8/3/2019 My Mate Seve

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24 Australian Golf Digest NOVEMBER 2005

 Have you ever dreamt of playing

golf with your idol? What would

you say? Would you be nervous?

What would he/she be like in the

flesh, away from the cameras?

 You’re only human if such thoughts

have entered your consciousness. In the

formative days of my golf education, it was a

constant state of mind with only the subject

of adoration changing from time to time.

 Although a late starter to the game, I wasn’t

immune to a touch of idolatry. I’d devour

magazines and books about all the greats,

and incorporate various swing idiosyncrasies

of theirs into my routine.

In the latter part of the 1980s, I ended up

trying to copy Greg Norman. My reasoning

was slightly convoluted. Firstly, he was the

dominant player of the time and obviously

doing something right. However, the crucial

part of my thought process was that the

player I admired most appeared too talented

and multi-faceted to be replicated.

Seve Ballesteros was a once-in-a-lifetime

golfer. Artist, magician and conjurer are all

descriptors used to attempt to portray the

way he played the game. At his peak, he

played with a dismissive arrogance toward

the golf course. It didn’t matter where he hit

it, he always found some spectacular way to

get the ball into the hole and manufacture a

score. He had an intensity and passion for

the game that set him apart, and fo r a time

he was indisputably the greatest player on

the planet.

Had I been given the choice of one player

to play a round with, it would have been Seve.Unfortunately, it was unlikely to happen. I

was an amateur in Sydney and he played

in Europe, on the other side of the world.

 The best I could hope for was to admire him

through the television.

However, I did turn pro in 1993, and in

1996 the Australasian PGA Tour travelled to

Hong Kong for the Dunhill Masters. On the

 Tuesday, Peter Lonard and I went out for an

early practice round only to arrive at the first

tee to find five groups in front of us. Rather

than wait, we put our names down on the

timesheet an hour later and walked out to the

14th to play in. When we made it back to the

opening hole once again, I was confronted

by the Indian pro, Amandeep Johl, who was

quite visibly excited.

“I’ve put my name down with you, and

guess who else is in our group?” he asked.

It didn’t take too much guessing to work

out who it was, because the headline player

this week was none other than the great

Spaniard. Although Seve’s game had been in

terminal decline for a few years by then, he was

still seen as a marquee player and a crowd-

puller wherever he went. He had ventured

out of Europe on one of his infrequent foreign

excursions, no doubt enticed by a healthy

appearance fee. By some strange twist of fate,

I now found myself fulfilling that

adolescent dream of playing a

round of golf with him.

Seve was known

throughout the pro ranks

as a focused and intense

competitor – in other words,

not a big talker. However,

this reputation was either

unfounded or we had found

him on a good day, because

he was in a tremendous state

of mind. After a few holes,

and emboldened by some

early repartee, I decided

to engage him in further

conversation. We chattedamiably about football,

 Australia, Spain; and on the

fifth he gave me some advice

on club selection. I suggested

that he would make a good

caddie, an attempt at humour

that fell somewhat flat.

Nonetheless, things were

going along swingingly.

 As we walked off the sixth tee, I decided to

push my luck a little. In an act of outrageous

over-familiarity, I posed the question the

whole world of golf had been wondering for

years: “Seve, how come you don’t play the

way you used to?”

It was a big risk. Such impetuosity placed

my burgeoning friendship in jeopardy. An

uncomfortable silence ensued; two mindsruminated over who should speak next. It was

Seve who broke first. “Well, you know, I think

maybe I see too many coaches,” he said in his

mellifluous Basque accent. “And now that I

am older and have family, maybe other things

are more important, no?”

I was stunned. Here was my boyhood idol,

offering me an insight into his private world.

He went on: “I am a natural player, yes? I try

to change my swing and I think I get confused.

I get worse, not better.”

Seve had a lot to say, and I just walked

alongside, driver in hand, mesmerised by the

moment. He was relaxed; I could sense a

connection between us. We strolled together

comfortably, to a place where, fittingly, our

golf balls lay separated by only a few metres.

Seve had finished his soliloquy. I noddedknowingly, my gesture reeking of empathy

and understanding. I extended my arm behind

me to allow my caddie to take the driver out

of my hand. There was no response. I waved

it a little harder in the air, perturbed by his lack

of spontaneity. Still no response. Irritated, I

turned around to see where he was, only to

remember that I had hit off without a caddie

and was in fact pulling my own bag.

It was my turn to play. I stood ther

in time for a moment, my clubs 270 y

adrift. The Spaniard looked at me qu

Eventually, I mumbled something tha

might have sounded like, “Seve, I ap

have left my clubs on the tee, why do

have a shot?” I then took off like a bu

retrieve my bag, which was waiting id

the tee box.

 The good part about running is tha

wind in your ears helps to drown out

sounds. They would be, in specific or

comment Seve made about my intell

and Lonard’s raucous laughter, unfo

not entirely inaudible. The wind, thou

nothing to inhibit my peripheral vision

which I was able to see many of my p

higher vantage points, doubled over

as they observed my walk of shame.

I made it back to my ball, this time

clubs in tow; my group was already

out on the green. I played up and join

on the next tee. There was nothing t

no means of redemption. Lonard ga

plenty. Seve? Well he showed little, m

 just a hint of pity. Anyway, our mome

gone, and two holes later he left to a

press conference.

 The PGA Tour is a pretty small pla

It didn’t take long for word to get aro

and to be honest, it was bloody funn

deserved every bit of sledging that c

way. The story even made it back to

where it was reported in The Daily Te

the next day. They say there’s no su

as bad publicity, but in this instance

entirely convinced!

 At the British Open in 1997, I walke

onto the practice range to warm up a

ran headlong into Seve once again. W

briefly made eye contact, but it was a

fleeting moment. There was no glimm

recognition. He had assumed the ga

that he was so identified with, and I re

from pursuing any further introductiohindsight, this was a great idea; it pro

saved me from being an amusing as

memoirs somewhere down the track

Someone once said something ab

sleeping dogs – there has probably n

been a more appropriate epitaph.

Grant Dodd has been a member of the Australasian PGA Tour since 1993 and  played in the 1997 and 1998 British Open

THE DIGEST TOUR TALES AND TRUE  WITH G

   G   E   T   T   Y   I   M   A   G   E   S   (   2   )

Star-struck by SeveHow would you act given a chance encounter with yourboyhood idol? When that person is Seve Ballesteros,anything could happen…

The genius ofSeve Ballesteros

captured theimagination ofa generation.

Seve’s swingwas almostimpossible toreplicate withany success.