A Week Makes All the Difference for Daly

AKRON, Ohio —  John Daly had the right act, he just needed the right stage. He had the right game, he needed the right course. He was the right person, he needed the right time.

Then along came the PGA Championship, the last major championship of the year. It was played on the Crooked Stick Golf Club, one of the longest courses ever used for a golf tournament. This was the stage, this was the course, and Daly was the person. He won the tournament by overpowering it, by hitting the ball farther than any good player ever did, and by getting the ball in the hole at the other end with a soft touch around the greens, a quick and accurate touch on them.

But no one came to see Daly chip and putt. By Sunday afternoon, as he strolled the 18th fairway to the sort of tumultuous ovation reserved for Nicklaus and Palmer, everyone knew what Daly was about. He played the game with one word in mind, a word generally associated with heavyweights and linebackers. “Kill,” he said. And that’s just what he did.

Tee shot by tee shot Daly drove himself into the legend of the game. Winding himself as tight as a $5 clock, the clubhead of his driver pointing to the ground at the end of his backswing, Daly unleashed power heretofore associated only with bullet trains and nuclear warheads. His driving average for the week was more than 303 yards. Unbelievable, awesome, phenomenal led the list of adjectives. And the whoops and yelps and hollers from the gallery, the wild cheering, the heavy applause, was punctuated by the occasional, and profound, “Oh my God.”

Daly flat out hit it, and became an instant, beloved hero of the golf world. He had just the right chemistry, a heaping portion of power and a dash of humble. Even the players are talking about him, and liking him. He’s just what golf needs.

“The world of golf embraced him immediately,” PGA Tour Commissioner Deane Beman said. “This is the first time I ever saw it happen in all my years in golf. The public loves long hitters. The public loves to see someone bust one. Babe Ruth, Jack Nicklaus ...”

And John Daly.

Two weeks later, Daly finds himself at the vortex of a storm that his hurricane of a swing stirred up. He finds himself sought after by the fans at the NEC World Series of Golf, who await his emergence from the locker room with pens and programs in hand, who await his ascendance to the driving range, who await his appearance on the first tee. They flock to him, they holler to him and they tolerate those few minutes when he warms up with wedges and other assorted irons. They wait for him to pull out the cannon, the thermoplastic-headed, Ti-shafted Cobra driver. Drive, they said.

At the moment the driver comes out the range becomes a launching pad, and the crowds look skyward. And each launch produces that curious reaction among the men in the crowd, the long whistles of admiration followed by a little laugh, followed, often, by “Oh my God.”

And don’t think Daly, a bit bedraggled because there is no calm in the eye of his storm, isn’t loving it, too. He is a common man doing uncommon things, and a once rather simple life, traveling the golf circuit with fiancee Betty Fulford, is now about to become complicated.

Since the PGA victory, he’s appeared on “Larry King Live,” kicked field goals at Denver Broncos practice, signed a multiyear contract with Reebok, been invited as the fourth and final player in the Skins Game, that wonderfully successful golf gimmick that also will feature his idol, Nicklaus, along with Curtis Strange and Payne Stewart. He could have been on the “Tonight Show” Wednesday, but had to turn Johnny Carson down because of the World Series. Not incidentally, the PGA victory gives Daly a 10-year exemption on the Tour, and gets him into the U.S. Open, the Masters and the British Open for the next five years. He can play in the PGA Championship forever.

He will take two weeks off after this tournament, time to rest, time to contemplate what it all means, time to make decisions. National companies associated with power and long distance -- the auto industry and telecommunications companies -- want to talk to him about endorsement possibilities. Other companies want him to put on exhibitions at national meetings, play a round with the top execs. Extremely lucrative tournament possibilities loom in Japan and South Africa. He’s also qualified for big money tournaments in Hawaii and Jamaica. By the end of the year it’s likely he’ll be a millionaire. Maybe twice.

True to the humble part of the chemistry, Daly isn’t jumping out of his shoes at all these possibilities. He’ll let his agents at Cambridge sports, John Mascatello and Bud Martin, sort through chaff in search of the wheat and then he and Betty will make the final call. “Playing golf and spending time with Betty are the most important things,” he said. “We’re basically simple people. We like our privacy.”

After Betty and golf, come the people. Daly says he just loves them. Of the galleries that flock to him -- the Daly Division -- he said, “They help me three or four shots every time I tee it up. They did at Crooked Stick, anyway.”

Certainly something that impressed everyone about Daly at the PGA was his contribution of $30,000 from his $230,000 first-place prize to establish a trust fund for the two children of Thomas Weaver, a spectator killed by lightning during the first round. Unknown then was that Daly had made a sizable charitable contribution two weeks before when he won the Greater Erie Charity Classic, a pro-am event. Sitting in the scorer’s tent, knowing he was the winner of the $25,000 first prize but waiting for the final group to finish, he told tournament director Ted Grassi: “I’m writing a check for your charities.” It was for $5,000.

“I think I have a big heart,” Daly said. “If I can help people, I will.”

After Erie, Daly went out and bought a diamond-bezeled gold Rolex, technically a gift from Betty, another Rolex for her and a BMW as well. He hasn’t really had a chance, or even a big desire to spend the loot from the PGA. The couple bought a new house outside of Memphis in December and they like it there.

The inevitable march of time will tell whether Daly, only 25, is a new star or a fiery comet lighting up the sky as it heads toward oblivion. He has now, and perhaps forever, the charisma to carry the day even if his game sputters.

And the King of Charisma, Arnold Palmer, had some profound thoughts on Daly’s dizzying rise. “He has to be careful. The world is looking at him,” Palmer said. “He has a trememdous burden on his shoulders. I don’t think anyone in the game of golf ever stirred up as much emotion in one week. I hope he can stay focused on playing golf and just carry on the act as long as he can.”