There’s not much wrong with golf nowadays, nothing a few changes in equipment couldn’t fix, but wouldn’t you like to see Chi Chi Rodriguez do his sword schtick again?
How about Arnie in his prime, slashing his way around like a man cutting down a tree, ramming putts into the cups, flirting with the girls and loving the cheers?
Wouldn’t you like to see John Daly win again?
Miller Barber, the Mysterious Mr. X behind those sunglasses, splitting fairway after fairway with that loopy swing?
More short, tricky par 4’s.
Julius Boros at his best, pouring syrup all over the golf course with a swing so effortless it looked like it could fall asleep.
Legendary amateur Billy Joe Patton playing another shot out of the trees with that blur of a backswing and holing everything with that putter that obeyed his commands like a loyal dog.
A young Lee Trevino, coming out of Texas like a dust storm, talking incessantly. He didn’t swing like Hogan or Snead but he hit shots that they hit and served smiles to the people watching.
Nancy Lopez when she was queen.
Wouldn’t you like to see Phil Mickelson have a huge year, full of thrills and flop shots and putts that don’t glance at the cup and pass on by?
Tommy Bolt thundering again at all of the elements that conspire against him out there, throwing the occasional club and glaring at the sky between iron shots so pretty they should be framed?
Jack Nicklaus back at Augusta, in the hunt on Sunday afternoon, tied for the lead with Tiger Woods?
Hogan play Merion again?
A reincarnation of the old Eastwood public course here, smelling of smoke and beer, echoing with bets, where to discourage cheating in certain games you could tee it up anywhere and where the dress code stressed that you must wear something even if it was nothing more than a bathing suit?
Wouldn’t you like to reprise all of those sunrises and all of those sunsets with golf in between, all of those sunburned faces and all of those frozen toes, all of those shots far and true and all of those shots that looked like they had blown a tire, all of the beauty and all of the peril lying out there and certainly all of the laughter? Well, maybe not that triple bogey in the club championship but you know what I mean.
