John Daly moved more people than American Airlines on Thursday, a day when he launched his Masters career, and a few well-guided missiles, too.
The show began just past noon at the practice range, where bleacher seats had been claimed shortly after Augusta National`s gates opened. Golfers come and go there, to prepare or repair.
Seve Ballesteros, twice a Masterschampion, was banging away in relative obscurity off to the right while Freddie Couples drilled more toward center stage, gabbing with Mark O`Meara. Fuzzy Zoeller took up residence down by the shrubbery on the left, whistling as ever while he worked, and his rambling melody was interrupted only by the thwacks of sweet spots upon impact.
And then the murmur became applause. John Daly arrived, cigarette in his left hand, which he waved to say thanks, not to shake an ash. He found a stall, he pulled the driver from his bag, he swung from here to Athens to Atlanta. The fence 270 yards away, the one with the net extending 65 feet to protect passing motorists, couldn`t hold it. O`Meara signaled home run and Couples rolled his eyes. Only Gary Player, head down and all business, passed on a response. But he knew the ovation wasn`t his.
”I don`t know what it is,” Daly said.
”It sure ain`t my looks.”
Every April at the Masters, there`s one. There are the legends and there are the favorites and there`s that one curiosity. Phil Mickelson, the left-handed amateur with the Ipana smile, was last year`s mystery guest. Next spring, it will be another phenomenon, by invitation only. But whoever he is doing whatever he does shall find Daly`s spikes difficult to fill, for his first tour of Augusta National left footprints everywhere. Did he have a gallery? His gallery had a gallery.
”Unbelievable,” said Daly, and it was. But so is he in so many ways, and that explains the traffic. What fans couldn`t see while stacked 10 deep at the ropes, they heard about. On No. 13, a par 5 of 465 yards, Daly hit driver, 8-iron and yipped a four-foot putt for eagle. Pass the word. Jack Whitaker, an estimable broadcaster, once was removed from the TV crew for daring to characterize the assembled thousands here as a ”mob.” So, let us just say there are cities with traffic lights and post offices that contain fewer mortals than Daly`s entourage.
He shot 71, but it sounded like 61. He let it all hang out, and so did the usually temperate folks wearing those precious green badges. Being knowledgeable doesn`t mean being immune to an other-worldly experience, and when Daly finished off by lacing his tee ball so far along the 405-yard uphill 18th fairway that he reached the green with a bloody pitching wedge, well, why not? Why not make the young man feel as though he`s been here forever instead of for 48 hours? And those legal papers he was served between nines of a practice round the other day?
”Turned `em over to my lawyer . . . didn`t even open the envelope,”
Daly said. ”This is Masters week. Nothing`s gonna get in my way.”
Zoeller, his partner, certainly didn`t. Daly utterly worships Jack Nicklaus, but Fuzzy`s probably a better audience. He smokes, too, will lift a cocktail, and can laugh about this confounded game. Also, Fuzzy is the only golfer ever to win a Masters in his first crack, a feat Daly doesn`t imagine replicating. He merely wants to have fun and create same, which is the only Daly double he`s sought since shocking the golf community with his unlikely victory at the PGA Championship last August.
”I play for the fans,” he said, ”and nothing will change me.”
Not even Augusta National, a layout that Nicklaus suggested should fit Daly like a glove. Big John`s length would compress the course, there`s nary a blade of rough, and he`s got finer short strokes than most thumpers. Still, asking a rookie to diagnose these putting surfaces in one week would be asking the near impossible. Zoeller, the exception to the rule, helped. He`s trying to help Daly read various and sundry bumps and undulations.
”John`s had a lot happen to him real fast,” Fuzzy said. ”I like the way he can miss a shot, then hitch up his pants without getting angry. But I told him not to try to play every tournament. Take some time off. Get away from it all.”
Not this week, though.
”I wish I could just keep on playing,” Daly said at dusk. ”It`s awesome. Hope I get to play with Fuzzy again tomorrow.”
Ah, but Daly`s partner Friday will be Nick Faldo. Quiet, please.
