Legends is week to cherish champions, past and present

text size

Getty Images

Clockwise from top left: Arnold Palmer, Jimmy Demaret, Gene Sarazen, Roberto DiVicenzo, Sam Snead and Charlie Sifford.

If you happen to be comfortably settled into the fourth or fifth -- or more -- decade of your life, chances are this is one of those weeks when you look back, not ahead.

Nothing against Tom Watson or Andy North or Nick Price or, even the Hall of Fame pairing of Gary Player and Bob Charles, but ... well, we remember when. We always will.

You need say nothing more than The Legends, and our minds wander back three decades to Austin. To Onion Creek Country Club. To a curiosity that blossomed into the Champions Tour.

Hauser column archive
React on Facebook
Complete Legends coverage

Back then, it was Jimmy Demaret's little lawn party -- a chance for two dozen of his old buddies to get together, spin a lot of tales and play a little golf. On television, no less.

You got the feeling the stories would outshine the golf since most of the field had to dust off their clubs. And early that first week, we were right. They hadn't been together like this in years and, well, just seeing each other again brought back the memories, the tales and the nicknames.

And for us? I'll never forget rounding the corner late that first afternoon and seeing a tiny man in knickers backlit by a setting sun. I stopped and shook my head. Is that really Gene Sarazen? It was.

Over the next few days, we watched Sarazen's light brown eyes sparkle as he looked back at that double eagle and the 1932 British Open. We watched him tease Sam Snead -- who didn't? -- and giggle at Tommy Bolt stories.

It was like stepping back into history. The Hebert brothers -- Jay and Lionel. Gardner Dickinson, who spent the week playing straight man for Snead. Julius Boros. Roberto DeVicenzo. Lessons in sidesaddle vs. croquet-style putting from Snead. Mickey Mantle -- a legend in pinstripes -- imitating a Tommy Bolt club toss.

Everything was simpler back then. You listened and learned. You didn't run to tweet or blog. You got to know the legends whose prime was years before you started writing about the game. Today, you can still pick up the phone and call them, just to say hello.

There was an ease to it all. No gallery ropes. It was old-style. Galleries walked the fairways like it was an exhibition. Some remembered Sarazen and Paul Runyan in their prime, others were amazed to see them swinging for the first time.

It was all so charming those first few years. Bob Goalby had lied about his age and had to produce his birth certificate to prove he was 50, not 49. Bolt launching into those tales about his temper and leaning back to roar in laughter. Ken Venturi talking about overcoming his stuttering. Demaret telling back-in-the-day stories about all those nights in hotel lobbies. Jackie Burke needling him at every turn.

Don January reaching up to smack down a ball that was headed straight toward him. Soft-spoken Art Wall. That six-hole, sudden-death playoff that made us realize these old guys could really play.

Charlie Sifford finally getting an invite and his due. Arnold Palmer debuting and taking it from lawn party to full-blown television event. Dow Finsterwald watching Palmer work the crowds with an amusing grin. Palmer's debut causing a big change -- to gallery ropes everywhere. No more following a polite distance behind the players.

It was before streaming video and .wav or MP3 files or digital cameras. Bob Hope -- in wild 70s pants -- lending a legendary swing to the pro-am festivities. Snead trying to get the best of everyone. Oh, if only we had more than a few fading photos ... if only those interview tapes hadn't gotten lost in a moving shuffle.

So much of those first few tournaments are still as clear as Tiger's final putt at Torrey Pines last summer. The banter. The putts. The excitement of watching Boros and DeVicenzo go at it with Bolt and Wall and a year later, watching Bolt and Wall get the best of Snead and January in a shorter playoff.

A curiosity that has stood the test of time. A seed that grew into a life-after-50 tour.

For a while there, the Liberty Mutual Legends of Golf took a sidestep and became an individual, stroke-play event. It was nice. It was fine. But it just wasn't the Legends.

It's back as a team event now with all those new faces. Players like Price and Watson and Ben Crenshaw and Jay Haas. Players who were watching those first few tournaments with the same awe as a young reporter.

Players who, for at least a moment or two this week, will pause like I do every year to think back to Demaret's first few lawn parties, to the stories, to the magic and to what those Legends and those moments created.

Melanie Hauser is a columnist for PGATOUR.COM. Her views do not necessarily represent the views of the PGA TOUR.