Kessler Chronicles: Heroes

by Peter Kessler

Bobby Jones has been discovered all over again after the commotion stirred by last year’s 75th anniversary of his Grand Slam of 1930. Jack Nicklaus, tied with Jones just behind Tiger Woods as the greatest player who ever lived, is being appreciated at age 66 as perhaps never before since his announcement that the 2005 Masters would be his last.

The fabled championship, The Masters, and the equally revered golf course, Augusta National, were started by Jones after he retired from competitive play following his magical year 76 years ago. How was Jones able to let go of golf at the height of his career, at the pinnacle of his playing powers at the age of 28? How is Nicklaus able to easily set aside playing ceremonial golf and playing the golf tournament for which he is arguably best known, after having won it six times? Why is it so simple for oh so very few to let go of the glory, to cut ties with a public who can not get enough of them? And why do some, most notably Arnold Palmer, the games most popular player ever, hold on to the game and the public until long after reason says you must start letting go?

In the cases of Nicklaus and Jones, the answer is, I think, quite uncomplicated. They knew how good their record was, they knew where it stood relative to the records of others, they knew how hard it was to build, they knew how long it took to build it and they knew they had given it their best shot. They were satisfied with what they had done. They had performed so extraordinarily and successfully over their respectively long and short tenures as the best, that they simply must have felt it was unlikely that someone would come along to break or improve upon what they had done.

Reminds me of how Babe Ruth supposedly laughed as he circled the bases after his historic 60th home run in 154 games, in September 1927. As he headed for home, he cried out in joy, “Let some son of a bitch try to catch that.” Jack is the best known great family man in sports. His wife and children, and now his grandchildren, always come ahead of his golf. The tragic accidental death of his 17-month-old grandson last year prompted Jack to say he would be spending time with his family, not on the golf course. Nicklaus has always found it easy to organize his priorities. Jones was a cerebral man with many interests: a mechanical engineer, a brilliant writer, accomplished lawyer and golf course designer. He tired of the constant attention and pressure he felt to win every time he played. He set exceedingly high standards, met them and turned to other important matters, like supporting his family and finally cashing in on his fame.

For an uncomplicated man like Arnold Palmer who can’t get enough of golf, his decision to play competitive golf more than 35 years beyond his prime was relatively simple. Golf is his life. His vocation is golf, his hobby is golf. He plays every day with his friends. No one who has ever played loved the fans like Palmer — and they loved him back just as fiercely. Why let go when your fans would rather see you shoot 85 than almost anyone else shoot 65? Why go away when it’s more fun to stay? Why not take a spot in the field when you’re not taking one away from anybody else?

Palmer, Jones and Nicklaus. They all loved the game that gave them their life. They left the game healthier than they found it. They left the scene with dignity on their own terms. They gave us all they could give for as long as they could give it. Can we ask any more of our heroes?

In 2006, and for the 600 years of golf that preceded it, there is no one who can stand before the astonishing Tiger Woods. Every year, he is the best player, every year he is the most improved. Each season, he determines the weakest part of his game and transforms it into magic — no one else has ever visited golf’s Fourth Dimension. Every swing now has equal value, The Masters gets no more attention than the Ryder Cup.

Think of Tiger’s 2006 season this way. It takes 10 career wins and a major championship for World Golf Hall of Fame consideration. Tiger’s year is hall of fame consideration material. I’ve watched Jack up close in his prime, and Trevino and Watson and Seve and Faldo and Norman. Tiger does everything better than anyone else who plays the game, and he does everything better than anyone who has ever played the game. FG