Scott, As In Hot

You are Scott Hoch, as in choke, and here you are, back in the Georgia pines, only 70 miles or so from the scene of the defining moment of your 16-year career on the PGA Tour. It was more than seven years ago that you missed that 30-inch putt on the first playoff hole of the 1989 Masters. One lousy putt. You've hit it over and over in your mind, and every time it goes in dead center. But you missed the one that counted, blowing the best chance you've had at winning a major championship, and the newspaper vultures, the guys who couldn't make a tap-in if more than $5 was at stake, start circling every time you get on a leader board. Hoch, as in choke. Jeez, you're just sooooooo tired of hearing it.

Now you're at a central Georgia resort known as Reynolds Plantation, and it's 8 p.m. on Tuesday, April 23, the end of a long day of golf. You're holding an expensive crystal bowl that you've just been handed for winning the U.S. region of the $3.65 million Andersen Consulting World Championship of Golf—is that a mouthful, or what?—and your sharp, hawklike face is twisted into that crooked smile of yours while some guys in blazers and neckties are calling you a "heckuva competitor" and sweet stuff like that. Last year you blew a five-shot lead in the final round at Houston, and, naturally, the vultures trotted out the Masters thing all over again.

Well, you showed them all, didn't you? To hell with the $200,000 prize money and the chance to win another $800,000 in a Final Four showdown against the winners of the Europe, Japan and International regions early next year at the Grayhawk Golf Club in Scottsdale, Ariz. The money is nice, sure, but the satisfaction is the thing. You are the match play champion of the U.S., and your adrenaline is still flowing, which is slightly amazing considering what you've just survived. Yesterday, in the first round, you eliminated Tom Lehman, one up. Today you hit your first drive at 9:30 a.m. and then waited to exhale through 10 hours and 40 holes.

First you put away Mark McCumber, who won the U.S. part of this noble experiment last year, outlasting him in a 23-hole marathon that completely screwed up ESPN's live coverage. Then you took Lee Janzen, the 1993 U.S. Open winner, and just kept laying eight-to-10-foot putts on him, some for birdies and others to save par, until the 16th hole, when Janzen, down by only a hole, finally came unglued. What finished him off was your second shot, a semi-impossible seven-iron out of some trees and onto the green 185 yards away. His concentration gone with the wind, Janzen plunked his second shot into the water on the left. For the first time in two days, three matches and 52 holes, you had the luxury of a 2-up lead. Janzen also splashed his tee shot on number 17, a nasty par-3. He hit from the drop area, hoping for a miracle, but instead fed the fish again. You saw him throw up his arms but were too far away to hear him cry, "That's it. I've had enough."

You're Scott Hoch, as in choke, and you like match play, even wish there were more of it. But since the PGA Championship went to medal in 1958, match play has been about as rare on any of the world's five pro tours as a six-putt. So you were intrigued in October 1994 when you heard that Tim Smith, who worked as former PGA Tour commissioner Deane Beman's deputy, had persuaded the major men's tours to sanction an international match play tournament that would, Smith hoped, include the 32 players who lead the Sony World Ranking.

Last year a lot of the top players took a wait-and-see attitude, meaning that among other things, the first U.S. regional lacked in marquee value. But when everyone saw McCumber pocket a cool $350,000 for finishing third overall to England's Barry Lane, a lot of players suddenly started checking their Sony numbers.

You didn't learn that you were officially in this year's field until February, when Fred Couples decided to skip the trip to Georgia to fulfill a long-standing commitment in Japan. At the trophy presentation, you remember to smile and thank Couples. Or, as you call him, "the one who really made all this possible." Hey, that's a joke, as in Hoch.

Talking to the crowd, you get in a couple of shots as crisp as anything you hit on the course. You mention the Ryder Cup. During one five-week stretch last summer, you won three events on one tour or another, including a victory in the Heineken Dutch Open over a field that included all but two members of the European Ryder Cup team. But did U.S. captain Lanny Wadkins name you to his squad? Of course not. So you stand up there clutching your crystal bowl, and this is what comes out of your mouth: "Last year both Lee Janzen and I were considered for the Ryder Cup. We didn't make it, and maybe a reason was they didn't know how we could do in match play. I hope we've answered that. We can play some match play."

Of all the holes you played at Reynolds Plantation, the one you appreciate the most is the one that closed out the McCumber match, the third go-round on the par-3 17th. You had a 2½-foot putt for birdie, but McCumber graciously conceded it to you after he had missed his birdie attempt. The symbolic import was heavy. Everybody in the gallery was whispering, "Isn't that about the same length as...." Yeah, it was. But as you said at the post-tournament press conference, "I just jarred those kind of putts both days here. I've missed a 2½-footer before, as you guys probably remember. But this was a different putt under different circumstances."

When you strolled into that press session, only four of the chairs were occupied by note-takers. This was to be expected, considering the newness of the event and the way it was shoehorned into the Tour schedule, but you couldn't resist. "Where is everybody? They all leave? I guess they didn't get the winner they wanted." There it was again. The bitterness or chip on the shoulder.