A Hall of Famer I'll Miss

Tonight, word came down about the passing of Ken Venturi.  Most of today's generation of golfers remember Ken as an announcer, closing that career with a young partner named Jim Nantz.  He called things as he saw them, with grace, dignity, and respect.  His World Golf Hall of Fame induction was just ten days ago.

My background as a golfer went from high school letterman, to Big Ten walk-on, to PGA Apprentice Professional.  Venturi called a couple of playoff losses by two golfers that I admire, Payne Stewart and Larry Mize. They were young and unknown, contending for the first time with long, smooth swings I tried to emulate.  He said they would have great futures.  Stewart won two U.S. Opens (also finished second twice) and a PGA.  Mize won a Masters thanks to a Divinely guided chip shot.  He was more than right about their futures.

Venturi came from a working class background, overcoming tremendous odds.  Caddy work introduced him to mentors who helped him hone his skills and finance the beginning of his career.  That career ended prematurely in 1966 when carpal tunnel syndrome kept his hands from wielding a golf club at the highest skill level.

About a month before Venturi's signature win, the 1964 U.S. Open, he was at the bottom of his game, house for sale, and begging for another chance.  While visiting the Indianapolis 500, Johnny Boyd, a friend and fourth place finisher that day, told reporters that Venturi would win The Open in a couple of weeks.  A sponsor's exemption into Westchester the following week netted a third place finish and a new lease of life.

He defied death to claim the game's pinnacle.  Facing possible heat stroke on a humid 90+ degree day at Congressional Country Club, advised by a doctor that completing the second round of a 36 hole day could kill him.  Venturi said, "Quitting is for losers.  The easiest thing in the world to do is quit.  I'm going back out there.  I have nowhere else to go."

He was so physically drained, he could not mentally process the enormity of the U.S. Open.  Raymond Floyd, his fellow competitor in the final group, had to fill in his own scorecard: Venturi hadn't marked a single score.  Making the final putt, his only reaction was to drop his head and say, "My God, I've won the Open."

A feared competitor, Floyd couldn't contain his tears.  I'm having a little trouble with my own now.

Remember those who inspired you in something you love and be grateful for their passion.

So...am I off base?