U.S. OPEN : With Nothing to Lose, He Wins

There is a mythology in sport, and especially in golf, that in any contest between youth and experience, the older hand will win it. The operative phrase is “he’s been there before.” It predicts the new kid on the block will be overmatched. A rookie won’t be able to stand in against a Sandy Koufax type-of-thing. Never play cards with a guy named Nick the Greek. And so on.

The clincher is that the neophyte will choke, that he’ll be in such awe of his predicament his game will go all to pieces. The pressure will be all on him.

I have never understood it. The way the liturgy has it, the unknown will be so smothered he will be unable to play his relaxed game.

The notion here is, they have it all backward. If you are in a playoff with Ben Hogan--as Jack Fleck was in the 1955 U.S. Open--where’s the pressure on you? You’re supposed to lose, right? And if you do, the people will shrug and say, “What’d you expect--he was playing Ben Hogan!”

If Stanford is playing Notre Dame, why is the pressure on Stanford? Who expects the Cardinal to win?

Conversely, a champion is supposed to win. Koufax is supposed to strike the guy out. Notre Dame figures to beat you. That’s no disgrace.

What have you got to lose? Underdogs can take all the chances. They can go to the net in tennis, take the three-pointer in basketball, come out throwing rights, be loose. If Michael Jordan scores 55 points on you, that’s not even news. You should be as loose as ashes. You’re in on a pass.

That was the story of the 93rd U.S. Open here this week at musty old Baltusrol.

Here was the picture: at the end of three rounds of play, a golfer named Janzen, whose name was variously misspelled all week as “Jantzen,” “Jensen” and “Janzon,” was playing in the final round with Payne Stewart, whose name nobody misspelled.

Payne Stewart is not a legend, but he’s a major. He has won about $5 1/2 million on the tour and two major tournaments--the 1991 U.S. Open and the 1989 PGA championship. He’s been on the tour 12 years. He’s a star.

Lee Janzen has been on the tour three years, he has won two tournaments, but no one thinks of him as “The Hawk,” “The Golden Bear,” “Boom Boom,” or “Shark.” They don’t name any drivers after him. He’s almost a fuzzy-cheeked 28, what Terrible Tommy Bolt used to refer to on tour as “flippy-wristed little college kids.” You’re not supposed to be able to catch on to this intricate game at that early stage. You’re just one of the game’s baby boomers. If the course is an easy tour track, you can handle it. But you’re not supposed to have the trouble shots, the craftiness that comes with knowing which side of the fairway to come into the green from on “major” courses. You haven’t gone through the Wall of Pain five years out that all golfers go through--and some don’t survive.

You wouldn’t call Payne Stewart “grizzled.” Nicklaus, he’s not. But, he’s “been there before.” He’s been in the pressure cooker of major championships. The word “pro” has a very special meaning in golf--and Payne Stewart is, without doubt, a “pro,” well within the definition of the word.

So when this, well, nobody named Janzen somehow hooked up with Baltusrol and began to shoot a Hogan-like game, the wise guys predicted he was just playing unconscious golf. He would wake up and realize he was in the Open. He would wake up like a guy who has just wandered in a haunted house. Start the silent screaming.

When he got hooked up with Payne Stewart in the final round, some couldn’t bear to look. When Payne got through, there would be bits and pieces of Lee Janzen all over the golf course, it was predicted.

As if Payne wasn’t enough, there was the crafty Nick Price, another PGA winner, playing in front of him. He would get sandwiched by experience. He would get a major-league lump in his throat, a tic in his eye and a loop in his backswing. He would have trouble breathing, they assured themselves.

Why?

The record will show Lee Janzen did what Jack Fleck did in 1955, and a half dozen unknowns have done in golf and other sports--went out and played his game.

Those other guys are the ones with something to prove. They’re the ones who kind of came apart.

Young Master Janzen had no trouble swallowing. Or putting. It was Payne Stewart who hit what he described as “a terrible three-iron” to the green on the first hole, who hit fewer fairways than a weekend hacker at Griffith Park, who couldn’t seem to find the distance--or the line--on critical putts.

Golf is a little like an old-fashioned military school. You’re meant to hassle the plebes, haze the newcomers, get them twitching, flinching. On the 16th hole in this championship Sunday, Payne Stewart found himself on the green on this par three. He was actually “away,” so it was his option to hit first. Young Janzen was one stroke in the lead, but his ball was in the angry-looking left rough. He had a pitch, not a putt. Stewart waived his option, invited Janzen to play first. “I asked him twice to be sure if that’s what he wanted,” recalled young Janzen later. “I got lucky. I had a good lie there. I felt I might chip it in.”

He did.

Now, Payne Stewart, suddenly, shockingly, found himself two shots down with two holes to play. The curling 25-footer suddenly got 20 feet longer. He missed. In that situation, a golfer usually does.

That was the old ball game, to all intents and purposes.

Now, if gamesmanship was being applied, it backfired. Even if it wasn’t, it was the young neophyte who was calm and collected.

And why not? Guys 28 years old don’t win the Open. Nicklaus won at age 22, but that’s Jack Nicklaus.

On the 18th hole, this tournament suddenly turned melodramatic, memorable, at last a hit scenario. The picture was this: young Janzen had hit his drive in the right rough. “Worst lie I had all day,” he said. He had a tough decision. Whether to pop a seven-iron across--or into--a menacing strip of water and leave himself an easy 50-yard pitch to the green, or take a sand wedge, nudge it short of the water and take a chance on hitting a long iron to the green.

It was the kind of decision for a Hogan or a Nicklaus to make, not a three-year pro. Dump the seven-iron in the water and you have handed the tournament back. Hit it short and you may be giving up the possibility of birdie. And letting Stewart tie you with an eagle.

It would have made King Solomon pause. And young Janzen hesitated.

Finally, he made the right decision. He hit the wedge a puny--but safe--80 yards. Then, he hit a four-iron that was, like several of his shots Sunday, lucky. It found its way six feet to the right of the par-five 18th. The tournament was over.

Only then did Master Lee MacLeod Janzen act like a rookie. He cried like a baby.

He’ll have to work on that. Hogan and Nicklaus and Bobby Jones won four of these without misting an eye.

It’s the most difficult tournament in the world to win.

But not when you’ve got nothing to lose. Not when the gallery says, “What’s the name of that guy playing with Payne Stewart again?” That’s when an Open gets easy.