Thursday, June 2, 2011

The Two Lives of Tom Watson

[ed.  I was as curious as anyone to learn about the "Secret" so I looked it up.  It's at the end of this article, in Tom's own words.]

 by Joe Posnanski

Tom Watson is one of the greatest golfers who ever lived. That’s a given. He won eight major championships — only five legendary golfers (Nicklaus, Woods, Hagen, Hogan, Player) have won more. He won 39 PGA events, which ties him with a couple of guys named Sarazen and Mickelson for 10th. He beat Nicklaus head-to-head three times — at Augusta, at Turnberry, at Pebble Beach — in three of the most famous duels in the history of golf. On Sunday, at age 61, he won the Senior PGA Championship in Louisville. That was his sixth major title on the Senior Tour (or “Champions Tour” as they beg people to call it) — only Nicklaus and Hale Irwin have won more. I’m not saying anything here that you don’t know. Tom Watson is certainly and unquestionably one of the greatest golfers who ever lived.

And yet … I think Watson’s career is singular because unlike any of the other great golfers, Watson’s life is really divided in two. There was the young and wild Watson who hit the ball all over the place and won with one of the great short games in golf history. And there is the older Watson, whose ball-striking is so magnificent that men half his age salivate, but who has been held back by 5-foot putts that stubbornly go their own way.

If the game of the old and young Watson had ever met, they would not recognize each other.

If the old Watson and the young Watson had ever shared a season, they might have won the Grand Slam.

They did not. Watson won the last of his six PGA Tour Player of the Year awards in 1984. He found what he calls “The Secret” in 1994. In the nine years between, he suffered. The young Watson was stormy and miraculous — even HE used the phrase “Watson Par” to describe his hit-into-the-trees, hack-it-somewhere-near-the-green, somehow-get-it-to-10-feet, drain-the-putt style. He would say it with a hint of mischief in his voice — “There you go, another Watson par” — but he did it too often for anyone to think of it as luck. In those days, Watson was the boldest putter in the world. And this was because he was fearless. He knew that if he hit it 4- or 6-feet by, he would make the comeback. He KNEW it.

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