Moment of Glory Page 8

  Maggert would be with Weir in the final pairing on Sunday. Singh and Toms, who were at two under par, would be in the second-to-last group. Woods and Olazabal, both at one under par, would go just after Mickelson, who was also at one under par, and Jim Furyk, who was at even par. Among those final eight players, four—Woods, Singh, Toms, and Olazabal—had won majors. Mickelson and Furyk were generally considered the best players in the world who had not won majors, and Maggert, even though he had only won twice on tour, had eleven finishes in the top seven at majors. Only Weir, with his 10th-place finish at the 1999 PGA, had not contended late on Sunday at a major.

  The pairing directly in front of Mickelson and Furyk had even less experience in majors than Weir. Jonathan Byrd was twenty-five and playing in the first major championship of his life. He was even par through three rounds and would play the last 18 holes with Len Mattiace, who had played superbly on Saturday afternoon, shooting a 69 that put him at even par too, tied for eighth place with Byrd and Furyk—five shots behind Maggert.

  Mattiace wasn’t really thinking in terms of winning at that point. A top-16 finish would guarantee him a spot in the ’04 Masters, and that was well within reach. Still, all week Kristen had been pushing the “mojo” of the house they were staying in.

  “We actually rented two houses,” she said. “Len and I and the kids [Gracee was five and Noelle was two] were in one house, and our families were down the street. When we got to the house, there was a nice note from the lady who owned it saying that a lot of players who had stayed there had done really well in the tournament, including David Duval a couple of times. I kept saying to Len, ‘Breathe in that mojo. Let it work for you.’ ”

  Most of the players were exhausted on Saturday evening. They had played 54 grueling holes in two days, and now they would have to wait until Sunday afternoon to play again. Maggert and Weir, the last pairing, would tee it up at 2:30. CBS would come on the air at two o’clock, which would give the network just enough time to set the scene before going to the first tee to show the two players who had the 2:10 tee time. That pairing would consist of two-time Masters champion Olazabal and—surprise—Tiger Woods.

  MIKE WEIR WOKE UP earlier than he wanted to on Sunday morning, but that didn’t really bother him. He knew, even with a late tee time, that he would be too keyed up to sleep very late. He had talked to Bricia the night before, and they had decided that she should fly in to watch the last round, just in case.

  “It wasn’t as if I was thinking, ‘I’m going to win,’ or anything like that,” Weir said. “But I did feel confident, even though I hadn’t made anything at all on Saturday afternoon. I thought if I could make a putt or two starting out and get some confidence going, I’d have a chance. I think we both thought that if I didn’t win, it would be nice for her to be there anyway, and if I did win, she certainly wouldn’t want to have missed it.”

  Bricia was still en route when Weir left for the golf course, so he didn’t get a chance to see her before going out to warm up and then play. He was able to spot her in the crowd early in the round, though, helped by the fact that the biggest galleries were following the Woods-Olazabal and Mickelson-Furyk pairings.

  Maggert and Weir did have one thing going for them as they stepped onto the first tee: the Masters winner had come from the final twosome on the golf course for twelve straight years. That said, there probably weren’t more than a handful of people wandering around Augusta National on a sun-splashed afternoon who thought that streak would continue.

  The first true roar of the afternoon came for Mickelson. If there was anyone other than Woods that most fans wanted to see win, it was Mickelson. At age thirty-two, Mickelson was a true star. He had won on tour twenty-one times—the first time when he was still in college—and had finished second in the U.S. Open twice, third in the Masters three times, and second in the PGA once. But he still hadn’t won a major championship, and the questions about his inability to do so had started to bug him.

  Unlike some players who have won a lot but never in a major, Mickelson didn’t rationalize the hole in his résumé. He didn’t claim, as Colin Montgomerie had once, that “I’ll have had a great career whether I win a major or not.” He clearly understood the difference between a lucrative career and a great one.

