Pohl Is Big Hitter but Not a Big Hit

Dan Pohl is a golfer, one of the best. What he does, basically, is hit the ball far. Not necessarily straight, just far. He led the tour in driving distance in 1980 and 1981, and he is fifth cumulatively in that statistic over the past seven years. He wins the long driving contests as often as not.

What he is not, is a comic. He does not do shtick. He does not do “Did you hear the one about the two priests and the minister?” He leaves Tammy Bakker alone. He’s not really a candidate for the Carson show even in the unlikely event he wins the U.S. Open. He does not do card tricks, magic tricks or escape from lock boxes. When he talks about getting birdies, he means on a green, not out of a top hat.

He just stands there and hits the ball far and hopes he can make the putt.

Dan Pohl is not going to win the L.A. Open this week. But, that’s not news. Dan Pohl loses almost every golf tournament he enters. So do most golfers--and that includes the ones who are portraits down at Pinehurst’s Hall of Fame.

But, Dan Pohl made $465,269 on the golf course last year. Only 17 golfers made more. But, he’d probably have trouble cashing a check in a gas station in Ada, Okla. Or even one in his hometown of Mt. Pleasant, Mich.

That’s because Dan Pohl is not Lee Trevino. He’s not Fuzzy Zoeller, Chi Chi Rodriguez. He’s not even Peter Jacobsen.

Dan Pohl does not wear funny hats on the golf course, throw rubber snakes at opponents. He doesn’t do a good Cagney or Jimmy Stewart. He doesn’t play drums at post-tournament jam sessions, sing country and western, or walk up to strangers and say “Pick a card, any card.”

It bothers Dan Pohl that the public seems to think he should. It bothers him that the media seems to think a golf field is about as exciting as a card game in a firehouse.

“We’re not entertainers, we’re athletes,” he protests. “Yet, the media keeps saying we’re dull, uninteresting, we’re clones. We’re bad for the game.

“Well, it’s not our nature for some of us to be ‘on.’ We play golf courses, not rock concerts, we make our living with golf clubs, not guitars. If playing to the public works for Trevino or Fuzzy, hey, that’s great. It helps the tour.”

Ben Hogan didn’t need any one-liners. But, no one called him “clone.” They called him “The Hawk.”

The trouble is, there’s no one on the tour today to remind one of a bird of prey. The player today looks more like “The Dove.”

But, Dan Pohl would remind you the tour isn’t baggy pants comedy. Putting for a living can be as deadly serious as the commodity market. “No one goes in the board room of a big business and writes that the 60 top executives are ‘clones’ or complains that they don’t smile enough or tell good jokes,” Pohl reminds you.

“There is another thing people overlook. In our game, if I have a good year, no one signs me to a 10-year contract at a guaranteed million a year whether I have a good year or not. We start from scratch the next year. We start at zero. Golf and tennis are the only sports that do this.

“We start out knowing it’s going to cost us $80,000 to $100,000 a year in expenses just to travel the tour. Plus the mortgage and upkeep on our own homes. You think a 10-foot putt isn’t serious business? I admire the way some guys can smile over a missed putt or a ball out of bounds. But, I don’t fault a guy who can’t.”

For years, Pohl’s role in the game was to bring the ooohs and aaahs from the driving range (or even first tee) galleries with his mammoth drives. The golf tour has always had a resident gorilla from the times of Jimmy Thompson through Mike Souchak, George Bayer and today’s sultans of swat. They seldom won, they just looked good losing.

This casting subtly changed for Dan Pohl when he tied for the Masters championship in 1982 and lost in a playoff to Craig Stadler and when he broke through to win two tournaments in 1986.

His 208 makes him no threat to the leader’s (Chip Beck) 199 going into the final round of the 62nd L.A. Open at Riviera this week. But he scared a lot of people with his opening 65. The tour fears big hitters the way river towns fear floods. They dread the day these bogeymen turn into birdie-men.

The tournament this week, as usual, belongs to a procession of who-dats and say-agains or knights of the woeful countenances. All except the man with the best chance to win. Chip Beck wears the constant smile of the perpetually cheerful guy who really thinks the check is in the mail. Maybe, in the view of Dan Pohl, he just doesn’t understand the situation. In view of the fact, he’s won a million-and-a-quarter without ever winning a tournament, maybe he understands it better than Dan Pohl.