A New Reign In Spain

"I told him how it was when I first flew to London from Barcelona to play in 1965 and had only a return ticket and �75 to keep me going for three months," Gallardo says. "More than 10 times I slept on a bench in a railway station. I liked it there because I could buy from this machine cartons of cold milk for a sixpence. I thought it was fantastic when I could afford to pay �2.50 a week for an attic room. When I came back to England for my honeymoon, I showed my wife Josephina this bench at Euston station, and I said, 'That was my bed!' She think I'm crazy. I tell Seve, 'The more care you take with people, the more you will win in the end.' "

Gallardo then gave a lesson to Jose Maria Canizares, who was struggling to find his best game, before bustling off to the press center to write his daily column for the Barcelona newspaper El Mundo Deportivo (The World of Sport). "They take anything I write, so you know I get big spaces," he said. It was not always this way, however.

When Seve Ballesteros burst upon the world at Royal Birkdale in the 1976 British Open (he led for three rounds before finishing in a tie for second with Jack Nicklaus, six shots behind Johnny Miller), British television and the newspapers made him a hero overnight. He was golf's answer to Bjorn Borg, Spain's new El Cordobes. Teen-age girls flocked by the thousands to see the handsome teenager who obviously feared no one.

Seve gave the ball a tremendous slash with his easy, natural caddie's swing, relying on a magical short game to conjure his way out of trouble time and again, and always with a flashing smile. It was a refreshing change from the defensive, conservative British style, and the swashbuckling Seve was a breath of fresh air to the media in Britain, which were so thoroughly disappointed in—and ready to devour—onetime hero Tony Jacklin and clearly unimpressed by the polite, withdrawn Peter Oosterhuis, whose major virtue appeared to be manufactured consistency rather than flair. Unaccountably, the Spanish press largely ignored the heroics of Ballesteros.

The rest of golfing Europe, however, hailed the young star as a champion-to-be. Golf on the continent had always been the guarded preserve of the aristocratic and wealthy. The open championships had previously attracted minuscule galleries notable only for the cut of their clothes and their bloodlines. Now Ballesteros, this hero of humble origin, drew a larger following with each successive event. In the three months following the 1976 British Open, Ballesteros was third in the Swiss and Scandinavian Opens; won the Dutch by eight shots; was third in Germany; placed fifth to Ben Crenshaw in the Irish Open; and finished eighth in the Benson and Hedges International. He then climaxed his brilliant season by winning the Lanc�me Trophy in Paris with a blistering finish that overtook Arnold Palmer by one shot. Following Ballesteros that final day was the biggest crowd ever to watch golf in France.

Ballesteros had become the youngest ever to win the prestigious Vardon Trophy as the top money winner, and his �39,504 in earnings was a record for Europe, eclipsing by more than �7,000 the record set by Oosterhuis in 1974.

But the victory the Spaniards treasure most was that of Ballesteros and the 5'7", 138-pound Pinero, 24, in the World Cup at Palm Springs, Calif. last December. These two former caddies beat out the customary favorite, the United States, represented by U.S. Open champion Jerry Pate and PGA winner Dave Stockton, by two shots.

"Although we didn't get much publicity at home at the time, that win did more for Spanish golf than anything so far," Pinero says. "In our country people are more interested in how the national teams go, which is why bullfighting is no longer as popular as soccer. The people were more proud of what Manuel Santana was doing for Spain in the Davis Cup than when he won at Wimbledon."

There is a distinct parallel in the growth in popularity of tennis and golf in Spain. During the oppressively fascist Franco regime, Santana, a former ballboy, had shown his fellow peasants the way to escape from the poverty bracket to riches and fame with a tennis racket in his hand. And every single Spanish professional golfer has emerged in the same way: from the caddie shack.

"Of course, this is the whole story, says Gallardo. "We all started out genuinely hungry, truly poor people. There is nothing better to make you try like hell."