  Mickelson parred the first hole but then pulled his drive way left into the trees at the par-five second hole, the ball finding a small stream. Forced to take a drop, Mickelson, always the risk taker, hit a driver from the woods for his third shot and threaded it through the trees and onto the front of the green about 80 feet from the hole. Even at that, he stood to lose a stroke to most of the field because number two is a birdie hole for most players. Mickelson promptly rolled the 80-footer into the center of the hole, which prompted a rare fist pump and a wide smile.

  Maybe, finally, this would be his day on a major championship Sunday.

  The leaderboard on most major Sundays is an ever-changing puzzle. Nowhere is that more true than at Augusta where most of the holes—especially on the back nine—offer risk-reward opportunities that can send players climbing upward or tumbling backward in a matter of minutes. Even though changes to the golf course have taken some of that away, almost nothing is certain on a Sunday at the Masters.

  There really are few events in sports that TV treats with the reverence of the Masters. It is only in recent years that the club has loosened the reins on the telecast a little bit, allowing CBS, which has televised the tournament every year since 1956, to show the entire front nine and to expand its weekend telecasts so that fans can see the leaders play their entire rounds.

  What hasn’t changed is the syrupy music, the hushed tones, and the sense that something slightly more important than the election of a president or a pope is about to happen.

  And, of course, there are the “Augusta Rules.” There are no front nine and back nine at Augusta but, rather, a first nine and a second nine. There’s no rough but, rather, a first cut and a second cut. The Masters, unlike the other three majors, is not a championship—it is a tournament or, as ex-club chairman Hootie Johnson always called it, a “toonamint.” And you had better believe there are no fans or galleries watching the toonamint. There are, and always will be, “patrons.”

  Several years ago when Sean McDonough was still working for CBS, he slipped one afternoon and referred to the crowd around the 16th green. Horrified and concerned he might go the way of Jack Whitaker (who once famously referred to the patrons around the 18th green as “a mob” and was banished forever) or Gary McCord (who referred to “bikini-waxed greens,” and “body bags” behind the 17th green, for those who were foolish enough to go over the green, and was also banned), McDonough announced to anyone who would listen in the clubhouse the next morning that “there are going to be patrons everywhere at 16 today. There will be patrons behind the green, around the green, and perhaps on the green. There may be patrons swimming in the water next to the green.”

  The patrons had a big day at 16, and McDonough survived. Along with crowds, there is also no mention of money at the Masters. The total purse in 2003 was $6 million, with the winner getting $1,080,000 (those numbers had jumped to $7.5 million and $1,350,000, respectively, by 2009), but if you watch CBS you might think the players are playing strictly for the green jacket.

  “Will it be a day that defines a man’s career?” Jim Nantz said in his melodramatic opening. “Or will it be another day for a man who has defined his sport?”

  Cue syrupy music.

  Of course, there is some truth in all the syrup and breathlessness. As huge as the prize money is, what drives players on the last day of a major is knowing that a victory makes them a part of golf history. And that was the way Weir was thinking as he walked to the first tee on Sunday.

  “I thought I was ready to handle the pressure of the last day of a major,” he said. “In 1999, I hadn’t been ready. Now, I thought I was. That didn’t mean I was going to win, but I did think I was going to play well.�
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  Weir and Maggert provided striking contrasts as they walked to the first tee: Weir in a black shirt, Maggert in a white one. Weir isn’t exactly Lee Trevino, but he is friendly and warm to most people. Maggert was described by Nantz as “the taciturn Texan.”

  Both men overcame their nerves to hit good drives on number one, but Maggert was short and right with his second shot, and Weir was long and left, the ball skidding just over the green about 40 feet from the hole. Maggert pitched to 10 feet and made his putt. Weir’s birdie putt rolled five feet past, but after a long look he also made his par putt.

  “That was a key putt,” he said. “Because the greens had really gotten fast by Sunday afternoon, and I knew I was going to be looking at putts like that all day, and I was going to have to make them if I wanted to win.”

  Up ahead, Woods had reached the second green in two and had made birdie to get to two under to tie Mickelson. Vijay Singh had also birdied the second and was tied with Weir at three under. As he had done throughout the tournament, Weir laid up at the second, then hit a wedge to two feet for a birdie that put him at four under. As they walked to the third tee, Weir trailed Maggert, who had failed to birdie the second, by one shot.

