Dan O'Neill
Dan O’Neill is a columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. O’Neill also writes a weekly column for GolfBrief.com, and is a regular contributor to MSNBC.com and Golfweek. He is the author of “Busch Stadium Moments” and “Sportsman’s Park.”
Memo: John, get real ... please
http://www.golfbrief.com/articles/733/1/Memo-John-get-real--please/Page1.html
By Dan O'Neill
Published on 03/13/2008
http://www.golfbrief.com/articles/733/1/Memo-John-get-real--please/Page1.html
Memo: John, get real ... please
You are likely to read a lot of preachy stuff about John Daly in the days ahead, self-righteous sermons about immaturity and wasted talent. But let’s be real here.
Daly has a talent to blast a golf ball into orbit. When he is able to do it with good direction, he can play championship golf. He won the PGA Championship in 1991, went from “zero to hero” at warp speed. He then won the British Open in 1995. One major championship might be accidental, but two is a statement.
That said, Daly has only three other wins on the PGA Tour. Last year, his major championship credentials notwithstanding, he lost his full-time playing privileges on the Tour. He also has squandered away much of the money he made through playing and promoting.
He competes now by the grace of sponsors’ exemptions, like a street musician hoping some charitable soul will toss a few dollars in the saxophone case.
Daly is 42 years old. He has been making a living playing golf since 1987, or more than 20 years. He drinks a lot, smokes a lot, eats a lot, gambles a lot and carries a lot of weight. If dynamic Tiger Woods is golf’s gleaming prototype, pot-bellied Daly is the dysfunctional lab rat, a nutritional experiment gone horribly wrong.
On Wednesday, swing sensei Butch Harmon announced he was dropping Daly like one of John’s bad habits. Harmon was not happy with his pupil’s approach to the first round of the PODS Championship, which was not unlike Al Czervik’s approach to his match with Judge Elihu Smails in Caddyshack.
Daly spent a 2½-hour rain delay chillin’ at a Hooters tent behind the 17th green. He was 3 over — and who knows how many under — when play resumed. He also had a new caddie on the bag when play resumed — Tampa Bay Buccaneers coach Jon Gruden. Chunkie and Chuckie brought it home in 77 strokes.
Daly followed the Ray Bourque with an 80 on Friday and missed the cut. He did not, however, miss any of the action at the Hooters “Owl’s Nest” next to the 17th hole on Saturday. He stopped by, had a few beers, a few wings, mingled with fans and signed some autographs in unusual places.
He golfer’d up, you might say.
Apparently, the approach veered somewhat from the program Harmon had in mind.
“My whole goal for him was he’s got to show me golf is the most important thing in his life,” Harmon told the Associated Press. “And the most important thing in his life is getting drunk.”
Harsh, certainly. Profound, hardly. In essence, Harmon did nothing more than state the obvious. Leaving Daly’s sobriety or lack thereof out of equation, it is safe to say golf is not the most important thing in Daly’s life. Hasn’t been from the get-go, probably never will be.
Truth is, it might be difficult to say anything in particular is the most important thing in Daly’s life, unless it is nesting. And you know what, that’s OK. Some people are highly motivated, some people are not highly motivated, some people are mostly just high. Daly has demonstrated his personal profile tends to lean heavily toward the latter end of that curve.
Repeat, he is 42 years old, he’s entitled to live life however he chooses. If he chooses a recreational path, it is not wrong. Sad perhaps, sad he doesn’t make the most of a gift God gave him to stripe a golf ball, sad he doesn’t use those soft hands for sand wedges instead of sandwiches, sad he has accomplished such heights only to know such depths.
But it is not wrong and it doesn’t make Daly a bad person. He is, in fact, a most likeable chap for those who have had the pleasure. He is like a slobbery, lovable St. Bernard who just won’t behave.
What is wrong is when Daly’s preponderance for frivolity and irresponsibility causes problems for others. That’s what happened when he failed to show up for his pro-am slot at Bay Hill on Wednesday.
The no-show not only disqualified Daly from competing in the event, it robbed alternates Nick O’Hern and Ryuji Imada of their chances to play for a piece of the $5.8 million pot. Thinking they had been assigned to an afternoon group, neither O’Hern nor Imada were around when their names were called to replace Daly in the morning.
By missing his tee time, Daly failed the very sponsors who gave him the freebie into the event. He failed “The King” himself, Arnold Palmer, the tournament’s patriarch. “I love Arnold Palmer to death,” Daly told AP. “I called and talked to him and apologized.”
Daly insisted the stiffed appointment was a miscommunication, said he was given bad information. The great gentleman that he is, Palmer generously accepted Daly’s regrets. But did he really? When you’ve screwed up as many times as Daly, doubt has no benefits to offer.
“My life is upside-down right now,” Daly said. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. I’m thinking of writing a new song. I’ll call it, ‘I guess it’s my fault, even when it’s not my fault.’ ”
Hard to say where Daly is headed. He still draws a crowd. Everyone likes the long ball. Everyone knows someone like Daly or has one in the family. Everyone slows to see the accident on the shoulder of the highway. Everyone roots for the guy who is down on his luck.
But Daly is not down on his luck. He brings himself down. He goes through second chances like he goes through wives, like he goes through Marlboros. Last year, Daly made nine cuts in 24 starts and earned slightly less than $250,000. In 2008, he has made three cuts in seven tournaments. He also withdrew from the Bob Hope Classic, where he was spotted at several after-hour parties.
