One Major Break Was All He Needed

Some golf balls travel in, well, couples. They fly together. They lie in the sun together. And they swim together. So, when Fred Couples crossed the creek of Augusta National’s 12th hole Sunday to see if his championship chances were up one, he did not find one lonesome ball. He found two.

One in the water.

One not.

Same brand, a Maxfli. That was what caught Couples’ eye right away. The ball that was submerged in Bobby Jones’ locker, stuck in the muck, could just as easily have been his. But by a stroke of fate--the telltale stroke of the 56th Masters golf tournament--Couples’ tee shot at the 155-yard par three did not sleep with the fishes. Fred’s wasn’t dead. It was wedged in the grass, no more than 24 inches from Rae’s Creek.

No fuss, no muss. Couples chipped it onto the green.

Then he salvaged the buried-at-sea ball with his clubface, as easily as scooping a guppy from an aquarium. And he examined it for a few seconds, as though thinking: “And who did you belong to?” Knowing full well that some unlucky wretch who had passed this way before had not been spared, or might never appreciate how closely acquainted his ball nearly became with the man who won the Masters.

“It was at that exact moment,” Couples said, “that I thought I’d win.”

He had six holes to go, and had Raymond Floyd making headway in front of him, and had Corey Pavin occupying an antique chair inside Bobby Jones’ memorial cabin behind the 18th green with an impressive scorecard already signed and in his pocket. Yet nothing more could unnerve Couples after that flirtation with the water. From that point on, Augusta was all downhill.

And so came about the graduation of Fred Couples, 32, member in good standing of the University of Houston fraternity of Phi Pitchen Putt, to his no-longer-honorary Masters’ degree in golf. Everyone connected with the profession has known for years now that it was only a matter of time before Couples stopped serving his apprenticeship as a superstar and certifiably became one.

The players knew it. The caddies knew it. The galleries knew it and frequently let Couples know they knew it.

Fred, they said, you’re the man.

Maybe it was after that 62 he racked up at Riviera. Or the 64 at Sawgrass. Maybe it was the way he placed among the top three last year not only in the U.S. Open but also the British Open as well as the Canadian Open along with winning a couple of lesser events. Or the way he kept playing in 1992, when it seemed as though Couples could have been blindfolded and spun around three times and still carded a 68.

All he needed was to be promoted to a major, and the Masters is as major as it gets.

Yet Couples is not the most dynamic public speaker in the world nor one to promote himself, so when somebody inquired if this was the sort of confirmation that was necessary to make him officially one of golf’s greats, Couples visibly winced and said: “I don’t know how to answer that.”

He tried to, but he couldn’t.

“It helps, yes, but . . . uh, I don’t think this is going to hurt me in any way,” Couples said. “And I don’t think it’s necessarily going to help me.

“I mean, I just don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question.”

Not exactly the basis for a big CBS Sports advertising campaign. The Masters -- It Won’t Hurt You In Any Way. But we get the point, Fred.

Jim Nantz does, anyway. The anchor for CBS-TV’s golf coverage was Couples’ dormitory mate when they were Houston Cougar teammates. They are such good friends that Couples volunteered to be a gopher instead of a golfer and carry trays of Cokes and statistics to Nantz and the other network announcers at the NCAA Final Four basketball tournament a week before the Masters, in exchange for passes to the games.

Nantz couldn’t resist asking Couples after Sunday’s experience: “Remember when we sat around and visualized something like this happening someday?”

“Vividly,” Couples replied.

He nearly lost it in the water. The tee shot scarcely cleared the edge of the creek, landing with a plop. Not until Couples stepped right up next to the ball did he realize what a close call it had been, or how unbelievably lucky that the uphill lie was a soft one, sitting up nicely for him, easy pickings.

“That was the most nervous I’ve ever been,” Couples said.

Walking to the ball, he meant. Chipping the ball, that was easy. Playing a golf shot never unnerves Fred Couples in the least. It’s those unplayable lies that can be hazards to your health.