  By the time they got there, the hole had already changed the tone of the day, and the tournament. Lanny Wadkins, who was CBS’s lead analyst at the time, described number three as “the toughest short hole I have ever played in golf.”

  It is, indeed, a short but treacherous par-four, just 350 yards long. It is called “Flowering Peach” (each hole at Augusta National is named for a flower), and with the tees up, longer hitters can drive the green. The championship committee, which sets the tees and the hole locations each morning, had moved a number of tees up on Sunday to tempt players to go for spectacular shots.

  The first person to give in to that temptation, surprisingly, was Woods. Very rarely does Woods make a mental mistake on the golf course. But he walked to the third tee brimming with confidence after his two-putt birdie at the second hole. He hadn’t made a bogey since the eighth hole in the second round on Saturday morning, and he was feeling good about his swing. So was Steve Williams, his caddy. Except when talking to his boss or someone he deems important, Williams is one of the more unpleasant men you are likely to meet in any walk of life. His colleagues have dubbed him “the vigilante caddy,” since he often takes it upon himself to yell at professional photographers for doing their job or to destroy cameras owned by fans who are not authorized to have them on the golf course.

  He is, however, an excellent caddy. Sensing his player’s confidence, Williams suggested to Woods that he go for the green, no doubt thinking he might pull off an eagle and, at worst, would get up and down from somewhere near the green for a birdie. Woods would later tell CBS that it had been Williams’s idea—“Stevie talked me into it” were his exact words—but would take the hit for the decision himself since, in the end, it was his decision.

  As soon as he saw Woods pull the driver, Lanny Wadkins questioned his choice. “I think this is a bad gamble,” he said. He was right.

  The shot never had a chance. It went straight right, smacked off a tree, and came to a stop in the middle of the trees that line the right side of the fairway. From there, even though he was only 103 yards from the flag, Woods had no chance to get the ball on the green, but managed to pitch it out from the trees to a spot a few yards short.

  On most holes he would have had a reasonable chance for par. But Flowering Peach isn’t most holes. The green is very shallow from front to back and has swales running through it. Finding a pin placement on a flat area can be a challenge. With the flag tucked on the left side, getting the ball close was tough. Woods tried to hit a pitch and run, but the ball never stopped. It ran all the way through the green, coming to rest on the fringe, leaving him with a straight downhill shot coming back.

  Things didn’t get any better after that. His next pitch ran through the green again, stopping 17 feet from the hole. He putted from there, missing by six inches, and tapped in for a double-bogey six. Just like that, he had gone from three shots behind Maggert to five shots back.

  Neither Weir nor Maggert hit the ball long enough to even think about hitting driver at the third. Weir hit an iron that ended up rolling just into the rough (first cut) on the right. Maggert’s tee shot found the front of the fairway bunker on the left.

  At the moment Maggert stepped into the bunker, Woods was three-putting the par-three fourth hole from 30 feet to fall another shot back. Mattiace, who had birdied number two and number three, was walking off the fifth green, having just saved par by holing a 12-foot putt. He was at two under par, tied with Mickelson and Toms, trailing Singh by one, Weir by two, and Maggert by three.

  Maggert had a difficult shot. He had to clear the lip of the bunker and still hit the ball far enough to reach the green, which was 137 yards away, and get the ball to stop once it got there. Perhaps overthinking, Maggert hit the ball thin, and it didn’t carry the lip. But that wasn’t the worst thing about the shot. Before Maggert knew what had happened, the ball ricocheted off the lip and hit him in the chest.

  Stunned, Maggert stared down at the ball, which now rested at his feet. It took a moment for him—and for everyone else—to realize what had happened. When he did, Maggert immediately called Weir over.

  “The ball hit me,” he said. “I’m going to call for an official.”

  Maggert was fairly certain he knew the rule, but he wanted to be sure. Too often on tour, players assume they know the rules, don’t call for an official, and end up making a mistake. This rule was simple: if you get hit with your own golf ball, the penalty is two shots.

