Tales From The Bunker

We are back and raring to go after some time off. Sorry to take it in the middle of the David Duval Saga. Np doubt there have been sleepless nights among our readers wondering how the Duval saga will end .

Duval grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, the middle kid — three years younger than his brother, Brent, and five years older than his sister, Deirdre. His father, Bob Duval supported the family as the head pro at nearby Timuquana Country Club.

David and Brent did everything together. But in the fall of 1980, 12-year-old Brent began to look pale and to complain of fatigue. His parents at first thought he had a stubborn flu. During the Christmas break, he was diagnosed with aplastic anemia, a lethal disease in which bone marrow stops making the stem cells that generate infection-fighting blood cells. His only hope was a bone-marrow transplant from a compatible donor — David.

The first two biopsies of David’s marrow, which would ascertain its compatibility, were performed without anesthetic. David bore up bravely until the augur bit the bone, and then he screamed and writhed as his father and a nurse held him down. When the needle was drawn, the doctor turned to the other hip. David was given general anesthesia for the four subsequent punctures.

For a few weeks, it looked like the family had gotten a miracle. Brent’s color and energy came back. The doctors said he was progressing well enough for his parents to make plans to take him home. Then fever. Vomiting. Further tests: Brent’s body was rejecting David’s tissue. There was nothing the doctors could do. David returned to the hospital to say goodbye. At the sight of the bald, wasted boy lying in a welter of tubes, David cried, “That’s not Brent! That’s not my brother!” and fled from the room.

On May 17, 1981 Brent died.

His Little League teammates carried his coffin at the funeral in Jacksonville. David endured stoically until a few weeks later, when, blaming himself for the failed marrow transplant, he burst into sobs and cried out, “I killed him! I killed him!”

David’s mother kept a large picture of Brent in the front hall, spoke about him in the present tense, and tried to preserve his room as it had been the day he left. She fell away from religion and into alcoholism. Bob Duval also looked for solace in a bottle, and about a year later, in a decision that confounded his surviving son, left the home. He returned after about a year, then left for good and eventually remarried.

In our final segment David tries to put his life back together and eventually finds happiness.

Until then, Keep’em in the fairway.

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David Duval was on fire from the end of 1997 to early 1999. He won 11 of 34 tournaments including his infamous 59 to win the Bob Hope Dessert Classic.   The world rankings had made official what had been obvious for months: It was no longer Tiger Woods who was the number one player in the world. It was Duval with his signature Oakley shades.  His sunglasses, worn to correct astigmatism and protect his sensitive eyes, were symbolic of his desire to keep the world from knowing the true Duval. His shyness and social anxiety came across as callow self-absorption.

His glory years were brief and he tumbled quickly. His woes began when a sprained fifth lumbar vertebra threw his back out in early 2000. His swing got out of whack as he tried to compensate for the injury. The great fairway driver would stand on the tee not knowing whether his ball was going left or right. Sometimes his back was so tight he could do nothing but lie down on the floor.

By 2004 Duval had fallen to #434 in the world rankings. Of the 20 tournaments he entered in 2005, he made the cut in one, earning $7,630. He was winless in 2006; winless in 2007, playing on a medical exemption; and winless in 2008 and 2009, playing on the last of his lifetime earnings exemptions. Now he has to rely on the kindness of sponsors to get into fields.

Probably no elite athlete has fallen so far so fast. Those are the facts of his career but to really know who David Duval is you have to go back to when he was a nine year old boy and tragedy struck his family. A tragedy that David took most of his life to recover from.
In our next blog we will examine his tragic childhood and how he finally found happiness in his life.

As always keep ‘em in the fairway.

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We all know the basic facts of John’s life:

• Winner of two majors
• As talented as any golfer on tour
• Drinking and gambling problems
• Four wives

Despite his faults we still love his oversize personality and understand his struggles with fame. But how many of us know of his childhood where the seed of his self destructive behavior were planted?

John Patrick Daly Jr. was born on April 28, 1966, in Carmichael, California. His father was an engineer who was rarely home and John struggled to get quality time with him as he grew up. John’s choice of outlet was golf. He discovered the sport as a four-year-old after his father gave him two cut-off clubs. He loved it from the beginning.

