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Grant Dodd
zebra. He doesnt reason with it. He tries to hold its head underwater until it stops wriggling. There was no shot too difficult for him to visualise, no copse of trees too thick to manufacture a shot out of. Consequently, he played with little fear, attacking golf courses with abandon, fortified by the knowledge that his mercurial short game was gilt-edged insurance against any indiscretion. It was stunning, entrepreneurial golf of the rawest form. Ben Crenshaw, no short-game mug himself, observed that, Seve plays shots that I dont even see in my dreams. I played with Seve once, in a practice round during the 1995 Alfred Dunhill Championship in Hong Kong. It was an ignominious introduction. I became so entranced by a conversation with the great man on the sixth hole that I forgot my golf clubs, leaving them 250 metres behind on the tee. Embarrassing moments aside, what I remember most was a bunker shot played on the par-5 ninth hole. Seve had short-sided himself on the downslope of the greenside trap. To add to the challenge of the moment, he was playing out of grainy, stony sand to a tight pin with the green sloping away from him. Im not sure that I could have kept it on the green. Needless to say, I was more than interested to watch what he could conjure up from his mythical bag of tricks. He made a pass at it like Tiger teeing off with a driver on a par 5. The ball came out in slow motion, seemingly on time delay, spinning like a whirling dervish. It landed a foot over the lip, took one bounce and stopped on a dime six inches from the hole. I turned to playing partner Peter Lonard, and appreciative, raised eyebrows met simultaneously. Words were unnecessary. From such moments legends are born. In this instance Seves was merely further entrenched, laser-etched into the cortex. Capturing the essence of a personality like Seve stretches the boundaries of objectivity, perhaps more so in eulogy. Like most geniuses, he was a complex amalgam of factors and influences. Emotional, passionate, often thoughtful, sometimes dark and brooding. Free of spirit, competitive, enigmatic; and theyre just the things we freely assume about him from observing his publicly presented identity. But try to capture it we should. True greatness is deserving of such commemoration. In sadness, and respect, vale, Senor.
Clockwise from left: Another vintage Seve escape; holing the winning putt at the 1984 British Open at St Andrews; a fresh-faced teenager in 1976; Seves style was more about artistry than precision; Being congratulated by Hale Irwin after winning the 1979 British Open.
Peter Alliss used to say I hit miracle shots. I never thought that. Miracles dont happen very often; I was hitting those shots all the time. Seve Ballesteros
Id hazard a guess that few who read this column will be unaware of the recent passing of Seve Ballesteros. One of the all-time greats of golf, and possibly the most charismatic, the Spaniard has left behind a considerable legacy and more fans than he could ever have imagined. Call it charisma, or je ne sais quoi, or what you will, but Ballesteros had an oversupply of something that set him apart. When he walked on the course he created a buzz. He infused the atmosphere with electricity and created the anticipation that magic was a possibility. Despite his game going south in the latter years of his career, an inherent, pied piper-like magnetism remained until the very end. Dead at 54 years young, he patently still had much to offer to a modern game crying out for personality and differentiation. Seve announced his arrival to the golf world at The Open Championship in 1976. Displaying an outrageous sense of imagination and bravado, he saved par in ways that left observers speechless. This cavalier approach was to become the basis of his golf identity. Commentator Jim Murray had this to say of Ballesteros: He goes after a golf course like a lion at a
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