Thirty-one years ago at Troon, Tom Weiskopf won his only major. Then he lost his desire. He drank too much, squandered his talent... and became a happy man
Tom Weiskopf is a brilliant, lovable, crusty curmudgeon who tortured himself for almost 40 years by getting firmly in his own way, on and off the course. With the best swing of his generation and perhaps the worst playing temperament of any generation, Weiskopf was always fascinating to watch, particularly when he would play himself into or near the lead. When things could get touchy, Tom could go crazy. He was the first in a long line of fine players to wear the "next Nicklaus" label—and fail to live up to it. No one was satisfied with Weiskopf's career totals of 16 PGA Tour wins, including one major championship, because he should have won 30 times with 5 majors. Easily.
Now a happy man, Tom Weiskopf sounds off. Bruce Racine
|
His seven victories in 1973, including the British Open, proved he could have the huge year everyone expected. But he promptly lost interest in trying to do it again.
In a cozy room at the Weiskopf and Jay Morrish-designed Troon North Golf Club in Scottsdale, I pushed the button on my tape recorder just as the 61-year-old Weiskopf began an unprompted 40-minute stream of sensational stories, observations, self-criticisms, confessions, regrets and surprises.
When did golf cast its spell on you?
My dad took me to the U.S. Open at Inverness in 1957 when I was 15. One guy stood out from the others—he was so fit and rhythmical and uncomplicated compared to the other guys. Effortless power. It was Sam Snead. That's who I emulated. That's how I thought the game should be played.
Ben Hogan also made an indelible early impression.
I went with a friend in 1960 to see the U.S. Open at Cherry Hills. No offense to Arnold Palmer, but Hogan should have won that Open. He was playing with 20-year-old Jack Nicklaus and hit 34 greens in a row during the double round the last day before he was forced to gamble. If I could have putted for Hogan, Arnold wouldn't have won.
Didn't Jack, who finished second behind Arnold, have as good a chance to win as Hogan?
They had equal chances to win, but Hogan putted badly all day and Jack putted poorly over the last nine holes. That was the last time Jack didn't putt great when it mattered. It was 1960, and Jack was still in school at Ohio State, but he was already the best player in the world.
What do you base that on?
We had played that spring at the Scarlet Course at Ohio State, but that was casual and not revealing. When I saw him at the Open it was the real Nicklaus. It registered that this was the player who was going to dominate the sport. How could anybody beat him? He had power, control, great tactical skills and a maturity that was unbelievable.
When did the rest of the world find out that Jack was the game's best player?
In the 18-hole playoff for the 1962 U.S. Open against Arnold at Oakmont. It was all over by the end of the first hole. And everyone watching knew it too.
Describe the scene on the first tee of the playoff.
Arnold was introduced and all the cheers and everything. Jack is introduced, and Arnold smashes his first drive. Beautiful. Great driver of the ball. One of the best ever. My hero. I mean I love the guy. No one has ever treated people any better or had more of an impact on people. Now it's Jack's turn, and the cheers turned to jeers and snide remarks—didn't faze Jack at all. He just launched this drive. I walked it off: 28 paces past Arnold on the fly, 34 yards with roll.
How did Arnold react?
Arnold walked over the top of that first hill at Oakmont, and he saw that drive, and I knew then Jack had his number just by the look on Arnold's face. Surprise! His head went up. A double-take, almost. I'll never forget that image. The game was over right there.
Arnold was composed enough to hit a beautiful approach.
Yes, he did, but Nicklaus's second shot was shorter and better. Arnold never came close to him off the tee, and Jack hit his 3-wood past Arnold's driver. I knew then it was going to be a long couple of decades for all of us.
And so it was.
I've had that feeling. You can't hit it any better and you know the long drive is your ball—and it isn't. That's intimidation. That's what Jack had on all of us. It's the look he gave you on the 1st tee of the last round of a major that said, "You better play your fanny off if you think you're going to beat me."
You and golf were still in the honeymoon phase then.
I started to play when I was 16. The game came very easily. I shot 92 on a par-70 course the first time I played and was shooting in the 70s in three months. I loved that time, from the last two years of high school through my first two years at Ohio State University. I loved the camaraderie of other players who would give you the needle or question your club selections or course management decisions. I loved carrying my own bag and playing 36 holes, and playing for dimes and quarters against my friends. I didn't care about the gambling. It was the competition I loved.
Wised Up 