  “Needless to say, I was stunned,” Weir said. “I really didn’t see what happened, but when Jeff called me over, I had a feeling maybe the ball had hit him. Otherwise, why would he need me?”

  Players frequently check with other players if they are unsure about a rule or to inform them when they are going to penalize themselves. Weir knew the rule but didn’t argue when Maggert said he wanted to ask an official. “The last thing you want to do is give a guy bad information,” he said. “Jeff never asked me, but if he had I think I’d have said, ‘I think it’s two shots and play it as it lies, but let’s check.’ ”

  After confirming the two-shot penalty, Maggert played what was now his fifth shot from the bunker. He hit a superb shot, the ball rolling just over the green about 50 feet from the flag. Still a little bit shaken by what he had seen, Weir managed to put a pitching wedge on the green and two-putted from there for a par he was very happy to make. Maggert’s first putt rolled 15 feet past the hole. Just when it looked as if he might take an X, he rammed in his second putt for what was the closest thing one could make to a “good” seven.

  Suddenly, the entire tenor and mood of the tournament had swung because of one innocent-looking little par-four. Weir was now the leader at four under par, with Singh one shot back. Maggert had dropped to two under, and Woods was now behind a large group of players and was at one over par. What’s more, the confidence he had felt standing on the third tee was in reverse.

  The last six holes of the front nine at Augusta National are, generally speaking, not the place to try to make a move. The fourth and the sixth are two of the more difficult par-threes in the world; the fifth is a long, difficult par-four; and the seventh and ninth are shorter par-fours with treacherous greens. Only the par-five eighth is a birdie hole, and it is the longest and least reachable of the golf course’s par-fives.

  Every player in contention at the Masters on Sunday knows this. Barring a lucky or brilliant shot, the general approach is to hope to pick up shots at the two par-fives and be happy with par at the other seven holes. It can be tempting to attack the third because of its length, but as Woods and Maggert learned, any bold play can be disastrous.

  Almost everyone in the field had some sort of hiccup working their way through the four through nine minefield. Mickelson hit his tee shot long and ri
ght at the sixth and made a bogey to drop back to one under. Singh made his first bogey of the day at the fifth to drop to two under. Toms missed the fairway at the seventh and bogeyed to fall to one under. Woods found the front bunker at the seventh and made bogey from there, and then, remarkably, bogeyed the eighth for a second straight day after driving his ball into the right fairway bunker. That left him at three over par and, shockingly, out of contention, barring a miraculous back nine. The disgusted look on his face as he walked to the ninth tee made that seem unlikely, even for him.

  The three players who did the best job of not losing ground during the rest of the front nine were Weir, Mattiace, and, surprisingly, Maggert, who somehow managed not to lose his composure after the debacle at number three. He made a great par save at number four and then rolled in a 30-footer for a rare birdie at the fifth to get back to three under. That kept him within one shot of Weir who was doing what he knew he needed to do: make putts to save par.

  At the fourth, Weir’s 30-foot birdie putt went 10 feet past the hole, causing David Feherty to say, “That’s the first real mistake he’s made so far today.” Weir quickly erased the error, though, by making the putt coming back. At five, he looked destined to make bogey when his tee shot found the left bunker and his second shot came up well short of the green. From there, he had a pitch-and-run shot that, seemingly, was almost impossible to get close. He cozied it to three feet and made the putt to maintain a one-shot lead over Maggert and Mattiace, who had just made a remarkable birdie at the eighth.

  Mattiace had missed the fairway to the right with his drive, and, after pitching out, his third shot had come up well short and left of the green, leaving him with a tough pitch, especially since the flag was tucked behind a bunker on the green’s left side. He pitched the ball onto the front of the green, hoping it would stop somewhere within 10 feet of the flag to give him a reasonable shot at par. Instead, the ball bounced onto the green and took a hop to the left. From there, it just kept rolling until it hit the flagstick and dropped in for a stunning birdie.