGA events in a season (he did win seventy-three South African titles in a twenty-five-year stretch). To many golf fans, by the early 1970s, Player’s role in the Big Three seemed outdated. Lee Trevino had unmistakably emerged as a bona fide American star on tour. He tapped into the blue-collar, ethnic American crowd that never warmed to a man like Player, who spoke with a distinct British accent.
In August 1972, at the halfway point of the PGA Championship at Detroit’s famed Oakland Hills Country Club, a reporter asked Player if he agreed that Trevino had usurped his spot among the Big Three.
“The record speaks for itself,” Player said before storming out of the press tent.
“The record” that Player referred to was dozens of worldwide victories as well as five major titles and sixteen PGA tour wins. The reporter’s question further irritated Player because it dismissed his chances for victory in the current championship: After two rounds, he was just two shots behind the leader (and well ahead of Trevino). Apparently, Player’s record did not speak for itself, and he set out with extra determination during the final two rounds of the PGA Championship to prove he was far from over-the-hill at age thirty-six.
Ben Hogan had dubbed the remodeled Oakland Hills “the Monster” upon winning the U.S. Open there in 1951. And earlier during the week of the 1972 PGA, Player had echoed Hogan, calling Oakland Hills the toughest golf course in America and claiming that the dramatic pitch of its greens presented the toughest putting challenge he had ever faced. But less than twenty-four hours after his unhappy encounter with the dismissive reporter, Player slew the “Monster” with a brilliant string of long, curling putts, rolling in four birdies from over twenty-five feet on his way to grabbing the lead with a 67.
“I think it will be a very exciting day tomorrow,” was all that Player would say afterward. “The tournament doesn’t really start until the tenth hole tomorrow.”
Fulfilling his own prophecy, Player faltered early, shooting a two-over-par front nine on Sunday. But he then righted the ship, parred his way in, and claimed a second PGA Championship by two strokes. Throughout the remarkably competitive final round—at one moment, a single shot separated the top ten golfers—Player never flinched. He outlasted them all, finishing with a one over 281 and besting his “heir apparent,” Trevino, by five shots (and besting Nicklaus and Palmer by several strokes more).
A month later,
Player was more mysterious. Nicklaus was hefty, Palmer the brawny one, but Player was the most physically impressive. A fitness fiend of the Jack LaLanne ilk, he jogged obsessively, lifted weights, and earned the admiration of every ex-military man by knocking out fingertip push-ups on Ed Sullivan’s popular variety show. Just 150 pounds in his prime and all muscle, Player never hesitated to single out his peers who could stand to lose weight and exercise (including Nicklaus, his closest American friend on tour).
But Player did not live in the United States and, for practical reasons, could not compete in as many PGA tour stops as Palmer and Nicklaus. Besides the major championships and a handful of other featured PGA events, Player took his game worldwide and—like Gene Sarazen before him—portrayed himself as the sport’s international ambassador. With his large family occasionally in tow (six children, plus nanny and tutor as well as his wife) and at great personal expense, he logged more miles competing worldwide than any golfer in history. “The Americans have no idea how tough it is for me. No one does. I can’t fly home for a day or two to see the family. It’s 8,000 miles.”
As a result, Player rarely finished a season near the top of the PGA money list, and never won more than three PGA events in a season (he did win seventy-three South African titles in a twenty-five-year stretch). To many golf fans, by the early 1970s, Player’s role in the Big Three seemed outdated. Lee Trevino had unmistakably emerged as a bona fide American star on tour. He tapped into the blue-collar, ethnic American crowd that never warmed to a man like Player, who spoke with a distinct British accent.
In August 1972, at the halfway point of the PGA Championship at Detroit’s famed Oakland Hills Country Club, a reporter asked Player if he agreed that Trevino had usurped his spot among the Big Three.
“The record speaks for itself,” Player said before storming out of the press tent.
“The record” that Player referred to was dozens of worldwide victories as well as five major titles and sixteen PGA tour wins. The reporter’s question further irritated Player because it dismissed his chances for victory in the current championship: After two rounds, he was just two shots behind the leader (and well ahead of Trevino). Apparently, Player’s record did not speak for itself, and he set out with extra determination during the final two rounds of the PGA Championship to prove he was far from over-the-hill at age thirty-six.
Ben Hogan had dubbed the remodeled Oakland Hills “the Monster” upon winning the U.S. Open there in 1951. And earlier during the week of the 1972 PGA, Player had echoed Hogan, calling Oakland Hills the toughest golf course in America and claiming that the dramatic pitch of its greens presented the toughest putting challenge he had ever faced. But less than twenty-four hours after his unhappy encounter with the dismissive reporter, Player slew the “Monster” with a brilliant string of long, curling putts, rolling in four birdies from over twenty-five feet on his way to grabbing the lead with a 67.
“I think it will be a very exciting day tomorrow,” was all that Player would say afterward. “The tournament doesn’t really start until the tenth hole tomorrow.”
Fulfilling his own prophecy, Player faltered early, shooting a two-over-par front nine on Sunday. But he then righted the ship, parred his way in, and claimed a second PGA Championship by two strokes. Throughout the remarkably competitive final round—at one moment, a single shot separated the top ten golfers—Player never flinched. He outlasted them all, finishing with a one over 281 and besting his “heir apparent,” Trevino, by five shots (and besting Nicklaus and Palmer by several strokes more).
A month later,
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