WHEN John Daly came off the course on Monday afternoon, he was asked the eternal John Daly question: “How’s everything away from the golf course?” Given that his wife, Sherrie, and her parents were, that same day and at pretty much the same time in Oxford, Mississippi, entering guilty pleas to charges of laundering drugs money, you would not have expected his answer to be: “Everything’s fine.”
But it was. It should be noted that Daly himself is in no way implicated in the crime. Yet Sherrie, his fourth wife, and her mother each received five years’ probation and six months’ house arrest. Her father received two years in prison. Daly has a Masters championship to play.
Some perspective. Daly missed the 1997 Masters because he was in rehabilitation for alcohol addiction. On the eve of the 1993 Masters, he was served divorce papers by his (second) wife. He went on to finish third. Everything is clearly far from fine with the Wild Thing right now and a fascinating subplot to the Masters, which starts tomorrow, is how his game here will be affected by this latest addition to his infamous catalogue of personal catastrophe.
Most, surely, would be completely derailed by this. Daly, as we know, has been completely and utterly derailed before, though this year he appeared to have located a groove of unprecedented smoothness. Here, he is doing his utmost to give the impression that he is still in it, despite the machinations in Mississippi. “I feel like I’m more focused,” he said, “maybe concentrating a little more. I know I’m a lot more patient.”
His practice round on Monday was notable for its usual Daly-isms: huge distances off the tee, brief interludes of sprayed shots peppering long periods of astonishing accuracy, his belly hanging deep over his belt, the burning cigarette a permanent accessory. And crowds, huge crowds — second only to Tiger Woods.
And completely differently to Woods is his attitude to these crowds. Indeed, there is no one like Daly in this regard. When most players leave the course, they hide away in monastic preparation for the event; when Daly leaves, he has a habit of travelling less than a mile up the Washington Road to the local Hooters, a chain of bars notable for the uniform of its waitresses — orange hotpants and figure-hugging singlets bearing the message “Delightfully tacky yet unrefined” — and is about as un-PC as Daly himself.
“I get along with everybody,” Daly said. “But my crowd is like the Hooters crowd. It’s like the country-style people, hearts of gold — common people is what I’ve grown up with and been around all my life. I relate to them, they can relate to my problems and I can relate to theirs. It’s like a family thing.”
So close is this family that Hooters was advertising yesterday that Daly would be in between seven and nine that evening. If the ad was being strictly accurate, it would explain that Daly would actually be in the trailer in the adjacent parking lot selling and signing Daly merchandise. This is a line that includes the standard polo shirts and caps plus his own CD, This Is My Life, which includes the little-known number All my exes wear Rolexes.
Here, golf’s world centre of gentility and snobbery, Daly cuts an even greater contrast than normal, even without the added postscript of having his wife up in court.
It is extraordinary enough that Daly is here at Augusta at all. Of the many downward spirals his life has taken, last year’s was possibly the worst. There was furious and public talk of divorce with Sherrie, self-control deserted him, he struggled to get invitations to tournaments and at one that he did make, in Missouri, he six-putted a green, chasing after his ball and hockey-sticking it into the cup.
It was Woods himself who once said of Daly: “He is an everyday reminder for me that I can’t screw up in my personal life.” Daly’s transformation this year is testament to a private life rescued by rehabilitation and counselling and rediscovered peace and happiness with Sherrie. So when he won the Buick Invitational in February, his first tournament win for nine years, it was the completion of the most astonishing of comebacks. Even by his own standards.
But nevertheless, the Masters was a distant ambition and, on the last day to qualify, ten days ago at The Players Championship, it seemed that he had blown it. His best chance was to finish in the top ten on the money-list, he completed his last round with an 80 and drove away from the course believing he had blown it. Later, on the phone to his agent, he was informed that events had conspired in his favour. He had qualified at No 10.
“I wish it wasn’t so close,” he said, “but it’s kind of cool. It’s a good story.
“I’m not the most religious person in the world, but I think the good Lord up there has blessed me. I think I’ve had 12 lives. There’s a reason why I’m still here and a reason why I’m here this week. He’s only going to give me what I can take.
“I’ve had a lot of people on tour step right in front of my face and say: ‘How in the hell do you do it?’ I take it in my stride and try to learn from my mistakes.”
There is a lot to take in his stride again now. He says he would like to be hitting his driver better. It would surely help considerably more if Sherrie, who has been instrumental in rebuilding his career, was able to be here to continue with the reconstruction.
But Daly will continue to walk this course these next few days as if everything is fine. His army of fans will turn out for him desperate not to see him alter his stride.
