A Perfect Boxer vs. Puncher Matchup

And the winner is--nobody.

The 88th U.S. Open goes into extra innings. It kind of reminds you of the handicapper who once examined a mediocre Kentucky Derby field exhaustively and then announced “I don’t see how any of them can win it.”

In the case of the 1988 Open, no one has. They spent 4 days and 72 holes running the ribbon clerks out. At least, they got it down to two.

The gremlins of golf must be losing their touch. They had 5 hours Sunday to get Curtis Strange in their gun sights. They had 7,000 yards to trip him up hopelessly. And they blew it. It was like a Tom & Jerry cartoon. Curtis kept escaping. He didn’t even seem to know anyone was after him. He thought he was doing it to himself. “I played horrible,” he complained later as he came off the 18th tee with a tie. “I putted terrible.”

He didn’t realize how lucky he was to get a draw. He didn’t realize he didn’t have to beat just Nick Faldo and the assorted inside straights who had survived this Open but the massed occult forces who pushed Sam Snead into an “8” at Spring Mill at Philadelphia in 1938 or knocked Hogan’s ball in the rough at Olympic in 1955 or Palmer’s in ’66.

The final is not exactly Dempsey-Tunney but in another sense it is. First of all, it probably pits the two best players in this so-so field. Justice is served. But it also pits the classic matchup in sports--the boxer against the puncher.

Nick Faldo is your typical stiff-upper-lip Brit, quiet, unflappable. He plays the kind of golf game favored by old school tie set in which no gentleman ever plays a game too well.

Nicky plays a game well within himself. Customer golf. He never goes for the knockout, just piles up points and stays conscious. “Cautious” is too inadequate an adjective to describe Nicky’s approach to the game. He feathers it off the tee, he goes for the fat part of the green and he lags the putts. Oh, does he lag the putts.

There is an art to the lag putt and Nicky could write the book about it. He gave Curtis Strange a lesson in the art of living to fight another day in the final round Sunday. Nicky never threw a single roundhouse right at the course. He tried to tiptoe past it, not get it aroused or even awake. He soothed it, flattered it. Curtis tried to drag it back to the cave by the hair.

You see, Nicky knows his lag game all too well. It’s a fold-the-hand- unless-you-have-two-pair or-better-going-in game plan. Punt. Nicky never bets the come.

A “lag” putt is one which you really don’t try to hole on the premise you may leave yourself one you can’t make on the comeback. You don’t take chances. Just bet a white chip.

Nicky won the British Open with 18 straight pars at Muirfield last July. He plays a game like an old banker who is trying to make it off the interest alone. Nicky rarely dives into the principal.

Curtis Strange is, like many Americans, impatient, optimistic, in a hurry. Lagging bores him. He’d go for the hole if it was guarded by a lion.

On this course this week it, in a sense, was.

Nicky was toddling along playing his boring, straight-down-the-middle, don’t-make-waves game. He was using an iron where Curtis took out the wood. He had enormous respect for the course. It looked to Curtis like another rubber-mat track on the outskirts of Houston. He didn’t see any reason why it couldn’t be birdied to death. Curtis was constantly pressing the bet, so to speak.

It looked for a while as if he were going to be gummed to death by Nick Faldo, Esq., OBE. Nick just kept playing this plodding two-shots, two-putts golf, never forcing the issue. Nick would two-putt a phone booth. Curtis would try to one-putt LAX.

Strange went par-bogey-bogey-par-par-par-birdie-par-par-birdie. Faldo went par-par-par-par-par-par ad nauseum. The scoreboard looked like a stutter. He was like a Colonel Blimp drinking tea in the middle of World War III.

But, of course, it works for the Right Honourable Mr. Faldo. He lets the colonials rush about in a cloud of dust, he just keeps making his nice neat 4’s.

Then, he kind of lost his head at 15. After 14 straight pars, he suddenly saw himself confronted with a 6-footer. He couldn’t resist. He sank it. He tied the match.

The very next hole, the experience seemed to unnerve him. He hit an uncharacteristic let-out-the-shaft tee shot. It spun into a bunker and suddenly Faldo had to go for the putt as it was par. He--horrors--ran it past.

A moment later, Curtis had slammed home a 20-footer to retake the lead.

But the Faldo strategy was to make a comeback. On the next hole, the 17th, Faldo played for his nice safe 4. Curtis had an 8-to-10 foot putt for a 3.

It was as slippery as soap on a shower floor, as tricky as an insurance policy. But it looked as makeable as a four-card straight to Curtis. Naturally, he bit. He went for it.

