When the 1987 season began, Norman didn`t appear to have lost any sleep or vigor over that Tway experience. Indeed, at April`s Masters, The Shark was right back at it, shooting a brilliant 66 in the third round to move within a stroke of the lead. Then, as Sunday`s competition ended, there was a three-way tie among Norman and Spain`s Seve Ballesteros-two world-renowned players-plus Larry Mize, a somewhat fameless tour regular who grew up in the elongated shadow of Augusta National. Ballesteros was eliminated on the first playoff hole and left the course in tears.
Norman and Mize, meanwhile, moved to the second playoff hole, No. 11, a picturesque par 4 of 455 yards. Norman`s second shot to the green was just shy of the putting surface`s right edge. Mize, as if to overcompensate for the specter of a pond on the left, pushed his five-iron approach well wide of the green, some 140 feet to the right of the flagstick. Mize`s only practical objective was to chip his third shot close to the pin, then putt the ball in the hole for par and presume that Norman would refrain from sinking his long- distance putt for a birdie and victory.
Mize selected a sand wedge for his weapon. He lofted the ball toward the hole, the ball bounced, the ball settled down into a straight role and-shazam- it fell into the cup for a 3! Mize danced a delirious jig, much as Tway had done months earlier, and Norman looked like he`d been gored by the same bayonet. He missed his putt and took his medicine again. Twice, in consecutive majors, extraordinary shots had been crafted by different players-shots that golf historians will be talking about for decades. And the victim on both occasions was Greg Norman, standing frozen in his tracks, a disbelieving witness to his own undoing.
”When the Tway thing happened, it didn`t really affect me all that much,” Norman recalls. ”Bob made a fine shot to beat me on the last hole, and he made an even better shot on the hole before to make par and stay close. But the Mize shot stayed with me for a whole lot longer. I suppose, if it had been Mize before Tway, it would have been Tway that stayed with me.
”The Mize shot stayed with me because I was trying to prove to everybody that it wasn`t staying with me. I talked to Laura about it many times, for many hours. There was something seriously wrong with me after the (1987)
Masters, and she put her finger on it. She said I was trying too hard, and she was right. It was a load off my mind when I finally was man enough to admit it to myself.”
AS IF THE UNLIKELY TWAY-Mize double whammy weren`t enough, Norman got nailed again by the fates during the British Open at Royal Troon, Scotland, last July. The Shark came from nowhere-as is his wont-with a closing round of 64. He birdied the first six holes, draining putts of 35 and 45 along the way. He wound up in a three-way playoff with fellow Aussie Wayne Grady and American Mark Calcavecchia. Again, Norman was at the very brink of victory in a major- of, some would say, a highly overdue victory.
Norman birdied the first playoff hole, while Grady and Calcavecchia each shot par. In any other circumstance, that would have meant a triumph for Norman. But the British Open employs a four-hole playoff, so the game went on, just long enough for The Great White Shark to incur another slap in the face. When the threesome reached No. 18, Calcavecchia and Norman were tied. Calcavecchia hit first, and drove the ball into the right rough. Norman, next up, clobbered his tee ball 325 yards over parched ground and into a fairway bunker. Norman had used a driver every day on that hole and figured he couldn`t possibly reach the sand. But, perhaps because he was pumped, he reached it during the playoff and the ball settled near the front lip of the bunker-a terrible lie.
Calcavecchia followed with a 201-yard five iron that landed seven feet below the hole. ”The best shot I ever hit,” Calcavecchia said. If it wasn`t a Tway or Mize, it was a splendid effort, hailed in many circles as the shot of the year. So there was Norman again, between a bunker and a hard place. He attempted the impossible on his second shot, but instead of finding the green, the ball plopped into another trap. From there, Norman unfurled, and his third shot sailed past the green, onto a gravel path by the clubhouse and out of bounds. Norman put the ball in his pocket, and Calcavecchia knocked his seven-foot putt into the hole for the silencer.
