Perhaps the landscape of competitive golf is too broad, elastic and time-warped to even attempt this. Eras are distended and sometimes overlapping. Strength of competition swells and deflates. Major championships gain and lose recognition. Money is an impossible barometer. And how do you compare Mickey Wright to Bobby Jones anyhow? With all that, here it is: Our ranking of the 50 Greatest Golfers of All Time, which rates, parenthetically, as one of the most ambitious projects in the 50-year history of Golf Digest.
Our voting panel was not shackled by a formal set of criteria. The methodology: We circulated 60 ballots to members of our Professional Advisory Staff, Teaching Professionals, Contributing Editors, in-house editors and a select group of writers and historians. We asked them to rank the top 10 players in order, and to then place the remaining players in descending groups of 10. Points were awarded for each 10-golfer bracket, with bonus points given to the special players who fell within the top 10.
The ranking does not intend to quell controversy. No ranking ever has. Our fervent hope is that it inspires argument at every station, from No. 2 to No. 50. (You'll give us Jack Nicklaus as No. 1, won't you?) The instructional points set forth by the greatest golfers who ever lived should help your game as well. Finally, we hope the essays contributed by many of the world's most accomplished writers, athletes and high-profile figures will entertain and enlighten you as to the legacy of these remarkable individuals.
Mr. Nicklaus, as I called him back then, was conducting a clinic at Bel-Air Country Club in Los Angeles, a short drive on the expressway from my home in Cypress. I was part of the show, sponsored by the Friends of Golf (FOG) tournament, having been selected by head pro Eddie Merrins to put on a ball-striking exhibition. I was 15 and a Nicklaus disciple from the time I was able to understand his stature in the game. "Hello, Mr. Nicklaus," I said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
I hit a few hooks, slices, low shots and high fades. I knew I had some skills and loved to show off. Jack complimented me on my golf swing and gave me a few words of encouragement. "Tiger," he said, "when I grow up I want to have a swing as beautiful as yours." We shook hands and posed for a picture. I felt even taller afterward. I guess meeting greatness had elevating power.
My dad first told me about Jack when I was 6 or 7. He wanted to make sure I knew my history. He proclaimed Jack to be the greatest ever, and Jack immediately became the standard against which I measured myself. I saw a clipping in The L.A. Times noting some of his accomplishments. It included the first time he broke 80 and 70; the first time he won the state amateur in Ohio and the U.S. Amateur. I was pretty young, but I understood that if I was going to become the best, Jack's record was a pretty good place to start. So I cut the article out of the paper and tacked it just above the headboard of my bed. I figured it was a nice little barometer to see what someone else had done. If I could do that well, great. If not, then that would be fine, too. At least I had something to shoot for.
Watching Jack on TV and reading about him, I soon realized for myself just how good he was. There were a couple of things about Jack that really caught my attention. First, his intensity level. Whether he was shooting 65 to win or was grinding out a 74 on Friday afternoon to make the cut, his intensity level never wavered. Now, none of us know his mental approach, because if we knew that we'd all be winning. But his intensity level was unmistakable.
Second, all serious golfers have at one time or another faced a putt in the final round of a tournament or late in a match that you have to make to keep your chances alive. Almost invariably, Jack was able to make that putt. The greatest pressure putter of all time? He'd get my vote.
Perhaps the most impressive thing about Jack's record is that not only did he win a lot of tournaments, but he won them over a long period of time. His consistency and durability have been incredible. He and Arnold Palmer share the record of winning at least one PGA Tour event for 17 straight years. Incredible. Year in and year out, he kept winning.
Our voting panel was not shackled by a formal set of criteria. The methodology: We circulated 60 ballots to members of our Professional Advisory Staff, Teaching Professionals, Contributing Editors, in-house editors and a select group of writers and historians. We asked them to rank the top 10 players in order, and to then place the remaining players in descending groups of 10. Points were awarded for each 10-golfer bracket, with bonus points given to the special players who fell within the top 10.
The ranking does not intend to quell controversy. No ranking ever has. Our fervent hope is that it inspires argument at every station, from No. 2 to No. 50. (You'll give us Jack Nicklaus as No. 1, won't you?) The instructional points set forth by the greatest golfers who ever lived should help your game as well. Finally, we hope the essays contributed by many of the world's most accomplished writers, athletes and high-profile figures will entertain and enlighten you as to the legacy of these remarkable individuals.
Mr. Nicklaus, as I called him back then, was conducting a clinic at Bel-Air Country Club in Los Angeles, a short drive on the expressway from my home in Cypress. I was part of the show, sponsored by the Friends of Golf (FOG) tournament, having been selected by head pro Eddie Merrins to put on a ball-striking exhibition. I was 15 and a Nicklaus disciple from the time I was able to understand his stature in the game. "Hello, Mr. Nicklaus," I said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
I hit a few hooks, slices, low shots and high fades. I knew I had some skills and loved to show off. Jack complimented me on my golf swing and gave me a few words of encouragement. "Tiger," he said, "when I grow up I want to have a swing as beautiful as yours." We shook hands and posed for a picture. I felt even taller afterward. I guess meeting greatness had elevating power.
My dad first told me about Jack when I was 6 or 7. He wanted to make sure I knew my history. He proclaimed Jack to be the greatest ever, and Jack immediately became the standard against which I measured myself. I saw a clipping in The L.A. Times noting some of his accomplishments. It included the first time he broke 80 and 70; the first time he won the state amateur in Ohio and the U.S. Amateur. I was pretty young, but I understood that if I was going to become the best, Jack's record was a pretty good place to start. So I cut the article out of the paper and tacked it just above the headboard of my bed. I figured it was a nice little barometer to see what someone else had done. If I could do that well, great. If not, then that would be fine, too. At least I had something to shoot for.
Watching Jack on TV and reading about him, I soon realized for myself just how good he was. There were a couple of things about Jack that really caught my attention. First, his intensity level. Whether he was shooting 65 to win or was grinding out a 74 on Friday afternoon to make the cut, his intensity level never wavered. Now, none of us know his mental approach, because if we knew that we'd all be winning. But his intensity level was unmistakable.
Second, all serious golfers have at one time or another faced a putt in the final round of a tournament or late in a match that you have to make to keep your chances alive. Almost invariably, Jack was able to make that putt. The greatest pressure putter of all time? He'd get my vote.
Perhaps the most impressive thing about Jack's record is that not only did he win a lot of tournaments, but he won them over a long period of time. His consistency and durability have been incredible. He and Arnold Palmer share the record of winning at least one PGA Tour event for 17 straight years. Incredible. Year in and year out, he kept winning.
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