The Masters : The Joke Is on Hoch as Putts Putter Away

Nick Faldo, queen-appointed Member of the British Empire, defeated Some Guy in a Red Sweater for the Masters golf championship Sunday.

We cannot tell you much else about the poor slob who lost, except that his name is Hoch, which rhymes with choke , which is a word that--sorry--cannot be avoided when a mortal misses a two-foot putt that could have made him immortal.

The guy who gagged was Scott Mabon Hoch, 33, some American who has not won a tournament in five years. About all we could tell you about Hoch before Sunday was that he has a degree from Wake Forest, has a brother named Buddy who is a pro bowler, and might be needing all his buddies to attend his wake.

“I’m glad I don’t carry a gun with me right now,” Hoch said, maybe 15 minutes after the whole thing blew up in his face.

Morbid? Melodramatic?

No, a little black humor, is all. Hoch actually handled his misfortune rather nicely--better than many would--when the gods of golf decided to play this lousy practical joke on him. They robbed him of a $200,000 first prize, a lifetime Masters exemption, an honorary Augusta National club membership, and a scroll that would list his name beneath those of Ben Hogan, Sam Snead, Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus.

Not only did he lose, he lost pitifully, forlornly, a sad young pup, beaten and wet. He missed a putt no more than four feet long--Hoch called it five, but it looked more like three--at the 17th hole, costing him the championship. Then he missed a putt 24 inches long at the 19th hole, costing him the championship. Not only did he lose, he lost twice.

You can make a case, of course, that Scott Hoch lost with dignity, honorably, because after all, he did shoot a 69 on the final day of the Masters, and did outlast the likes of Ben Crenshaw and Greg Norman and Seve Ballesteros, and did make shots like his unbelievable uphill chip to the 17th, the one that had us primed to immortalize him as The Incredible Hoch.

Yes, to be fair, he was more than just some guy in a red sweater. Throughout that hectic back nine, when he was battling tooth and nail against Faldo, Crenshaw, Norman, Ballesteros and Some Guy in a Brown Sweater, we admired the way Hoch hung tough.

It was easy to see how this relative unknown had actually accumulated nearly $800,000 in earnings over the last two years. Rarely a champion, Hoch has a habit of being a persistent challenger. On last year’s tour, he had 10 top-10 finishes, and once went 19 consecutive tournaments without missing the cut. The guy’s no hack.

Yet, in his 10 years since turning pro, Hoch has won only three events, two of which were Quad Cities Opens. We are talking about a golfer here who may be a household word in Davenport, Iowa, and Rock Island, Ill., but probably not in the other half of the quad.

Imagine, he nearly won the Masters. The only reason he even qualified for the Masters was that the 14th of their 14 prerequisites for invitation entitles anyone who ranked among the previous year’s top 30 money-winners to join the party, and Hoch squeaked in there 26th.

“I feel good about the way I played,” Hoch said. “I hung in there when everybody else didn’t. I really thought it was mine. All the immortality and all that other stuff, I’d be sharing in part of that right now, but I guess it’s not to be.”

In darkness that nearly demanded a Day-Glo golf ball, Hoch and Faldo had their sudden-death playoff. Technically, it was their third round of golf in one day. They had completed a rain-delayed third round Sunday morning, then played 18 holes more, then trudged back to the 10th tee.

Faldo, you could say, won the tournament Sunday by shooting a 77, a 65 and an 8.

The only person who beat Hoch, however, was Hoch. He was the leader after 16 holes, needing nothing but a couple of pars. And, with “the chip of my life” after overshooting the 17th green, Hoch was sizing up that green jacket in about a 42 Regular.

But he misread his putt, dropping a stroke. Which was nothing compared to the downhill two-footer on the first playoff hole, which is the putt he will be seeing in all his bad dreams.

It had to be stroked delicately, because a firm putt that did not drop dead-center would go racing past the cup. No way Hoch wanted to four-putt. So, he tapped it lightly, and the trickle-down effect was as costly as it gets. The putt never had a chance, staying left.

“What can I say?” Hoch said. “I hadn’t three-putted a hole all week. Nice time to do it.

“I was standing over it thinking, ‘This is for the marbles,’ and I guess I just pulled it. Funny thing was, I wasn’t nervous. It was really strange. I really felt at ease all day long. I kept thinking, ‘This must be my time.’ ”

Alas, ‘twas not.

It was time for the honorable Mr. Faldo, MBE, to make a marvelous putt, a heroic one, to win the way a winner should win. And it was time for the guy in the red sweater to shrink. Bury him in the Tomb of the Unknown Golfer. He lost his chance to be a known.