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David Duval not looking
for sympathy
He wore wraparound shades
and a stoic expression.
He hit a snap hook into
the waist-high weeds.
The two dozen fans who gathered
around the 18th tee at Royal St. George's had no trouble recognizing the former
champion, only the shots coming off his club.
``Man,'' David Duval moaned
as his 2-iron took a hard turn to the left and into the rough. ``I did the same
thing yesterday.''
Two years ago, he could
do little wrong.
Duval not only won the British
Open for his first major championship, he won over the golf-savvy gallery with
an acceptance speech that was humble and heartfelt, a man in awe not of himself
but of the silver claret jug he cradled.
Except for the sunglasses
and steely demeanor, so much has changed.
Duval held court with a
small group of British reporters, his back stiffening as he braced for another
round of questions he hears every time he plays.
What's wrong with your game?
``The scores haven't been
there for me,'' Duval said. ``I'm right on the edge of doing what I know I can
do.''
Either that, or he's on
the edge of a cliff.
So much more was expected
when Duval, the only other player besides Tiger Woods to be ranked No. 1 in the
world the last five years, closed with rounds of 65-67 at Royal Lytham & St.
Annes to claim his first major championship two years ago.
His only trophy since then
was the Dunlop Phoenix in Japan.
He has gone from sixth in
the world ranking to No. 87, prompting one prominent player to jokingly refer
to him as ``Mr. Free Fall.''
Most weeks for Duval end
on Friday, unless the cut isn't made until Saturday (Pebble Beach, Palm Springs)
or the second round is delayed by rain (Masters). He has played 15 times and made
four cuts. That includes a first-round loss in the Match Play Championship.
Woods, who went three months
and a whopping four tournaments without winning, was asked at the U.S. Open how
he would define a slump.
``Someone who completely
loses their game,'' he said.
Sound familiar?
Finding the cause for Duval's
misery on the golf course remains a mystery.
There have been a litany
of problems outside the ropes, such as the breakup with his fiancee of eight years,
and his legal battle with Titleist over a broken contract. Add to that injuries
that have ranged from tendinitis in his wrist to vertigo.
From a golf standpoint,
it's no secret. Duval gets to the first tee and two questions immediately come
to mind -- is this going left or right?
``It's no fun,'' Duval said.
Is he lazy?
That didn't appear to be
the case at the Masters. Instead of cleaning out his locker after missing the
cut, Duval spent nearly two hours on the practice range. He has become increasingly
frustrated with reporters who find fault with his game without ever watching.
``I'm out there pursuing
excellence,'' he said during the U.S. Open. ``And I have a hard time explaining
that to those who aren't.''
Winning his first major
did not make him any less motivated. The claret jug only made him realize that
fulfillment in life must come from some other source. That led some to believe
golf is no longer important.
``I love to play this game
more than anything I do,'' Duval said. ``To win is the ultimate achievement. But
if your goal is to find fulfillment, this is the wrong place to be seeking it.''
Where should it be found?
``That's for each individual
to figure out,'' he replied.
Meantime, even his peers
are puzzled. From the time he was a rookie in 1995, Duval had never finished lower
than 11th on the money list. They don't have the answers, either.
``I played a lot of golf
with him when he was at the peak of his game, ranked No. 1 in the world,'' U.S.
Open champion Jim Furyk said. ``He's too good. He's got too much talent. He's
got too much drive. He's had a real high peak, now he's had his lowest valley.
``But he's going to climb
out of it,'' Furyk added. ``I don't know exactly when that's going to be, but
I think he'll be just find. And he's going to start winning golf tournaments again.''
There is no reason to believe
this will be the week.
Even so, Duval had a certain
calmness, if not confidence, about him as he walked along the fairways of Royal
St. George's.
Unlike most weeks, Duval
sensed respect from the gallery, not sympathy. Mark O'Meara, who won in 1998 at
Royal Birkdale, once told Duval that British fans never forget an Open champion.
No matter the state of his game, they remember four magical days in July.
``Nobody has forgotten,''
Duval said. ``They know that I'm a former champion, and I'm treated that way.
I've won here. And that's a nice thing.''
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