Interviewed By Guy Yocom
Photo By Joey Terrill September 2006

Age 64 • 1991 U.S. Ryder Cup captain • Redlands, California

At the time of the 1991 Ryder Cup at Kiawah Island, we'd just finished the Gulf War. Patriotism was running high, and I wanted to take advantage of that. Heck, the camouflage hats, that was my idea. We even had a team song, Randy Travis' "Point of Light." I wanted my team to bond. But I was troubled by the label "War by the Shore," and after that Ryder Cup, things sort of got out of hand. After Tom Watson was named the next captain, he said, "I want the Ryder Cup to get back to what it should be." I was offended by that, because that Ryder Cup, unlike any other, before or since, elevated the level of public interest tremendously.

The captain's picks are crucial in the Ryder Cup, and as Kiawah Island got closer, Golf Digest published an insert card that readers could fill out and mail to offer me support. Boy, did I get a lot of those cards. I stopped counting at around 4,000. Some people wrote in advice and wanted me to choose John Daly, who had just won the PGA Championship, and Jack Nicklaus. About 15 people included their home phone numbers. Well, I called every one of them, and we talked it over. I explained something about chemistry: Who would I pair Daly with? At the end of the day, the captain's picks are not a popularity contest, and after narrowing my choices to Tom Watson, Tom Kite, Chip Beck and Raymond Floyd, I settled on Beck and Floyd. They were good choices.

Momentum is a funny thing. In the Sunday singles, I believe in sending your strongest players out first and last, positioning the guys who aren't playing well in the middle. So I led off with Payne Stewart and Raymond going off first, and darned if Bernard Gallacher didn't put the strongest part of his lineup in the middle. And when Payne and Raymond fell behind, I thought we might be in trouble. But Mark Calcavecchia, who went off third, was just burying Colin Montgomerie, at one point going 5 up. The rest of the team was really inspired by that and played great. Calcavecchia lost the last four holes, of course, and halved his match, but by then the momentum had been established. So even though Mark felt humiliated, his performance really was our greatest weapon.

Two buses had been arranged to transport the respective teams to the closing dinner. As our guys start to board our bus, Ian Woosnam calls out, "Hey, Stockie, can't we all fit on one bus?" I stammered that it probably was possible, if a few guys didn't mind standing. "All right then!" says Woosie, and he picks up Corey Pavin and carries him onto the bus. So we all came and left together. I was tremendously impressed by the sportsmanship of the European players. They were devastated, but they never lost sight of what it was all about. This "War by the Shore" stuff, the ugly things that came about, they all happened later.

After it was over, Gallacher wrote a book that revealed some real paranoia. For example, he'd had some problems with their walkie-talkies, and he suggested that maybe we'd sabotaged them. Hell, I can barely turn on the TV, let alone monkey with radio signals. It was a silly accusation, and I couldn't help but take it personally.

Whatever [U.S. captain] Tom Lehman does, I hope he remembers to match players with similar games in the alternate shot. It's easy to overthink it and put long hitters with short hitters, great putters with so-so putters, thinking they'll offset each other and so on. But it doesn't work. You want long hitters with long hitters, because they're both used to hitting short irons after big drives. Short hitters should play together, because they're used to long approach shots and can putt the eyes out of the hole. It's a firm-and-fast rule, and if you violate it, you're just asking for trouble.

After I won the PGA Championship in 1970 and got a 10-year exemption on tour, I started revolving my schedule around corporate outings. There were years when I'd play in only 18 tournaments but do as many as 80 outings. Each one was like winning a tournament. That might sound odd, but I took tremendous pride in them. My goal was to knock four strokes off the game of each attendee, and if you talk to the people who've been there, I succeeded. I took pride in being called The King of the Corporate Outings.

Ever tried brushing your teeth left-handed? The incredible awkwardness is very similar to what happens when you tell yourself you need to par the last hole to break 80 for the first time, or that you have to make a putt because it's to win the match. When you inject the word "try" into golf, you'll start to feel like you're brushing your teeth left-handed. It's been said a thousand times, and it's true: There is no place for conscious effort in golf.

Say you've got 150 yards to the hole. I'm convinced that most amateurs would hit that shot closer to the hole if there were a medium-size tree directly on their line, about 120 yards from the green. See, the obstacle forces you to become decisive about the type of shot you have to play. If you fade the ball, you'll for sure take one more club and start the ball to the left instead of shooting straightaway with less club, hoping you'll hit the ball solid and not fade it. Try playing one round imagining the tree is on your line. I'll bet you anything you play better.