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Zusatztext “One of the best sportswriters in America.” — Washington Times Informationen zum Autor Joe Posnanski is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of seven books, including The Baseball 100, Paterno, and The Secret of Golf . He has written for The Athletic , Sports Illustrated , NBC Sports , and The Kansas City Star and currently writes at JoePosnanski.com. He has been named National Sportswriter of the Year by five different organizations and is the winner of two Emmy Awards. He lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, with his family. Klappentext The friendship and rivalry between golf legends Tom Watson and Jack Nicklaus, whose sparring matches defined the sport for more than a decade. Leseprobe The Secret of Golf HOLE NO. 1 A Scottish golf joke: An American traveled to Scotland to play some golf. The man loved golf, though he lacked the aptitude; he played relentlessly and poorly. He traveled throughout Scotland, all the wonderful old links courses, leaving behind a sad trail of child-size divots and lost golf balls. Finally he came to Turnberry, the famous golf course on the Firth of Clyde in southwestern Scotland. For a golfer there are few landscapes in the world quite like it. As you walk along the firth, the wind tosses and pushes you. Across the water you see Ailsa Craig, a tall rock island where puffins and gannets hover. There are many people, including the course’s current owner, Donald Trump, who say Turnberry is the most beautiful golf course on earth. The American looked at Turnberry with both awe and fear. He hired a caddie and began with an optimistic first drive, then he went about his business of hooking and slicing hopeless shots into gorse bushes and pot bunkers. “This is how I play,” he kept repeating apologetically, and his caddie said nothing at all. Finally, after another of his many hopeless shots, the man asked his caddie, “Any advice?” The caddie looked up and said, “Ye micht keep yer een oan th’ wee baw.” The man played this over in his mind and realized the caddie was saying “You might keep your eyes on the little ball.” Well, this struck him as sound advice. Like so many amateurs, he had a habit of taking his eyes off the ball while he swung the club. When he stood over his next shot, he said to himself, “Keep your eyes on the ball. You might keep your eyes on the ball. Ye micht keep yer een oan th’ wee baw.” Then he began his swing, and it felt different somehow, smoother. At impact he heard a beautiful sound, a gorgeous thump, and he watched awestruck as his drive soared true, splitting the fairway in half. It was the most perfect shot he had ever hit. The man felt the wind against his face, and he stared out over the land to the stunning Turnberry Hotel in the distance. It was beautiful—green and blue, rolling hills and dunes. He raced after his caddie, who had already started walking, and when they reached the golf ball the man once again told himself, “Ye micht keep yer een oan th’ wee baw.” Again he felt that smooth swing, heard the invigorating thump of club meeting ball, and watched as the ball floated happily over Wilson’s Burn, the stream that protects the flag on the 16th hole. The ball plopped on the green and skipped toward the hole, stopping five feet short. “Incredible!” the man shouted, and he promptly walked up to his ball, repeated his mantra, and putted it in for a birdie. “Amazing,” he said. “Any more advice?” The caddie looked up briefly then back at the ground. “Ye micht keep yer een oan th’ wee baw,” he said again. Same advice. The man stepped to the 17th, a par-5, and cleared his head of all thoughts except the words of his caddie. Now he said it to himself with a Scottish brogue. Ye micht ke...