SO THERE YOU HAVE IT. NORman has experienced grim tidings in three of golf`s majors, four if you include his playoff defeat to Fuzzy Zoeller during the 1984 U.S. Open at Winged Foot, N.Y. It is worth noting that neither Tway nor Mize has won a major since. It is also pertinent to point out that golfers have been known to vanish after even one excruciating defeat, let alone three. Yet Norman will not surrender to these ghosts. He kick-started his 1990 agenda by shooting a course-record 62 in the final round at the Doral Country Club outside Miami last March. Then, in a playoff with Calcavecchia, Tim Simpson and Paul Azinger, Norman chipped in for eagle on the first extra hole to win. About time, he figured. Maybe the worm had turned. No more 11th-hour haunting, perhaps?
Not so fast. At Bay Hill outside Orlando three weeks later, rookie Robert Gamez holed a 176-yard 7-iron on the last hole for an eagle 2. He beat Norman by one stroke.
”What can I say?” Norman rued. ”If a guy makes a shot like that, God bless him. He deserves to win.”
Want more? In April at New Orleans, David Frost sank a sand blast for a birdie on the last hole to beat Norman by a stroke.
”What can I say?” Norman said again. ”I got beat by a great shot. All I can do is keep trying to play well.” Resilient again, Norman won the prestigious Memorial in May.
And so it goes for The Great White Shark. If he agonizes within, Norman outwardly reacts to these traumas in a true sporting fashion. Although he might be moved to ask, `Why me?` instead he unfailingly salutes the man who beat him and answers any and all questions. After the Tway blast, Norman did the perfunctory interviews and then returned to the clubhouse at Inverness, where another wave of reporters awaited. He had his mind on a refreshment at that point, specifically a preferred beer from the motherland.
”How about a Foster`s, fellas?” said Norman, who might have been throwing things instead.
”You asked about the whys and wherefores of Greg`s popularity,” Hughes Norton says. ”Well, I think that`s part of it right there. He`s a true sportsman, and people realize that. He doesn`t whine or complain. He takes his lumps and moves on to tomorrow. I think that character not only wins people over. I think it allows him to continue to play competitive golf without dwelling on all the cruel things that have happened to him.”
If golf is a game with no conscience, Norman believes that he`d best be the ultimate sportsman. If the game has no manners, he will.
”No matter how much it hurts to get beat, I don`t see any sense in not congratulating the guy who beats you,” Norman says. ”I`m happy for another guy`s success, even if it`s at my expense, because I know that he`s trying to do the same thing I am. I also know how hard it is out there. I`m trying to win, the other guy is trying to win. If he succeeds and I don`t, well, I have no reason to be mad at him.
”When I get mad over golf, I get mad at myself. Nobody else. That`s the nature of the game. Jealousy is a wasted emotion. It proves nothing. And hashing over the past is also a waste of time. What`s done is done. If you allow yourself to get all caught up in things that you have no control over, you`d go nuts. I don`t want to be remembered as the guy who was there for those two chip-ins by Bob Tway and Larry Mize. I want to be remembered for winning, not losing. The only way for that to happen is to get on with your business.”
If Norman is restless, he is not alone. The PGA Tour never has been more successful, yet some portions of the public and press pine for a superstar. Norman qualifies on all counts, except for his resume. At age 35, for instance, Nicklaus had recorded more than half of his major victories.
For this heinous crime of underwhelming everybody`s expectations, Norman must listen to everybody else`s explanations. Golf Digest magazine recently posed the inevitable ”Is Greg Norman Overrated?” proposition, while certain members of the foreign media have tagged him ”The Rubber Band Man” because he is stretched to the outer limits. Reebok, McDonald`s, Spalding, Lexus, Qantas Airways and the Daikyo Group are among his accounts, and to his credit, The Great White Shark does more than pay lip service to those who pay him so amply.
