Men in Green by Michael Bamberger Page A

finished about a foot from the hole and he kicked it in for his third two of the round.
    That put him at seven under. After twelve holes, he had made seven birdies and five pars. He made pars on thirteen and fourteen and a birdie on fifteen and three pars to finish.
    His card:
    454 232 443
    342 544 344
    That score, 64, was one short of tying the course record and came on a day when there were only four scores under 70. Mike, in his first round at his first Masters, was the first-round leader by two shots. In his post-round interviews, he praised and thanked Billy. When he shot a second-round 82, with a triple on the last, he answered every question from reporters and put it all on himself.
    Billy has caddied in dozens of majors, in Ryder Cups, on many Sunday afternoons with funny-money riches up for grabs. He’s been in team rooms and scoring trailers and locker rooms all over the world. He’s hung out with Tiger, Shark, Phil, Fred. He once ate dinner with Hogan at his parents’ house. (His father asked, “How do you want your steak, Ben?” Hogan said, “I’ll grill it myself.”) But it was obvious that his week with Mike was one of his best ever. Sixty-four, eighty-two, whatever. They were partners.
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    Billy loved Goalby. Jay Haas’s Uncle Bob. Golf does not produce men like Bob Goalby anymore. He was a central figure when the players broke away from the PGA of America in 1968 and formed the PGA Tour. The breakup was made formal by a vote at the Atlantic City Country Club. Arnold once told me how he was a proud supporter of player emancipation, but Bob had a different take on Arnold in this period, telling me once that Arnold was “sitting on the fence” on the whole question of the split. In Goalby’s version, as the years passed and the independent PGA Tour became a thriving entity, Arnold had turned himself into one of the ringleaders, along with Goalby, Doug Ford, Tommy Jacobs, and Gardner Dickinson. Old men and their war stories.
    On the eighteenth hole of the Sunday round of the ’68 Masters, Goalby found himself standing over the most significant four-foot putt of his life. If he made it, he would be in at eleven under par for the tournament, which would tie him with the leader in the clubhouse, De Vicenzo. A tie would mean an eighteen-hole Monday playoff. Billy told us about the little pep talk Bob gave himself before attempting that four-footer: “Step up there like a man, you choking son of a bitch, and knock this motherfucker in the hole.” In it went.
    As it turned out, there was no Monday playoff. Shortly after Goalby holed out, it was revealed that De Vicenzo had signed for a 66 instead of the 65 he actually shot. Cliff Roberts and Bobby Jones conferred in Jones’s cabin. The rule book was clear. When a player signs for a score higher than he actually makes, he is required to take that higher score. Rule 38, Paragraph 3. The 66 De Vicenzo signed for left him at ten under. Goalby’s four-footer turned out to be for the win.
    Mike repeated Goalby’s choking-dog quote, savoring each word.
    Billy said, “What do you think the golf therapists would say about that ?”
    The golf therapists would not have been able to handle Mike at any point in his career. Scores of 64 followed by 82 in your first Masters are not business as usual, and something beyond the phrases peak performance and comfort zone must explain them. Mike had done something similar in his first U.S. Open, in ’84 at Winged Foot, Claude Harmon still around as pro emeritus. His opening-round score was 68, which tied him for the lead with Jim Thorpe, Hubert Green, and Hale Irwin. He followed with a 78. Not as dramatic as 64-82. Still. In his first U.S. Open and his first Masters, after one round, nobody shot a score lower than Mike.
    Mike used only one ball during his 64, which was rare in those days because the ball that pros