Go for Broke! [antikvár]

I The JViaddening Tirst Hole THERE was a sharp bite and sparkle in the mountain air. The Rockies loomed clearly in the distance—immense, clean, barren. I remember on the first hole at Denver, the sun was so bright that it hurt your eyes to look down the fairway. Standing on the tee, it was difHcult to see the green without a pair of dark glasses. It took me four rounds to find it—but when I did, the whole thrust of my life was altered. The time was i960. The place was Cherry Hills Country Club. The event was the U. S. Open. On the fourth round of that tournament, I tried a shot that I'd missed three times in three rounds. I tried it again not because I'd failed—or because I like failure—but because I was convinced that it was the shot necessary to win the tournament. A bold shot? Yes. But you must play boldly to win. My whole philosophy has been based on winning golf tournaments, not on finishing a careful fifth, or seventh, or tenth.