Due to his father’s job John moved often as a child. The first move was to Dardanelle, Arkansas. John never had many friends as a kid, so golf proved the perfect diversion for him. He could play 18 holes by himself, or hook up with a group to fill out a foursome. His playing companions were just as often adults as they were kids his own age.

Soon John was introduced to drinking, his lifelong demon. He downed his first beer when he was eight, and next developed a taste for his parents’ homemade wine. But his real love was Jack Daniel’s. It was his father’s drink of choice, and after the 14-year-old’s first sip, it became his, too.

His life soon revolved around golf and drinking. Once a good student, his grades dropped as afternoons were spent practicing and playing, and every night seemed to be a party. His weight began to skyrocket and he found a unique way to diet. John realized that Diet Coke and Jack Daniel’s was the ultimate weight-loss method.

No wonder that with little parental guidance and an early introduction to alcohol, his sudden fame was too much to handle.  Daly was once asked what he’s learned about himself through the years.  “That I was happy when I was a miserable drunk. I played better when I was drunk,” he said. Daly paused, smiled half a smile and gently shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

Below is a video of the “Bad” John. Hopefully we can soon have one of the”Good” John.

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By the most objective measure of all-the record-Jack Nicklaus is the greatest player who ever lived.

There was immensity to Nicklaus’ game. Nicklaus combined tremendous physical ability with boundless mental and psychological resources. At those times when his game was in full song, he would dominate his competition. But Nicklaus’ ultimate genius was that when it wasn’t, he often found a way to win because he would almost never beat himself. His style was a combination of explosive shot making and conservative management that calculated all factors-the course, his opponents and how he was playing. As a golfer, Nicklaus was both Secretariat and Einstein.

Subjective assessments, however, are secondary because Nicklaus’ record is a colossus that encapsulates the game. In sheer numbers, it is awesome.

Between 1962 and 1986, Nicklaus won 70 official events on the PGA TOUR, second in total only to Sam Snead. But it is Nicklaus’ performance in major championships alone that sets him above all others. He won 20-two U.S. Amateurs, a record six Masters, a record-tying four U.S. Opens, three British Opens and a record-tying five PGAs. He completed three full cycles of the modern Grand Slam, something no other player has ever done more than once. If performance in major championships is the ultimate criterion, then no golfer has ever set himself apart like Nicklaus.

Nicklaus was born Jan. 21, 1940, in Columbus, Ohio. His father, Charlie, was a pharmacist who introduced his son to sports and remained his greatest friend and supporter. While growing up at the Scioto C.C. under the tutelage of Jack Grout, Nicklaus came to idolize Bobby Jones, whose 13 major championships became the reference point for his own career.

As an amateur, Nicklaus was clearly a prodigy. He won the 1956 Ohio State Open at age 16. Three years later, he defeated Charlie Coe, 1 up, in an epic final round in the U.S. Amateur and won it again at Pebble Beach in 1961. In between, he tied for second at the 1960 U.S. Open and shot an astounding 269 at Merion in the World Amateur Team Championship.

By the time Nicklaus came on the pro scene in 1962, he was a stout, crew cut dynamo of 215 pounds who was about to change the game. With a mighty upright swing that allowed him to hit the ball high and generally with a slight fade, Nicklaus became the longest controlled driver in the game’s history, as well as the most devastating long-iron player. His technique and strength also allowed him to escape from high grass with more power and control than his rivals. Along with a reliable putting touch that was particularly consistent inside of six feet, Nicklaus’ arsenal was designed to conquer the narrow fairways, deep rough and firm, fast greens that characterize major championships. By 1967, he had won seven of them. Between 1970 and 1975, leaner and more fashionably coiffed, he won seven more.

On the PGA TOUR, Nicklaus led the money list eight times, twice while playing only 16 events. Between 1962 and 1979, he finished in the top 10 in 243 of the 357 official events he played in, a rate of 68 percent.

For all his physical gifts, it was Nicklaus’ ability to concentrate and gather himself for decisive moments that most separated him. This was never more evident than in his most fulfilling triumph, the 1986 Masters, where, at the age of 46, Nicklaus put together a final-round 65 that included a 30 on the back nine to win by one.

Through it all, Nicklaus completed the ultimate champion’s profile by being a gracious loser. He finished second 19 times in majors, but always gave credit to the winner. Win or lose, Jack Nicklaus was the greatest.

©2009 World Golf Hall of Fame

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