He never knew how precious the gift
was until he lost it.
And then got it back.
Even if just for one day.
"It was,'' 40-year-old Bobby Clampett said, "almost like
playing golf in heaven."
This is of those stories about not giving up, about a man on the
cusp of having it all who learned to make do with what was left.
For a few minutes on an appropriately mist-shrouded day, Clampett
had a share of the lead at the U.S. Open. This wouldn't have raised
eyebrows 20 years ago, when he was one of the best young golfers on
the planet. Now that seems like another lifetime.
Then, Clampett was a three-time All-American at Brigham Young
who joined the PGA Tour in 1980 as one of the most heralded golfers
of his generation. He did not disappoint -- not at first, anyway.
In 1981, Clampett climbed all the way up the money list to No.
14. The season after that, he won the Southern Open, tied for third
in the U.S. Open on the same Pebble Beach layout he grew up playing
and then nearly stole the British. And then it all went wrong.
"He was a superstar waiting to happen,'' Paul Azinger recalled.
"But something happened along the way.''
It is no less mystifying to Clampett today than it was then.
"I could see what was wrong on film, but I could never figure
out a way to fix it,'' he said. "I was playing competitively,
trying to make a living and I knew there were flaws I couldn't fix.
"It was,'' he said finally, "a test of character.''
Every life, it seems, has at least one "what if'' juncture
somewhere along the path; Clampett barreled through his and tried
to keep going. He struggled with his swing, with his confidence,
his attitude and finally with his faith. He went from one swing
doctor to another, immersed himself in arcane theories and prayed
he could play himself out of the slump. Nothing helped.
He fell to 64th on the money list in 1983, to 117th the year
after and remained in a free-fall until 1995. He was 299th on the
money list that year with a family in tow and a job offer from CBS
to put down his clubs and pick up a microphone.
"You look at the family priorities, the need to be a dad and a
husband and well, you throw those things in, and it just didn't
make sense for me to compete,'' he said.
He was convinced then the dream was denied, not simply deferred.
Clampett let golf go and focused his considerable energies on the
broadcast side of the business instead. He could still play a
little, to be sure. But even at his best, the question Clampett
faced was never "Would he come back?'' but "Didn't you used to
be?''
That's the funny thing about having a gift. As suddenly as it
goes, it sometimes returns.
Clampett had dinner one evening with fellow CBS broadcaster and
former U.S. Open champion Ken Venturi and they started talking
about the Presidents Cup competition. Venturi was selected to
captain the squad, and Clampett asked what it would take to get
himself added to it.
"He said, 'Win the Open,' " Clampett recalled.
"And I said, 'OK. That's my dream. I'm going to play one
tournament this year and let's see if we can get into it.' "
They both laughed, and that was going to be it -- except. Except
Clampett started driving golf balls down the spacious lawn in front
of his home in North Carolina. In his mind's eye, he was a kid
again, back in Monterey, trying to humble Pebble Beach. Never mind
that Clampett had played just one tournament in the last 21 months,
or that he had only tried to make it through Open qualifying twice
since 1986.
He came to the 18th at Woodmont Country Club on the last day of
qualifying this year with 243 yards left to the 18th green.
"I told my caddie I was going to have to hit a lot of shots
that hard to get to the Open, so we might as well start now,"
Clampett said.
He reached the green in two, made birdie and everything else
fell in place. He was the fourth alternate for a spot at Pebble
Beach, but the rest of the dominoes fell one after another. And
then came this morning, when Clampett starting knocking down
the flags as well. He looked up and his name was back on the
leaderboard.
"I never met anybody's expectations,'' he said, "nor my own.
Then, to suddenly be hitting shots like that, well, they were some
of the best golf shots I've ever hit.''
But something even more important had changed. The return of his
gift -- for no matter how long it lasts -- would not have been nearly
as satisfying without the chance to share it with the people whose
presence had filled the void it left in Clampett's life.
"I wanted my kids to come out here and experience a part of my
life that they never got to see,'' he said.
With that, he draped an arm around his 10-year-old son, Danny,
and headed for the door. He would worry about tomorrow later. He
already had more than he ever expected.
"When you're at the bottom,'' he said, "there's nowhere to go
but up."
