Unless this week's Match Play Championship is a thriller, the 2002
West Coast swing will go down as one of the worst in recent memory. Ugly
finishes, too many low-profile winners and a slumbering Tiger recall the
early-1990s
malaise.
NEXT UP
PGA: World Golf Championships: Accenture Match Play Championship
PGA: Touchstone Energy Tucson Open
Senior: Audi Senior Classic
European: Caltex Singapore Masters
INSTANT POLL
There's been a lot of hand-wringing in recent years over the idea that golf is
becoming too easy for the savants on the PGA Tour, but the early returns on the
2002 season suggest the opposite. Three up with seven to play, Scott McCarron
kicked away last week's Nissan Open with startling ineptitude.
His homely finish marked the third straight week a would-be champion choked
coming down the stretch -- J.L. Lewis at San Diego (afterward even he uttered
the dreaded c word) and Pat Perez at Pebble Beach preceded McCarron. In
all, six of the year's seven winners have come from behind on Sunday, which is
another way of saying that six out of seven times the leader has blown
it.
Even the beneficiary of McCarron's collapse seemed distressed by the trend.
"I wouldn't wish that on anyone," Len Mattiace said of McCarron's
finish. This from a 34-year-old journeyman who had been winless in his previous
219 starts on Tour. Mattiace's compassion comes from bitter experience. During
the final round of the 1998 Players Championship, he arrived at the Stadium
course's 17th hole only a stroke off the lead. He proceeded to hit two balls
into the water and make a quintuple-bogey 8 -- with his gravely ill
mother watching from a wheelchair near the green.
So much of a golfer's success is determined between the ears, but Mattiace
describes Sunday pressure as a physical experience. "Your heart pounds in
your chest," he said following his victory. "You breathe a lot
quicker. You feel a little jittery in your stomach. Your legs get a little
weak." Never more so than on the steep walk up Riviera's 18th fairway, but
on Sunday, Mattiace delivered a gorgeous eight-iron to set up the winning par,
one last solid strike in a rock-steady round of three-under 68. "I blocked
out all the garbage and executed the shot," he said. As opposed to
everybody
else.
McCarron's self-immolation is what will be remembered, but plenty of other
players flamed out during the final round. The game's best putter, Brad Faxon,
missed a series of shortish birdie tries on the back nine; on 18, trailing by a
stroke, he left a 12-footer an inch short. Standing on the 6th tee, Toru
Taniguchi hadn't made a bogey in his previous 32 holes and had surged into a tie
for the lead. Over the next four holes he made three bogeys and would finish two
strokes
back.
"What happens is, you get into areas you're not familiar with," said
Mattiace. "Getting a chance to win a tournament -- that's not something
that happens to you every day. Today I had the same feelings as at the Players
Championship, but I had a little more experience at handling
them."
Mattiace displayed uncommon dignity after his debacle at Sawgrass and as much
sportsmanship in victory. He deserves to be remembered as a worthy champion, but
in this, the year of the gaffe, another image will linger. Following his
postround press conference Mattiace hopped into a van to make his escape. Its
radio was tuned to a sports-talk station, and no sooner had he settled into his
seat than the strains of a news bulletin filled the vehicle: "Len Mattiace
won the Nissan Open today when Scott McCarron bogeyed the 18th hole...."
Upon hearing that, Mattiace smiled grimly and shook his
head.
O.B.
Jim Murray may be tickling a typewriter in the great press
room in the sky, but his presence was felt at the Nissan Open, played in his
adopted hometown. On the day before the tournament Linda McCoy-Murray ,
the widow of the Los Angeles Times's Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist,
delivered to Jeff Sluman a long-overdue signed copy of Jim Murray: An
Autobiography. Linda had been picking through a stack of her husband's books
when she discovered one with the inscription, "For Jeff Sluman -- One of
my favorite golfers ever! Fairways and greens." It was dated "L.A.
Open '97," a year and a half before Murray died. "It's a wonderful
surprise," says Sluman, who had asked for a copy of the book in 1994.
"It was out of respect for an unbelievable writer."
If Ty Tryon is the Justin Timberlake of the PGA Tour,
than Natalie Gulbis is being positioned as the LPGA's Britney Spears.
Like the omnipresent pop tart, Gulbis, 19, is trying to use her flaxen-haired
beauty to cross over into the performing arts. For the past two months she has
been taking twice-weekly acting lessons in Los Angeles, a considerable
commitment for someone whose previous thespian experience was in a school
production of Grease when she was 12. A cameo on a WB sitcom recently
fell through, but even if Gulbis fails to dazzle Tinseltown, the acting
experiment should help her golf. "I've learned to have a little more
confidence and to get over some of my insecurities," she tells SI.
"It's also made me more aware of where my concentration level is."
In other LPGA teenybopper news: Catherine
Cartwright , 18, has pledged to donate the first check of her rookie year to
the Special Operations Warrior fund, which benefits children of Special Ops
soldiers killed in the line of duty. Motivated to give something back by the
events of Sept. 11, Cartwright chose the Warrior fund after consulting with her
uncle Col. Charles Cartwright, who was in the Pentagon when it was attacked.
Catherine, who finished ninth on the SBC Futures tour money list in 2001, will
also donate $25 for every birdie she makes on either the LPGA or Futures tour,
and she's asking potential sponsors to call her at 941-992-3338 to support the
birdie drive. "I'm living my dream, and I want to help these children live
theirs," she says.
In December,
Claude Harmon IV left his father's Butch Harmon School of Golf, in
Las Vegas, to set up shop in London. The move will allow him to spend more time
with his European tour clients, including Darren Clarke and Adam
Scott . Harmon, who's married to a Scot, tells SI, "I'm trying to make
my own name, do my own thing."