No Butch Harmon, John Daly is not serious about golf. Should he be? Well, fat and stupid are generally thought of as a skill set, at least not a lucrative one. But unless he gets more serious about golf, Daly is going to turn them into a career choice.
Daly has a talent to blast a golf ball into orbit. When he is able to do it with good direction, he can play championship golf. He won the PGA Championship in 1991, went from “zero to hero” at warp speed. He then won the British Open in 1995. One major championship might be accidental, but two is a statement.
That said, Daly has only three other wins on the PGA Tour. Last year, his major championship credentials notwithstanding, he lost his full-time playing privileges on the Tour. He also has squandered away much of the money he made through playing and promoting.
He competes now by the grace of sponsors’ exemptions, like a street musician hoping some charitable soul will toss a few dollars in the saxophone case.
Daly is 42 years old. He has been making a living playing golf since 1987, or more than 20 years. He drinks a lot, smokes a lot, eats a lot, gambles a lot and carries a lot of weight. If dynamic Tiger Woods is golf’s gleaming prototype, pot-bellied Daly is the dysfunctional lab rat, a nutritional experiment gone horribly wrong.
On Wednesday, swing sensei Butch Harmon announced he was dropping Daly like one of John’s bad habits. Harmon was not happy with his pupil’s approach to the first round of the PODS Championship, which was not unlike Al Czervik’s approach to his match with Judge Elihu Smails in Caddyshack.
Daly spent a 2½-hour rain delay chillin’ at a Hooters tent behind the 17th green. He was 3 over — and who knows how many under — when play resumed. He also had a new caddie on the bag when play resumed — Tampa Bay Buccaneers coach Jon Gruden. Chunkie and Chuckie brought it home in 77 strokes.
Daly followed the Ray Bourque with an 80 on Friday and missed the cut. He did not, however, miss any of the action at the Hooters “Owl’s Nest” next to the 17th hole on Saturday. He stopped by, had a few beers, a few wings, mingled with fans and signed some autographs in unusual places.
He golfer’d up, you might say.
Apparently, the approach veered somewhat from the program Harmon had in mind.
“My whole goal for him was he’s got to show me golf is the most important thing in his life,” Harmon told the Associated Press. “And the most important thing in his life is getting drunk.”
Harsh, certainly. Profound, hardly. In essence, Harmon did nothing more than state the obvious. Leaving Daly’s sobriety or lack thereof out of equation, it is safe to say golf is not the most important thing in Daly’s life. Hasn’t been from the get-go, probably never will be.
Truth is, it might be difficult to say anything in particular is the most important thing in Daly’s life, unless it is nesting. And you know what, that’s OK. Some people are highly motivated, some people are not highly motivated, some people are mostly just high. Daly has demonstrated his personal profile tends to lean heavily toward the latter end of that curve.
Repeat, he is 42 years old, he’s entitled to live life however he chooses. If he chooses a recreational path, it is not wrong. Sad perhaps, sad he doesn’t make the most of a gift God gave him to stripe a golf ball, sad he doesn’t use those soft hands for sand wedges instead of sandwiches, sad he has accomplished such heights only to know such depths.
But it is not wrong and it doesn’t make Daly a bad person. He is, in fact, a most likeable chap for those who have had the pleasure. He is like a slobbery, lovable St. Bernard who just won’t behave.
What is wrong is when Daly’s preponderance for frivolity and irresponsibility causes problems for others. That’s what happened when he failed to show up for his pro-am slot at Bay Hill on Wednesday.
The no-show not only disqualified Daly from competing in the event, it robbed alternates Nick O’Hern and Ryuji Imada of their chances to play for a piece of the $5.8 million pot. Thinking they had been assigned to an afternoon group, neither O’Hern nor Imada were around when their names were called to replace Daly in the morning.
By missing his tee time, Daly failed the very sponsors who gave him the freebie into the event. He failed “The King” himself, Arnold Palmer, the tournament’s patriarch. “I love Arnold Palmer to death,” Daly told AP. “I called and talked to him and apologized.”
Daly insisted the stiffed appointment was a miscommunication, said he was given bad information. The great gentleman that he is, Palmer generously accepted Daly’s regrets. But did he really? When you’ve screwed up as many times as Daly, doubt has no benefits to offer.
“My life is upside-down right now,” Daly said. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. I’m thinking of writing a new song. I’ll call it, ‘I guess it’s my fault, even when it’s not my fault.’ ”
Hard to say where Daly is headed. He still draws a crowd. Everyone likes the long ball. Everyone knows someone like Daly or has one in the family. Everyone slows to see the accident on the shoulder of the highway. Everyone roots for the guy who is down on his luck.
But Daly is not down on his luck. He brings himself down. He goes through second chances like he goes through wives, like he goes through Marlboros. Last year, Daly made nine cuts in 24 starts and earned slightly less than $250,000. In 2008, he has made three cuts in seven tournaments. He also withdrew from the Bob Hope Classic, where he was spotted at several after-hour parties.
No Butch Harmon, John Daly is not serious about golf. Should he be? Well, fat and stupid are generally thought of as a skill set, at least not a lucrative one. But unless he gets more serious about golf, Daly is going to turn them into a career choice.