”Common sense tells you to be fair and square with the companies that think enough of you to employ you,” Norman says. ”You have to make some sacrifices. Yes, there are times after playing a Friday-afternoon round in a tournament that I rush back to the hotel, put on a jacket and tie and attend a reception or a dinner of some sort. Or on a Monday between tournaments, instead of being home, maybe I`ll have to film a commercial. But these sacrifices are worth it, and besides, I enjoy keeping busy. I enjoy working, and if people ask me the same questions about golf at a cocktail party, so what? I`m happy if it makes them happy.”
Obviously, Norman attacks these extracurricular activities as he attacks the golf ball, with gusto. Little wonder why he is in such demand. Next question: Might The Shark be biting off more than he can chew?
”I hear every so often that IMG runs Greg ragged,” Norton says. ”What people have to realize is that we work for Greg, he doesn`t work for us. He turns down more offers than you could imagine, and he does nothing without personally approving it first.
”People also presume that all his traveling must wear him out. But Greg is a great traveler. Being from Australia, you almost have to be. Greg gets into the first-class cabin of an airplane and just shuts down. Sleeps like a baby. He`s a man of tremendous energy. People think that, because of his immense talent, he just shows up at the course on a Thursday morning and begins the tournament. That isn`t the case at all.”
Indeed, no less an authority than Norman`s Florida neighbor Nicklaus marvels at The Shark`s devotion to duty. ”He gets up a lot earlier in the morning to hit a lot more practice balls at the range than I ever did,”
Nicklaus says. ”Greg has fantastic ability, and I believe that he could go on a roll at almost any time. If he wins the next major, he might win three of the next four, or four of the next six. Something like that. But, yeah, if he wants to accomplish what he wants to accomplish, what we all know he can accomplish, he does have to get on with it.”
There is another theory advanced on the Norman conundrum. That is, he`s too nice a fellow. There`s too much of that earthy, genuine Aussie sport in him. The very qualities that make for a well-rounded human being, in other words, mitigate against his beating the competition`s brains out week after week.
Years ago, Tom Weiskopf was advertised as the can`t-miss golfer. He was big and strong with a textbook swing. But Weiskopf never quite did it. He`s now an analyst for CBS, and he suggests that to be the best, a golfer must be a motivated, selfish, egotistical and demanding perfectionist. Weiskopf says Norman is motivated, demanding and a perfectionist, but Weiskopf gives Norman only passing grades in the other departments. Norman, says Weiskopf, is a terrific chap, a man`s man who cares about friends and spends a lot of quality time with them and his family.
”Greg might not be mean enough to be the best in a cutthroat business,” Weiskopf summarizes. ”Is that bad? Not as far as I`m concerned. That was never a priority of mine, to be the best golfer in the world at all costs. I don`t know about Greg. But I know he`s not a phony. He`s a whole person who enjoys having a beer with his buddies and fishing with his family. Is that wrong? You tell me. I don`t think so.”
How does Greg Norman feel about these contradictory forces within? He feels strongly both ways. He says he wants to be something he probably isn`t right now-the best golfer in the world. He says he also wants to be something he is, a nice guy.
”I`ve had some strange things happen to me in golf,” Norman says. ”And I think if I had been a jerk about some of these things, I might not have as many people rooting for me as I apparently do. I don`t think I could be meaner if I wanted to. And I certainly don`t want people feeling sorry for me.”
INDEED, THERE IS NO CAUSE TO become overwrought at the Greg Norman saga. He`s rich and famous and well-supplied with toys. The number of exotic cars reside in his garage is always subject to change, usually upward. When he tires of his wheels, Norman might find himself in a cage beneath the sea, actually feeding sharks, would you believe. He tried that one last winter in Australia and liked it so much he brought his caddie, Bruce Edwards, down there with him. Norman says he`d do it again. (Edwards isn`t so sure.) Last summer, Norman arrived at Butler National for the Western Open directly from dinner at the White House. Perhaps The Shark was telling President Bush about that time he took command of an American F-16 jet fighter.
