There’s the hug from his caddie, who used to be a high school math teacher and a girls’ soccer coach. There’s the hug from the parents, who played college sports and went on to raise a beautiful family of five. There’s the hug from his high school sweetheart, and his brother, and his college friends, and seemingly half the state of Texas.
There’s the verbal bow to his inspiration and his “hero” – Ellie, his 14-year-old sister who was born with a neurological disorder on the autism spectrum.
“When I speak to her she’s probably going to tell me to bring a present home to her,” Jordan Spieth said Sunday. “I’m sure she was watching and saw how happy I was with my family at the end. She probably got a little jealous. I saw her last week in Houston after each round and she would ask, ‘Did you win? Did you win?’ I would say, ‘Not yet. Not yet.’ And then, ‘No.’”
He lost the Shell Open. It’s safe to assume what happened this week eclipsed that.
The 21-year-old Spieth became the second-youngest Masters winner in history, going wire to wire for only the fifth time in the tournament’s 79 years. He set a record with 28 birdies on the way to shooting 18-under. He would have broken Tiger Woods’ record at 19-under but he saved his worst shot for stroke No. 269 and missed a 5-foot putt.
The golf gods couldn’t help him. They were too busy applauding.
It’s risky to project a sport’s next star, let alone professional athletics’ next dominant figure. But Spieth checks all the boxes. His golf is perfect. His humility, perspective and respect for everybody around him is beyond the norm for any person, let alone a rich and famous one. During the green jacket ceremony, he even thanked Augusta National’s “food and beverage staff.”
And it all seems genuine.
When the next world golf rankings coming out, Spieth will be ranked No. 2 to Rory McIlroy, but everybody will believe Spieth is the guy to beat.
He talks to the ball, and the ball listens.
He just won his first major, which puts him 17 behind Jack Nicklaus. I prefer to get a head start counting.
Justin Rose shot 14-under, nine strokes better than he has ever played a Masters. He lost by four strokes.
“It shouldn’t be that easy,” he said of Spieth.
Phil Mickelson, a three-time Masters champion, also finished 14-under, the second-best score of his 23 years in Augusta. He also lost by four strokes.
“I would have taken 14‑under at the start of the week. I just needed to do something spectacular,” he said.
Spieth humbled the world’s greatest golfers and waltzed through four days on a course that often seems like the sport’s beautiful hell.
This Masters’ Sunday lacked the typical back-nine drama because Spieth was not the typical leader. The question wasn’t whether anybody would catch him but rather how many pages in the record book would spontaneously combust.
When he dropped a 23-foot putt on No. 10, he set a Masters record with his 26th birdie of the tournament. There were still eight holes left.
Bobby Jones was slapping his forehead.
It was like a lopsided marathon. The leader runs past, then you turn to the left and wait for the trailing pack. At some point you wonder if everybody else got lost.
Spieth said he didn’t feel comfortable until he sank a putt for par on 16. I think even Ellie laughed when she heard that.
Ellie keeps Spieth grounded. She inspired him to start a foundation that benefits special needs children. “I really love when she’s able to be out there, I love spending time with her,” he said. “It’s humbling to see her and her friends and the struggles they go through each day that we take for granted. My experience with her and with her friends is fantastic. I love being a part of it and helping support it.”
If Spieth wasn’t such a root-able kid, this would’ve been a boring week.
Nobody could find a flaw in his game or his personality. Nobody disseminated anything but respect and adoration. Not other golfers, who can be prima donnas. Not the walking legends around Augusta National, who seemingly measure everybody against Palmer or Nicklaus or a ghost. Not caddies or staff or grumpy sportswriters.
From Matt Kuchar: “He’s very well liked. He doesn’t seem to be a 20- or 21-year-old. He fits right in.”
Also: “He’s good (at ping-pong). He can play. Backhand’s a little weak.”
A-HA!
On Saturday, Spieth had a double-bogey on No. 17. It gave visual hope, if not actual hope, to the few golfers within a zip code of him going into Sunday — Justin Rose, Phil Mickelson, Charley Hoffmann. But nobody should have expected a collapse. He had never been anything but cool in Augusta. His bogeys on Nos. 8 and 9 last year after holding a two-shot lead over Bubba Watson were overblown. Spieth shot par for the day. Watson (3-under) just outplayed him.
“I was hungry after having it slip away and watching Bubba win,” Spieth said. “I knew I had a chance to win that tournament.”
He received a text message Sunday morning with words of encouragement from fellow Texan and mentor Ben Crenshaw.
“Be patient. You got this thing,” it read.
That was apparent all week. Get used to it.
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