Neither by choice nor by design, they share a chapter in Masters lore. They are agony’s all-stars, legends of the fail.
Important figures, all. For without their tales of woe the glories of champions would not seem quite so special. Without their vivid examples of clenching up in the clutch or falling prey to a twist of bad golfing luck, a Masters Sunday would look too easy. How could we fully appreciate the stoutness of victors if not for these poor lads who served as harbingers for all that can go wrong?
There are shrines all about Augusta National to those who have done great deeds. Hogan, Nelson and Sarazen have their bridges. Nicklaus and Palmer have their plaques. But what about their opposites? Should there be some tribute to the fallen of the Masters?
Perhaps there should be a small Greg Norman wailing wall somewhere on the property, to mark the epic grief he has suffered there.
Or a Scott Hoch water fountain near the 10th green, where his throat so famously closed as he stood over a 2-footer to win it in 1989.
Might we consider calling 16-17-18 Sneed’s Alley, where in 1979 he bogeyed all three to fall into a playoff he had no hope of winning.
Tom Weiskopf was a Masters runner-up four times. He put together the most horrific single hole there ever, taking a 13 on the par-3 12th, splashing four balls into Rae’s Creek. Such a tragic Shakespearean figure deserves some lasting monument.
No doubt that they have contributed to the Masters legacy through their errors. Their exploits are everlasting, destined to be recounted whenever the subject of heartbreak arises. And in golf, as in country music, it regularly does.
Of the various anguishes visited upon a golfer, coming close but faltering at Augusta is a special kind of pain. They can almost feel the green jacket on their shoulders, taste the years of champions’ dinners to come, hear themselves announced as a Masters winner on the first tee of every tournament thereafter. Then, in a blinding flash, it all blows up.
Certainly the real world will treat them to far worse sorrows. But the golfing one will not.
When Norman opened the final round of 1996 with a six-shot lead over playing partner Nick Faldo, only to end up losing to Faldo by five shots, the collapse cast a pall over all the former indigo plantation. Even Faldo sympathetically hugged Norman at the end, as if comforting someone who had just lost a darn good dog.
These breakdowns, and the depth of emotions they inspire, are an important part of Masters tradition. They are the treasures no one wants to claim.
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