Suffice it to say Norman is not one of those so-called flat-bellied clones who have been charged with giving the PGA Tour a dull and homogenized look. That accusation borders on the unfair, but The Shark absolutely is the leader in the clubhouse when it comes to flair. Doug Mason, an Australian broadcaster, assures that Norman is widely revered as a superstar Down Under. When he disqualified himself from a tournament last year after unwittingly breaking a rule, spectators who paid good money to watch The Shark almost caused a riot.
”Most of the people in Australia admire him greatly for what he has done and who he is,” Mason says. ”The fact that he`s gone off to the States to make his fortune doesn`t bother Australians, particularly since he always comes back to his roots every summer, which is your winter. He`s very popular, very obliging. I think, too, there is a small segment of people who ”knock the tall poppy,” as we say it.
”Greg`s made it big, very big. And whether it`s Australia or the United States, there will always be people who are jealous of him. Some of those people are Australian golfers who tried to do what he`s done and couldn`t. But maybe they didn`t have his talent, and maybe they didn`t work as hard at their craft as Greg has.”
The Great White Shark was neither a golf prodigy nor a guppy with a silver spoon. Norman`s father was a mining engineer; the family lived a middle-class existence. Greg enjoyed a variety of other sports such as cricket, surfing, water skiing and Australian Rules football. His mother, Toini, a three-handicapper, introduced him to golf as her caddie. When Greg finally played his first full round of golf at age 15, he shot 108. Enough of that stuff.
Norman obtained a copy of Nicklaus` instruction bible, ”Golf My Way,”
slipped it between his textbooks in school and thus began his attachment to the game. Norman`s apprenticeship was not the glamorous type enjoyed by America`s collegiate wunderkids. At age 20, Norman was a scratch player. He also was arising at 4 a.m. as a $28-a-week assistant to head pro Charlie Earp at the Royal Queensland Golf Club. The baby Shark picked up range balls, cleaned clubs, sold sweaters-menial chores all. But when he had put in his hours, Norman went to the range to beat practice balls into the night.
”I had a lot of people offering to sponsor me at that point,” Norman says. ”But I didn`t want that. I wanted to do it all by myself. So I played with some members, usually on Wednesday and Friday and Sunday afternoons, won a few dollars there, and that`s how I built up enough cash to get going, to travel. Some days, the stakes were as high as $1,000. When I won $7,000 in my first tournament in Japan, I thought I was the richest man in the world.”
At age 21, Norman found himself paired with the legendary Nicklaus at the Australian Open. Jittery, Norman flubbed his first tee shot and posted an 80. But Nicklaus encouraged him to enlarge his vistas, and by the time Norman joined the PGA Tour in 1983, he was hailed as the ”Bear Apparent.” The next Nicklaus.
IT HASN`T QUITE WORKED OUT that way, at least not yet, but Norman is routinely good theater. He`s usually in the hunt during the majors-his missing the cut in April`s Masters was nothing short of shocking. And when he isn`t making birdies, he`s making friends. Recall the 1988 Heritage Classic at Hilton Head, S.C., where Norman had 17-year-old Jamie Hutton, a leukemia victim from Wisconsin, flown in for the event. ”How can you not like Greg Norman?” says fellow pro Hubert Green. ”He`s always got a smile on his face, he`s a great player and he`s fun to be around. He`s got the personality, and he`s fearless.”
And now Greg Norman is in Chicago, prowling for more birdies. This year`s Masters is history, a disappointment, but there are still three majors left, and the U.S. Open is next.
”Medinah,” Norman says. ”I`ve played there, and it`s tough. Very tough. That might be the longest U.S. Open course we`ll ever play. And tight. It`s very important to me, the U.S. Open. They all are, all the majors. I don`t ponder about what might have been, but I`ve been so close in all of them, I`ve had the taste. That tells me I can play; that`s the driving force within me. That I`ve almost had them. Medinah. The big old flagpole behind No. 18 and right in front of that great old clubhouse.”
Who knows? Maybe Greg Norman will stride that fairway on Sunday of the U.S. Open as its winner-to-be. There will be a day, and maybe that will be his.
If not, well, Greg Norman has had his share of g`days, mate. He`s always got a smile on his face. Do you?
