Golden Bear Going Fishing This Weekend

Dear Reader:

You may remember, if you’ve been paying attention, that yesterday in this space, you were advised of the premature death of the 1986 PGA golf tournament, the victim of a shark attack. The tournament disappeared with all hands, you were further advised. A great white, Greg Norman, by name, had swallowed it whole.

You were told it was no longer a tournament, it was a parade, a salute to the aforementioned hero of the hour, Mr. Norman.

Well, you might want to hold the ticker tape. Keep the champagne iced--but also corked.

There has been a slight revision in the celebration plans. The shark hasn’t been netted. But neither has it made an hors d’oeuvre of the flower of American golf here.

You may also recall once reading in this space that, next to finding a rattlesnake in his bed, the worst sight in the world for a pro golfer may be seeing Lee Trevino two shots behind and stalking him on the golf course.

Well, you might put another silhouette in that category--that of Jack William Nicklaus.

Having Jack W. Nicklaus breathing down your neck on a golf course is no day at the beach either. It’s a bona fide scalp prickler, about on a par with seeing smoke signals on the horizon or hearing drums outside the fort at night.

It may be on a par with being told you’re going to get the ball on the Chicago Bears’ two-yard line with a sore ankle, or hearing the advice from the bridge of the Titanic that there’s something white in the water off the starboard bow.

Jack Nicklaus on the spoor of first money in a major tournament is like Joe Louis with his man on the ropes and in trouble, the Northwest Mounted Police with fresh tracks in the snow.

The Great White Shark may just look like another climbing salmon to the Great Golden Bear.

The Bear is a little more nearsighted than he used to be. Sometimes you have to speak up, and ask a question twice. The ears go, too. And he sometimes forgets things--like to keep his head straight over a drive or a putt.

The ball doesn’t go as far nor, sometimes, as straight, but the old advice is still good: When you shoot at a bear, be sure you kill him.

Jack Nicklaus is too old to be a factor in a major tournament. We know that because they told us so at the 1986 Masters. As I said, Nicklaus’ hearing isn’t as sharp as it used to be. He didn’t hear it.

He is five shots behind Greg Norman as the sun sets on the Inverness golf course and the PGA Friday night. But he was five shots behind when the sun set Thursday. They missed an opportunity to kill him right there.

The thing about Jack Nicklaus is that, even when he’s 90 years old, he’ll be sure he’s about to make a 2 on the 18th hole. He’s harder to count out than Gene Tunney.

Jack never lost a tournament, he just ran out of holes. His optimism is legendary. But when it comes to determination and grim purpose, nobody since Ben Hogan has ever been able to shake up a tournament leader the way Nicklaus can.

With Nicklaus, you hear footsteps. The kind that make you drop passes. And miss putts. You tend to start listening to roars from other greens. You’re afraid to look up for fear you’ll see red numbers on a scoreboard or find out you need seven 3s to stay ahead.

Jack deals in the positives. If Jack had been at Little Big Horn he would have told Custer, “Well, there’s always tomorrow.”

He shot a 68 Friday, finishing before Norman had even teed off. “Even if Greg shoots another 65 today, I’m still in very good position,” he told the press cheerfully. “There won’t be too many guys in front of me.”

For Nicklaus to consider himself in a tournament, all he has to do is make the cut. You don’t win 70 tournaments throwing in the towel.

It appeared for a time Friday as if the great white was about to turn into a tuna. A disastrous bogey at 14 had slipped him back to six under par, and he said that he was talking to himself.

“I lost my concentration, my edge,” he said. “I got mad at myself because I’d set a goal to have no bogeys this week. When I did bogey, I went off on a tangent. I’m dying for the day when I can play 72 holes without a bogey. When I made one today, that threw me off the rails a bit.”

Two players stand between Norman and Nicklaus as the tournament turns into its third round today--Payne Stewart and Mike Hulbert.

But history doesn’t care whether they can beat Greg Norman or not. That’s like two treys winning a pot. Tradition isn’t served.

The proposition is whether the grand old man of golf can muster one more charge, beat one more pretender to his throne. Jack Nicklaus has withstood the challenges of time--and of Arnold Palmer, Johnny Miller, Lee Trevino and Gary Player, plus the ghosts of Bobby Jones, Ben Hogan and others.

Is it realistic to think he can give Greg Norman five shots and 15 years and turn him back, too? Look at it this way: Since when was Jack Nicklaus realistic?

Realistic is for guys who choke on the back nine. Jack Nicklaus expects to beat St. Peter. Don’t bet he won’t.