February 17, 2011
By Staff Reporter
David Duval won a major championship, became the number one player in the world, shot a 59 in competition and promptly lost his way. New Zealand’s Michael Campbell has never been able to fathom how he won the 2005 US Open, and Philip Walton, the Irish hero of the 1995 Ryder Cup, saw his game slip into terminal decline.
But driven by just the right amount of fear, Padraig Harrington keeps working, keeps moving and most important of all, keeps improving. Instead of corroding his desire, success pushes him on.
When he won the British Open in dramatic circumstances at Carnoustie last year, he could’ve been forgiven for asking the “Is that it?” question. After nearly 30 second-place finishes in his career, and so much heartache, he might have stopped there and then.
In contrast, he began to press even harder on the pedal and last summer in the space of an astonishing three weeks, he was rewarded with another British Open title and then the PGA Championship. Since then, he has walked off with just about every end-of-the-year bauble on offer and has become the first European to win the prestigious PGA Tour Player of the Year award.
“If I stand back and start to wonder about my place in Irish sporting history, that’s the minute you start drifting away from golf,” he said. “I’ll be a competitive golfer as long as I have goals in front of me, but you must have something in the background as well because you might get what you wish for. If I didn’t think ahead, winning one major might mean I’d stop.”
That second title materialized on the west coast of England last July. With Tiger Woods absent through injury, and with a clutch of pretenders primed to challenge, the prognosis wasn’t too good for Harrington’s defense when he injured his wrist a couple of days before the start at Royal Birkdale.
There was even speculation that he would pull out, but after curtailed practice, he teed it up, and eventually found himself in the final group with Greg Norman on the Sunday. It probably should have been Norman’s day as he attempted to become the oldest player in history to win a major, but Harrington was able to produce some majestic golf over the back nine.
In what might come to be the finest two hours of his career, he hardly put a foot wrong on a hugely demanding links to cover that last nine in four under par 32. His spectacular five wood from 250 yards to set up an eagle three at the 17th might’ve been the shot of the season, but his overall mastery of the situation was all the more impressive.
“The win reaffirms that in the absolute heat of battle, my game goes up a notch rather than the other way,” he explained. “It was my first time in the last group of a major on a Sunday. I didn’t get distracted by it, I went out there as favorite and took it.”
Little more than a fortnight after he produced that back nine of wondrous precision, the PGA Championship loomed into view at Oakland Hills near Detroit. With the Olympic Games hogging the headlines, and with the anticipation of the Ryder Cup matches beginning to simmer, it felt like the fag-end of the major season.
The weather was lousy, the players were bitching about the rough, and when the office called from Dublin, you had to advise everyone to tear up the Harrington betting slips.
On the Friday, only a player of his skill and resolve could have prevented the round from spiraling out of control. The ninth hole, where he signed off, is a punishing par three, but his tee shot was fully 50 yards off line. If a 74 appeared disappointing, it could so easily have been 10 strokes worse.
On a path that winds from the back of the stands at the 18th green to the clubhouse, Harrington admitted he was done. “I just ran out of steam. I did my best to be ready, but clearly I’m not. What can I say? The harder I tried the worse it got. Obviously, I’m still just having a hangover after winning the Open. I don’t have the focus and that’s clearly a sign of being mentally fatigued. I thought I was ready, and I’m not. Next year, I’ll have another go.”
But after raising a white flag – possibly in an effort to take the pressure off himself – he managed to finish the weather-delayed third round on the Sunday morning with a redemptive 66 which left him three adrift of Ben Curtis. Despite an impressive performance, there was still this sense that he was playing from memory, and that if he somehow got into contention, the strain, the fatigue, the lack of focus would cause him to crack.
It was cool for the time of year with drizzle in the air, and that dank atmosphere seemed to be consistent with his hopes. Sergio Garcia had started out birdie, eagle, and by the turn in the final round, Harrington trailed the Spaniard by three. He was hanging on, no more.
The first hint of what was to come materialized at the long 12th where he blasted a five wood from the rough over some trees and onto the back of the green from where he’d make a birdie. He drew level with Garcia with another birdie at the next hole, and for a split second, you could see that look in his eye.
If anyone misses a shot when Harrington’s on the course, his wife Caroline Harrington will invariably fill in the gaps. She is the oracle, but this time, she was the bearer of gloomy news. “He just bogeyed the 14th. He’s one behind.” When Garcia’s glorious approach hit the pin, and spun away to eight feet, once again the tournament appeared to have swung the Spaniard’s way.
But he missed the birdie chance and then chunked his second at the 16th into the pond. Now clearly feeling pressure, Harrington over-compensated by pulling his approach from the centre of the fairway into the left-hand trap leaving himself a difficult downhill bunker shot towards the water.
There was no mistaking the sound of his club hitting a small stone as the ball flew high out of the sand and 20 feet beyond the pin. The best Garcia could do was a bogey, and if Harrington holed, he was level again. The putt, slightly up the slope, was perfect.
As he strode by, you couldn’t help thinking of that picture of jaded resignation 48 hours earlier. Eyes wide and black as coals, with adrenaline, that most mysterious of fuels, thumping in his veins, Harrington was a different person now. The resurrection was almost complete.
His towering five iron into the 17th green was good, but Garcia’s was even better. Ten feet away, and five feet away. Suddenly, you just knew that whoever holed would win. Just as you knew when Harrington’s put unerringly found the target that Garcia would miss.
But there was more. Leading the tournament on his own for the first time, Harrington’s drive at the 72nd hole appeared initially to be perfect when his ball began to slide to the right before ending up in the face of a bunker from where he alarmingly duffed his second into the rough. After winning the championship, he was now losing it.
The 18th at Oakland Hills is a brutally difficult hole, and from his position 142 yards below the green, Harrington could barely see the flagstick. But his seven iron was struck sweetly and now he had a 15-foot putt to win his third major title in just over a year.
His coach Bob Torrance regularly trots out a wise old line about the difference between the good player who can play great when the feeling is upon him, and the great player who plays well when he needs to.
Two closing rounds of 66 and a total of 11 putts on the back nine, Harrington dredged up his best golf exactly when he needed it. How the 37-year-old managed to transform himself from bystander to contender is something he’s not completely sure of.
As he watched his final putt rolling he was saying to himself, “Go on, go on, keep going.” It did, he won, and even now, it’s still a little hard to believe.
Curtis, who tied for second with Garcia, scratched his head when he was asked about Harrington’s performance. “That was Tiger-like right there,” he said.
With three major titles in just over a year, Padraig Harrington has already burned his name into golf’s history. But as he prepares to face down Woods in 2009, surely, that isn’t it.