Palmer Takes a Solitary, Glorious Tour of Augusta

Arnold Palmer didn’t have much to worry about Friday morning, other than the threat of disaster and humiliation.

Never has Palmer been in a more humbling position than the one he found himself in at Augusta National, where there’s no place to hide unless you happen to be a pine-tree squirrel. On Thursday, Arnie shot the 77th-worst score in a field of 77 golfers, an embarrassing 83. This earned him the earliest tee time Friday, 9 a.m., and left him without a partner.

Just so Arnie wouldn’t have to tromp the links by himself, the Masters people assigned a club member, a “non-scoring marker,” to play the round with him.

They do this every year for the second day’s odd man out, unless that man happens to be black, in which case all the club members have dental appointments that morning.

Anyway, here we had the world’s greatest golf legend about to be stripped of his dignity. A man with less pride than Palmer might have called in sick.

“Did Arnie consider withdrawing today?” someone asks Palmer’s wife, Winnie, as her husband stepped to the first tee.

“No,” Winnie shot back. “He considered shooting a 67.”

I’ll skip the suspense. What Palmer did Friday before lunch was turn a potential disaster into a personal triumph.

He didn’t shoot 67, but he did shoot a strong 72. And with his smile and his clubs, he whacked out one of the finest rounds of his great career, all factors considered.

So what if he missed the cut and will fly out of Augusta this morning? The Lone Ranger never made a more graceful and dramatic departure than Palmer, the lone linkster, did with his performance Friday.

Some of the details:

On the first tee, the gallery was introduced to Palmer and to the marker, Charles R. Coe.

“If he beats me,” Palmer told the gallery, “I’ll kill him.”

The gallery roared with laughter. They knew Arnie was probably kidding.

They knew Palmer was really thinking: “If he beats me, I’ll kill myself .”

Coe was once a great amateur player. But now he is 61, thin and frail, with a bad knee, a silly hat and an erratic game.

Fortunately, Coe dropped out after nine holes, leaving Arnie alone on the stage.

It was perfect. The sun was shining and there was Palmer, alone, striding the fairways with that famous walk.

To say that Palmer walks a golf course is like saying that Sir Edmund Hillary moseyed up a mountain.

Arnie plays with the pace and energy of a young man, even though he is not. Playing alone, he did the back nine in an hour Friday.

How old is Palmer?

Well, on No. 4, his tee shot landed in a stand of tall pine trees, which he studied, then said, “I was playing here when these trees weren’t big enough to worry you.”

Palmer is 55, playing in his 31st Masters, but he may be the most athletic looking player on the tour. Great tan, linebacker’s build, always charging up the next hill.

And never, never, ignoring the gallery. This could have been a grim round, especially at the beginning--he bogeyed the first hole--but Palmer never broke character.

His rapport with the fans is legendary. He hasn’t won a PGA Tour tournament in 12 years, but his followers remain as faithful as the family dog. Friday, about 500 followed him around the course.

He chatted with old men, winked at young women, smiled and waved at everyone. While other golfers lock into private zones of concentration, Palmer continually interacts with the gallery.

“I want to make eye contact,” he said after his round. “I want to say hello. I’ve done that all my life, since I was a little boy.

“I suppose my father taught me that--’Look at people when you talk to them, when you have something to say.’ I never wanted ‘em to think they were someone I didn’t know.

“Certainly the fans have a great deal to do with the fact I still play. The people out there today, I feel like they’re really friends, even the ones I don’t know by name.

“They were great today. It wasn’t any different than if I had been in contention to win the golf tournament.”

Along with the charm, Palmer gave the folks some golf. He sank birdie putts of 3 and 10 feet, and lipped out a 50-footer on No. 16.

On No. 13, where the second shot for many Masters golfers is a safe layup iron shot in front of a brook guarding the green, Arnie thrilled the fans just as he had in his glory days. “He’s going for the lumber,” said one fan as Arnie hitched his pants, took a fairway wood and blasted over the brook.

Palmer would like every shot, every round, to be heroic, but he knows that’s not realistic. He plays because he loves to play, because he loves the people and the game. He still burns to win, but has learned to accept less.

“As my father told me once, ‘Don’t always think that it has to be the way you think it has to be.’ ” Palmer said.

No, Palmer’s father wasn’t Yogi Berra.

He simply understood the facts of aging, that you can’t win forever.

Friday, though, Palmer won big. He turned humiliation into inspiration.

“Today was one of the nicer days I’ve ever had playing golf,” he said. “It was a most enjoyable day.”