My Shot

Two weeks ago, when I won the Chick-fil-A Charity Championship, I would've loved to have made the thank you speech instead of having Nancy Lopez do it for me, but because of my stuttering it would've been Monday by the time I finished. I've always stuttered. As a child, I spoke too quickly, trying to get everything out at once. That's still the way I talk. I try to slow down and breathe properly, but it's not that easy. I know what I'm supposed to do, but I just can't do it, so I guess I'm not Nike commercial material.

All the articles written about me focus on my stuttering, and that bothers me. Why should my stuttering be the story when I beat the best golfers in the world? I guess when something stands out, it's always going to get the most attention, so I don't have much of a choice. Don't get me wrong, the articles have been nice, but it's like making an eagle and having everyone ask about your bogey.

Sometimes reporters ask me if I excel at golf because it's an individual sport. They assume that I became a golfer because my stuttering turned me into a loner who skulked off to the driving range and practiced for hours on end so I wouldn't have to speak to anyone.

That's not me at all. I'm what we call in Sweden a herd animal. I love having people around. If I have a day to myself with no company, I get lonely. I'm a bit shy with strangers, but get me among my Swedish friends and I'll be the one doing most of the talking.

What I'm trying to say is that there's nothing really different about me. I just talk a bit slower than everyone else.