THE DIGEST TOUR TALES AND TRUE

WITH GRANT DODD

Star-struck by Seve
How would you act given a chance encounter with your boyhood idol? When that person is Seve Ballesteros, anything could happen

ave you ever dreamt of playing golf with your idol? What would you say? Would you be nervous? What would he/she be like in the flesh, away from the cameras? Youre only human if such thoughts have entered your consciousness. In the formative days of my golf education, it was a constant state of mind with only the subject of adoration changing from time to time. Although a late starter to the game, I wasnt immune to a touch of idolatry. Id devour magazines and books about all the greats, and incorporate various swing idiosyncrasies of theirs into my routine. In the latter part of the 1980s, I ended up trying to copy Greg Norman. My reasoning was slightly convoluted. Firstly, he was the dominant player of the time and obviously doing something right. However, the crucial part of my thought process was that the player I admired most appeared too talented and multi-faceted to be replicated. Seve Ballesteros was a once-in-a-lifetime golfer. Artist, magician and conjurer are all descriptors used to attempt to portray the way he played the game. At his peak, he played with a dismissive arrogance toward the golf course. It didnt matter where he hit it, he always found some spectacular way to get the ball into the hole and manufacture a score. He had an intensity and passion for the game that set him apart, and for a time he was indisputably the greatest player on the planet. Had I been given the choice of one player to play a round with, it would have been Seve. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to happen. I was an amateur in Sydney and he played in Europe, on the other side of the world. The best I could hope for was to admire him through the television. However, I did turn pro in 1993, and in 1996 the Australasian PGA Tour travelled to Hong Kong for the Dunhill Masters. On the Tuesday, Peter Lonard and I went out for an

early practice round only to arrive at the first tee to find five groups in front of us. Rather than wait, we put our names down on the timesheet an hour later and walked out to the 14th to play in. When we made it back to the opening hole once again, I was confronted by the Indian pro, Amandeep Johl, who was quite visibly excited. Ive put my name down with you, and guess who else is in our group? he asked. It didnt take too much guessing to work out who it was, because the headline player this week was none other than the great Spaniard. Although Seves game had been in terminal decline for a few years by then, he was still seen as a marquee player and a crowdpuller wherever he went. He had ventured out of Europe on one of his infrequent foreign excursions, no doubt enticed by a healthy appearance fee. By some strange twist of fate, I now found myself fulfilling that adolescent dream of playing a round of golf with him. Seve was known throughout the pro ranks as a focused and intense competitor in other words, not a big talker. However, this reputation was either unfounded or we had found him on a good day, because he was in a tremendous state of mind. After a few holes, and emboldened by some early repartee, I decided to engage him in further conversation. We chatted amiably about football, Australia, Spain; and on the fifth he gave me some advice on club selection. I suggested that he would make a good caddie, an attempt at humour that fell somewhat flat. Nonetheless, things were going along swingingly. As we walked off the sixth tee, I decided to push my luck a little. In an act of outrageous over-familiarity, I posed the question the whole world of golf had been wondering for years: Seve, how come you dont play the way you used to? It was a big risk. Such impetuosity placed my burgeoning friendship in jeopardy. An uncomfortable silence ensued; two minds ruminated over who should speak next. It was Seve who broke first. Well, you know, I think maybe I see too many coaches, he said in his mellifluous Basque accent. And now that I am older and have family, maybe other things are more important, no? I was stunned. Here was my boyhood idol, offering me an insight into his private world. He went on: I am a natural player, yes? I try

It was my turn to play. I stood there, frozen in time for a moment, my clubs 270 yards adrift. The Spaniard looked at me quizzically. Eventually, I mumbled something that might have sounded like, Seve, I appear to have left my clubs on the tee, why dont you have a shot? I then took off like a bullet to retrieve my bag, which was waiting idly beside the tee box. The good part about running is that the wind in your ears helps to drown out other sounds. They would be, in specific order, any comment Seve made about my intelligence and Lonards raucous laughter, unfortunately not entirely inaudible. The wind, though, did nothing to inhibit my peripheral vision, with which I was able to see many of my peers on higher vantage points, doubled over with mirth as they observed my walk of shame. I made it back to my ball, this time with clubs in tow; my group was already putting out on the green. I played up and joined them on the next tee. There was nothing to say, no means of redemption. Lonard gave me plenty. Seve? Well he showed little, maybe just a hint of pity. Anyway, our moment was gone, and two holes later he left to attend a press conference. The PGA Tour is a pretty small place. It didnt take long for word to get around, and to be honest, it was bloody funny and I deserved every bit of sledging that came my way. The story even made it back to Australia, where it was reported in The Daily Telegraph the next day. They say theres no such thing as bad publicity, but in this instance Im not entirely convinced! At the British Open in 1997, I walked onto the practice range to warm up and ran headlong into Seve once again. We briefly made eye contact, but it was a fleeting moment. There was no glimmer of recognition. He had assumed the game face that he was so identified with, and I refrained from pursuing any further introduction. In hindsight, this was a great idea; it probably saved me from being an amusing aside in his memoirs somewhere down the track. Someone once said something about sleeping dogs there has probably never been a more appropriate epitaph.
Grant Dodd has been a member of the Australasian PGA Tour since 1993 and played in the 1997 and 1998 British Opens.

The genius of Seve Ballesteros captured the imagination of a generation.

24

Australian Golf Digest

NOVEMBER 2005

GETTY IMAGES (2)

Seves swing was almost impossible to replicate with any success.

to change my swing and I think I get confused. I get worse, not better. Seve had a lot to say, and I just walked alongside, driver in hand, mesmerised by the moment. He was relaxed; I could sense a connection between us. We strolled together comfortably, to a place where, fittingly, our golf balls lay separated by only a few metres. Seve had finished his soliloquy. I nodded knowingly, my gesture reeking of empathy and understanding. I extended my arm behind me to allow my caddie to take the driver out of my hand. There was no response. I waved it a little harder in the air, perturbed by his lack of spontaneity. Still no response. Irritated, I turned around to see where he was, only to remember that I had hit off without a caddie and was in fact pulling my own bag.