While some lads on the professional golf tour lay up for a living, certain venerables still shoot at the stick with only victory in mind. Jack Nicklaus is such a fossil, not that he doesn`t still enjoy a paycheck at age 48.
But, on the eve of Thursday`s Masters, his 30th consecutive visit to Augusta National, the Golden Bear cares enough to smell those azeleas without hitting the ball over there. His pride is more evident than his paunch, which is why Jack has hired a trainer to make him tougher and put steel in his bag to make him straighter.
In a sense, both innovations represent a departure in tradition for one of the sport`s genuine traditionalists. You thought you`d never hear of Nicklaus pumping metal on either side of the tee box, but times change, and so does the body. Jack fears the furniture disease, whereby a chest becomes part of the drawers, and though he lists himself as a ”ceremonial” golfer now, he dares not embarrass himself.
So, Nicklaus has altered his lifestyle somewhat so as to put his best foot forward at this annual rite of spring. Last year, a balky left leg hampered his walking anywhere, for it was, in his words, ”dead.” Beating practice balls hour upon hour causes back problems for many great golfers, but we carry on, for the love of the game. Besides, Nicklaus` alternative was, and still is, disc surgery. Thus, he stretches, jogs, lifts weights-whatever conditioning guru Jim Watson prescribes.
”I`m at the point where I suppose I could let myself go,” Nicklaus was saying Wednesday while casting a sardonic glance toward flaccid media types,
”but I don`t want that. The older you get, the more exercises you should do. Years ago, you know, I did nothing.”
Years ago-even just two years ago when he miraculously captured the Masters for his 20th major title-Nicklaus wouldn`t have been caught without a wood that wasn`t a wood, either. Better he be found with an eraser on his pencil than a driver that wasn`t persimmon. But, what`s sacred doesn`t always make sense, and here again, Nicklaus opts for the transitional game in the name of a better game. He could play blindfolded at Augusta National, after all, and galleries would flock to adore him. Tradition has it, however, that the best golfer in history detests bogeys, so in that sense, 1988 is no different than 1958.
”I might be a little shorter with the metal woods,” Nicklaus said.
”But, I`m also a lot straighter. I`m down the middle of the fairway and, as a result, a lot more confident.”
Nicklaus, corporation that he is, has a soft and mushy side. He charges a fortune to design a course, yet admits he still gets goosebumps and chills when he motors up Magnolia Lane to the bridal-white clubhouse at Augusta National. He can stand over a 10-footer to save par without twitching, yet he has fainted while waiting for wife Barbara to give birth to their five children. He wants golf to remain a sport unscathed by artificial means, yet he bows to the natural evolution of progress. Mashies aren`t forever.
Therefore, Nicklaus explains, metal woods are permitted on his traveling squad. Clubs are crafted better than ever, balls explode to unholy distances, and even revered plots of land such as Augusta National are revised accordingly. ”This place is much different than 30 years ago,” Nicklaus says, meaning it`s not getting easier or shorter. But that`s fine by Jack. What irks him are gimmicks such as those square grooves that carve a ball out of thick rough and deposit it greenside with enough spin to bite your ear off. Where`s the penalty for missing the short grass?
”That,” Nicklaus intoned, ”is where technology changes what golf is supposed to be.”
The advent of another Masters also begs another issue along the PGA Tour. This one involves American golfers who learn early and to their eternal satisfaction that an empty trophy case needn`t mean poverty. The prize money is so luscious along the tour that players can achieve a high measure of fiscal fitness without ever winning a tournament. Moreover, pros in the United States can stockpile cash merely by performing in exhibitions and pro-ams, a la the tennis brats. This circumstance has produced a genre of Yankees who aren`t tournament-hard, aren`t focused enough on the Nicklaus theory that any place other than first place is no place. Arnold Palmer operated that way, too. So did Snead, Hogan and assorted other legends.
”But the two favorites here, and any other event they play in, have to be Greg Norman and Seve Ballesteros,” Nicklaus said, just to name a couple of talented un-Americans. ”That`s just the system out here on the PGA Tour now. The top 100 or so money-winners can live very nicely. If they need to make a putt on the 18th hole to win, though, you wonder if they`re as ready to make it as some of the Europeans.”
Hord Hardin, the Masters chairman, suggested that even this hallowed happening might vanish someday because invitees can earn a faster, bigger buck at an outing with 18-handicappers. But Nicklaus, who believes his six green jackets are utterly priceless, cringed at Hardin`s notion.
”I can`t imagine any golfer skipping the Masters because of purse money,” said the Golden Bear. Polyestered prodigies of the annuity generation should give that some thought.
