Ian Wood: Prize money alters golf's landscape

Tag : hogan shoes
after a brief run-down of what had gone before, whoever had been introuble last week, managed, with one mighty bound, to break free.

Pretty tame stuff, I suppose, compared to the real-life dramas nowavailable on the telly, ripping yarns such as the one produced inthe recent French Open where the 25-year-old Spaniard, PabloLarrazabal, fled from the fish farm to instant wealth and acclaimand left the big names of the European Tour wondering what had hitthem. Colin Montgomerie was so winded he couldn't remember thelad's name, which was astonishing considering it had been at thetop of the scoreboard for four days.

Larrazabal, it seems, had been consigned to the fish farm by hisfather who was determined that he should grow up to appreciate thevalue of working for a living. This down-to-earth, if slightlywatery, upbringing should do young Pablo the world of good as hesettles down to appreciate the £527,800 he picked up for playingfour rounds of golf in an idyllic setting with not a farmed fish insight.

The scene really has changed beyond all recognition in a relativelyshort space of time. The year 1960 doesn't seem all that distant tome though I realise that for many a stripling it must seemJurassic. It was, however the year of the Centenary OpenChampionship at St Andrews and the first prize was £1,250. Thetotal purse available for the first ten places was £4,780. KelNagle of Australia scooped the pool and the man who was second(winning £900) was Arnold Palmer, whose emergence was to changethe fortunes of both the championship and the game worldwide. YoungPablo might consider sending the great man a note of thanks.

It might seem odd in an age in which superstars such as Tiger Woodsand Phil Mickelson began their professional careers onmulti-million dollar contracts before they'd hit a ball as membersof the paid ranks, but there were times when things weren't quiteso comfortable. I remember a match between Palmer and Gary Playerat St Andrews which was being televised for future viewing. It wasa cold, grey day and play was, of necessity, slow and painstaking.

By the time the match was staged, Player had taken his first Opentitle and gone on to become a major figure on the American scene.At one point during the round, the clouds grew even darker andthere was a hint of rain in the air. The South African anxiouslyscanned the skies, then, peeling off his sweater, turned to hiscaddie. As far as I can recall, the exchange went thus: "This iscashmere, brand-new. Give me out the other one." The caddy dulyproduced a lambswool sweater from the bag and the cashmere wascarefully folded away. Player had made a lot of money, but the oldhabits were dying hard.

On his way to winning the 1922 Open, Walter Hagen changed his shoesand ate in a hired limousine at Royal St George's because he wasn'tallowed to use the clubhouse. Traces of such goings-on lingeredeven in 1953 when Ben Hogan won at Carnoustie. In W.A.S Dryden'sfascinating history, "Panmure Golf Club," it is recorded that Hoganwas given permission to practise at Panmure where he could count onsome privacy.

He was invited to use the clubhouse lounge and dining room, butdeclined, knowing that the club's own professional was not allowedin the clubhouse. Hogan had his meals in the kitchen with thesteward and his wife.

There being no practice ground at Panmure at the time, Hogan usedthe fairway and green of the seventeenth hole. One day, after asession with the putter, he asked the greenkeeper if the blades ofthe mower could be lowered so that the speed of the green wouldmatch more closely the speed of the surfaces at Carnoustie. Thegreenkeeper replied: "There's the mower, Mr Hogan," and left him toit. Hogan cut the green, then cleaned the mower before handing itback.

This is an interesting and revealing slant on a man who has tendedto be regarded as having been rather remote and, when the mood wasupon him, virtually unapproachable. There might be the odd topprofessional going about today who would get down to it and mow agreen if called upon to do so, but I can't think of any offhand. Ican think of a few who might turn bright red, have trouble withtheir breathing, or break down in tears, but few who give theimpression that they'd relish a spot of light mowing at the behestof a greenkeeper who's done for the day.