Golf: I Feel Awful

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Golfers have a curious way of paying their respects to a course. They cry. For last week's U.S. Open, St. Louis' Bellerive Country Club was stretched out to 7,191 yds., longest in the tournament's history: one hole (the 17th) measured 606 yds. from tee to green. "Ridiculous," said Julius Boros. Another pro wailed that the fairways were so narrow, "you have to walk them single file." Ditches and water hazards bisected twelve of the 18 holes—to say nothing of 74 sand traps, 6-in.-deep Bermuda rough, and the big, slick greens. Complained one golfer: "It's like putting down a marble staircase and trying to stop the ball on the fourth step."

Jack Nicklaus didn't join the wailing chorus. The leading money winner and longest hitter in golf, he was the only player in the 150-man field who could reasonably expect to reach Bellerive's 17th green in two. What's more, he knew the course like the back of his hammy hand after practically setting up residence there for the past month. "I'll have no alibis. I know I can shoot a 65," Jack announced, and when he laughed his way to a 67 in practice, even his fellow pros were ready to concede the $25,000 winner's check. "He should be an even bet against the field," Billy Casper insisted. Sighed Sam Snead: "With his power, Nicklaus starts out five strokes ahead of the rest of us."

Hard to Explain. A funny thing happened to Jack on his way to the jack: he shot a 78 in the first round. He sank one decent putt all day, and he only managed that because "the cup got in the way of the ball." Nicklaus had plenty of company. Unable to grip his clubs properly because of a circulatory ailment, Defending Champion Ken Venturi staggered in with an 81; Arnold Palmer, who also had a 67 in practice, got his figures reversed with a 76. Three pros finished in the 90s—"How am I ever going to explain this to the members at my club?" gulped one—and two more picked up in disgust.

The worst was the sixth hole, a 195-yd. par-three that everybody could reach—and hardly anybody did. On the first day, 37 balls were knocked into the pond guarding its kidney-shaped green—including one belonging to Canada's Bob Panasiuk, who earned extra distinction by rapping his in on a misdirected putt.

Suddenly it dawned that Bellerive was not a slugger's course after all. By the third day, Arnie Palmer was gone—after failing to make the cut for the first time in 91 tournaments. Jack Nicklaus bravely played on: "All I need is a 48 to win," he said, after a third-round 73 that put him twelve strokes behind. And who should be leading but a couple of patty-cake hitters from abroad: Kel Nagle, who at 44 admits in Australianese that "I'm growing a little long in the tooth," and South Africa's Gary Player, 29, a 150-lb. peanut who does push-ups so he can play with the big boys. In 15 years of trying, Nagle had never won a tournament in the U.S. Player had won just about everything in sight (the Masters, P.G.A., British Open)—except the U.S. Open. The last foreigner to hold the Open championship was Britain's Ted Ray, in 1920, and now a foreigner was going to hold it again.