He missed. It slid 7-to-8 feet past the hole. He missed that. Faldo must have resisted the temptation to say “See!”

It’s the reason we’re tied today and faced with the bothersome detail of a playoff, one of the great anti-climaxes of history this side of a tie for Christmas or a kiss from a girl with braces.

In the interview room later, Curtis was furious. He still felt as if he had the course on the ropes, bleeding from every pore and looking up at the clock and he just got over-anxious. He still doesn’t understand the situation.

Faldo stopped short of saying he had bunted and jabbed his way to the standoff. But he kept unwittingly letting the strategical edges show. “I thought you guys would give me a wonderful time if I made 18 pars and won,” he said wryly. He protested mildly that he wasn’t playing customer golf. But, then he would say. “These greens are slippery. You just can’t be overaggressive as you can on a tour event where you can slam-dunk a putt almost without ever touching the ground.”

Nick Faldo probably wouldn’t try a slam-dunk against Toulouse-Lautrec.

The final should be a classic home-run-hitter vs. junk-pitcher finale, zone defense against a bomb-thrower. Curtis will try to shoot 62. Faldo will go for par. The rest of us may go to sleep. If a 71 is going to win it, Faldo is your man. If it’s going to take a 67, bet the American.

U.S. OPEN PLAYOFFS

1901 Willie Anderson (85) def. Alex Smith (86) Myopia Hunt Club, Hamilton, Mass. 1903 Willie Anderson (82) def. David Brown (84) Baltusrol G.C., Short Hills, N.J. 1908 Fred McLeod (77) def. Willie Smith (83) Myopia Hunt Club, Hamilton, Mass. 1910 Alex Smith (71) def. John McDermott (75), Macdonald Smith (77) Phila. Cricket Club, Chest.Hill, Pa. 1911 John McDermott (80) def. Mike Brady (82), George Simpson (85) Chicago G.C., Wheaton, Ill.1913 Francis Ouimet (72) def. Harry Vardon (77), Edward Ray (78) The Country Club, Brookline, Mass. 1919 Walter Hagen (77) def. Mike Brady (78) Brae Burn C.C, W. Newton, Mass. 1923 Bobby Jones (76) def. Bobby Cruickshank (78) Inwood, C.C., Inwood, N.Y. 1925 W. MacFarlane (147) def. Bobby Jones (148) Worcester C.C., Worcester, Mass. 1927 Tommy Armour (76) def. Harry Cooper (79) Oakmont C.C., Oakmont, Pa. 1928 Johnny Farrell (14) def. Bobby Jones (144) Olympia Fields C.C., Matteson, Ill. 1929 Bobby Jones (141) def. Al Espinoza (164) Winged Foot G.C., Mamaroneck, N.Y.1931 Billy Burke (149-148) def. George Von Elm (149-149)Inverness Club, Toledo, Ohio 1939 Byron Nelson (68-70) def. Craig Wood (68-73), Denny Shute (76) Philadelphia C.C., Phila., Pa. 1940 Lawson Little (70) def. Gene Sarazen (73) Canterbury G.C., Cleveland 1946 Lloyd Mangrum (72-72) def. V. Ghezzi (72-73), B. Nelson (72-73) Canterbury G.C., Cleveland 1947 Lew Worsham (69) def. Sam Snead (70) St. Louis C.C., Clayton, Mo. 1950 Ben Hogan (69) def. Lloyd Mangrum (73), George Fazio (75) Merion G.C., Ardmore, Pa. 1955 Jack Fleck (79) def. Ben Hogan (72) Olympic Club, San Francisco 1957 Dick Mayer (72) def. Cary Middlecoff (79) Inverness Club, Toledo, Ohio 1962 Jack Nicklaus (71) def. Arnold Palmer (74) Oakmont C.C., Oakmont, Pa.1963 Julius Boros (70) def. Jacky Cupit (73), Arnold Palmer (76)The Country Club, Brookline, Mass. 1965 Gary Player (71) def. Kel Nagle (74) Bellerive C.C., St. Louis 1966 Billy Casper (69) def. Arnold Palmer (73) Olympic Club, San Francisco 1971 Lee Trevino (68) def. Jack Nicklaus (71) Merion G.C., Ardmore, Pa. 1975 Lou Graham (71) def. John Mahaffey (73) Medinah G.C., Medinah, Ill. 1984 Fuzzy Zoeller (67) def. Greg Norman (75) Winged Foot G.C., Mararoneck, N.Y.