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Notebook: Bulldog Mentality Corey Pavin's MakeoverBy Jaime Diaz
Corey Pavin never figured to be the type of player who would need a major
overhaul. His swing always looked funny, but that seemed beside the point. The
Bulldog was all about intangibles -- creativity, guts and a flair for
delivering the coup de grâce, such as his four-wood on the 72nd hole to
clinch the '95 U.S.
Open.
However, there was Pavin at the Nissan Open, completely rebuilt at 41. The trademark mustache was gone. The curly hair has turned gray. He's still 5'9" and 155 pounds, but his frame is broader and tapered by weightlifting. He has returned -- after a six-year absence -- to his original coach, Bruce Hamilton. Also, Pavin is single: After 17 years of marriage, he filed for divorce last November. Another noticeable change was his spot on the leader board. Going into the final round, Pavin, who hadn't finished better than a tie for fifth since his win at the 1996 Colonial, was tied for second. Wielding the Bulls Eye putter he'd used to win the Nissan in 1994 and '95, Pavin took only 22 putts during a third-round 67, the best score of the day. (His playing partner, Tiger Woods, shot a 69.) A final-round 74 left Pavin in 20th place. Of all the reasons given for Pavin's precipitous fall -- lack of motivation after winning his only major, a desire to spend more time with his two young sons, marital discord -- his biggest problem inside the ropes was simple: Pavin, as short a hitter as any top player in history, got shorter while his peers got longer. Last year, when the average driving distance on Tour was 273 yards, Pavin averaged 251 to rank dead last. Pavin had always sacrificed distance for control, but by late '96 he was hitting a low-flying fade off the tee that big hitters could blow past with a two-iron. He had also lost his touchstone, Hamilton, with whom Pavin had worked since he was 16. Over 20 years the two men had become close friends, as had their wives. But in 1995 the Hamiltons went through a divorce that caused tension between the couples and led to the professional split. After Pavin's own marriage foundered, Pavin called Bruce Hamilton from Hawaii on the last day of the Sony Open in January. "Corey asked if I'd like to work with him again," says Hamilton, the head pro at Spanish Hills in Camarillo, which is 50 miles north of Los Angeles. "I said I'd love to. It was an emotional call." Hamilton's mission is simple. "Corey has to hit the ball longer. Period," he says. To create more clubhead speed and a higher ball flight, Hamilton has Pavin working his right shoulder underneath his chin through impact. On the range at Riviera the results -- increased carry -- were obvious. "It might take a while, but I know I'm working on the right stuff," says Pavin. "Tiger's power isn't completely a product of his size and strength. It's his technique too." The belief that he's back on track reawakened the Pavin of old at Riviera. "Corey is foremost a competitor, and nothing upsets him more than not being competitive," says his older brother, Matt, a Titleist salesman in Valencia, Calif. "He has always lived for the thrill of the chase. It's a matter of confidence, and if Bruce gives him that extra smidgen, it could make a huge difference."
Duval's Achilles'
Heel
Tiger Woods's so-called slump has received plenty of attention, but no skid has been blamed on more factors than David Duval's, even though the chief culprit is all too obvious. Ranked No. 1 in the world in 1999, when he completed a run of 11 victories in 34 tournaments, Duval has won only one of his last 36 starts and fallen to sixth in the world. Duval, who withdrew from the Nissan, refuses to admit anything's wrong, and that has given rise to an abundance of theories. Some have speculated that Duval hated the glare of being No. 1 so much that he unconsciously abdicated the position. Others say Duval's body-altering exercise regimen has caused him to lose his groove. A popular theory holds that his psyche has been crippled by Sunday failures to win his first major. Even Duval's friendship with Woods (never fraternize with the enemy), his recent engagement to longtime girlfriend Julie McArthur and his legal skirmish with the Acushnet Company, with which he had an endorsement contract, have been cited. Here's the real reason for his slump: Duval's weak with the wedge. I'm not talking about standard pitches from 75 to 110 yards -- Duval is excellent at those. I mean the talent shots around the green, in particular the most indispensable accessory to today's power game: the lob shot. Duval doesn't have a lob shot, not of the caliber of three of the players ahead of him in the World Ranking -- Woods, Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els. Last year Els and Woods ranked first and third, respectively, in the Tour's scrambling stat. Mickelson, the master of the flop shot, was sixth. Duval has never ranked better than 42nd in scrambling. Last year he was 86th. This year he's 140th. Unlike Mickelson and Woods, Duval did not grow up using the lob shot and has made no serious effort to work it into his repertoire. That has cost him in the majors. In the '99 U.S. Open at Pinehurst, Duval lost the lead because of poor short-game play, particularly when he skulled a bunker shot and flubbed a chip on the 9th hole on Sunday. His quadruple-bogey 8 on the 71st hole at St. Andrews last summer didn't cost him the title, but his inability to loft his ball over the lip of the Road Hole Bunker -- it took him four shots to get out -- underscored this deficiency. Until Duval learns the lob, he will remain in a competitive hole as deep as the Road Hole Bunker. Issue date: March 5, 2001
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