Hanging With the Big Dogs
JERRY TARDE Chairman and Editor-in-Chief I had a 10-foot putt for a birdie, and my crouching partner, Tom Watson, was telling me that it broke right to left. “Play it half a cup on the right,” he said. But I was seeing it break the other way. “I think it’s half a cup on the left,” I replied. At this point, Tom had had enough. He stood up, all 5-foot-9 of him, and said incredulously, “Wait a second. I’ve won five British Opens, and you’re not going to listen to me when I read your putt?” “If you could read this putt, Tom, you’d have won six British Opens,” somebody said. Watson looked like I’d skulled a shot to his solar plexus. He paused like Jack Benny. And then he laughed. If only his…