Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Ben Van Hook May 2006

Playing golf is just like handling a horse. A good groom or trainer can get up close to a horse and read him just right. He can tell if he's agitated or happy, fit or out of sorts, and most of all if the horse is prepared to give you his all.

Golf is the same way. There are days when the course and your golf swing are friendly and receptive to anything you want to try. There are other days when they're in no mood to be pressed. If you try to get too much out of the course or your swing they rear up and bite you, kick you or just buck you off. You can even damage your game, just like you can damage a horse. On days like that you don't want to give up, but you definitely have to settle for something less than you might like.

I don't go to the track to lose money. Over the years I've done fine. It isn't that complicated, really. You look at how the horses are trending, who the trainers are, the condition of the tracks they've been running, the distances they run at, and the types of races they like to run. You narrow it down to four or five horses, and from there it's like deciding between a 5- and 6-iron. Meaning, you go with your gut.

What happened to make old Thorpy turn it all around? My whole career on the PGA Tour, all I cared about was the 10 inches just before impact. I knew if I could make my clubhead get to square in that short little space, I could make money. It worked pretty well. Then, just before I turned 50, a light came on. I doubled that strip to 20 inches, taking into account the 10 inches after impact. I started hitting through the ball instead of at it. That's when I started playing the best golf of my life. If there's a secret to playing this game, it's to just let the ball get in the way of the clubhead.

When I was 48, I was invited to play in a tournament for high rollers at Foxwoods [Resort Casino] in Connecticut. Carol and I drove down from Buffalo, and while I was on the range, it started pouring rain. The tournament was washed out, but instead of going into the casino — I was too broke to gamble — I stayed out there hitting balls. The only people on the range were me and this little chubby boy at the other end. I wandered over and gave him a little help with his swing. Showed him the right grip and stuff. After we'd finished, Carol and I drove back to Buffalo. When we got home the phone rang. It was a lady from Foxwoods saying Mr. Kenny Reels would like you to come down and have dinner with him the next day. I didn't know who the man was, but I said OK, and we drove back down.

When Kenny Reels arrived, it was like the Red Sea parted for him. It turned out he was the chief of the Indian tribe that owns the casino. He shook my hand and said, "I want to thank you for spending time with my son on the range. The only thing he's talked about since is how he met Jim Thorpe of the PGA Tour." And then he asked if I'd be interested in representing the casino, and would I put together a proposal and send it to him. I agreed, but I left the money part blank. I had no idea what to write in there, but in truth I would have taken it for $3,000 because we were broke.

Kenny called, noted that I hadn't written in a figure, and asked if I'd like him to fill it in for me. He said, "If you like it, fine; if not, good luck to you." When the proposal came back, he'd written in $100,000. I had it back in the mail to him faster than you can say Jack Robinson, and the rest is history. It's turned out to be a deal that, at the time, pretty much saved my life. Strokes of luck like that make a man think, you know?

The most nerve-racking moment for most golfers is on the first tee at the start of an important round. The first time I played with Arnold Palmer, I literally could not get my ball to stay on the tee, and knowing he was watching me just made it worse. So here's what you do to fight first-tee jitters: Always hit first if you can. I used to pray for that. That way you can sneak up to the tee and put the ball on the peg while nobody's watching.

No moment I've had in golf can match the fear and nervousness I feel when I go to a championship prize fight. All that tension that's in the air beforehand; it's just about more than Big Jim can handle. I get sick to my stomach, but I can't tear my eyes off it. The night Mike Tyson fought Larry Holmes, I was only a few rows back from ringside. When the fight got underway, I thought I was gonna die. I knew Tyson was going to knock Holmes out, and the anticipation of that frightened me something fierce. Sure enough, Tyson landed a big left hook to Holmes' head, and this huge halo of sweat flies so far in my direction I couldn't get my cigar lit. I mean, I was scared. Golf can't hold a candle to that, baby.

I'm on the first tee in the final round of the 2001 Senior PGA Championship in New Jersey. I'm tied for the lead with Tom Watson and Bob Gilder, and I'm spitting cotton. When the starter introduces me, he says, "Now on the tee . . . from Heathrow, Fla. . . . please welcome . . . Jim Dent." There was some nervous laughter when he said that, except from Watson, who thought it was just plain funny. When the poor guy realizes his mistake, I can tell he just wants to die. So I kind of mutter so people can hear, "Why the hell couldn't he say Tiger Woods?" That made everybody laugh like crazy, and it relaxed me enough to where I could play my best. Watson got me by a shot that day, but the point is, the best way to ease tension is to laugh.