Aussie Rules - A bimonthly column from Travel + Leisure Golf by Greg Norman

Beginning with its January/February 2004 issue, TRAVEL + LEISURE GOLF proudly welcomed Greg Norman as a Columnist. Norman could write his own ticket at any golf publication, but he joined TRAVEL + LEISURE GOLF because, as avid Shark.com readers know, he is about far more than hitting golf balls. Sure, he was the sport¹s defining player in his prime winning two British Open Championships, 20 PGA Tour events and another 66 titles worldwide but more than any other player, Norman has extended his range.

Many a professional golfer has delved into course design, but only Norman has marketed new kinds of grass. Other pros have stuck their name on a wine label, but Norman has taken the industry by storm. Golf, wine, restaurants, real estate, fashion is a perfect fit with TRAVEL + LEISURE GOLF. When you add it all up, Norman might be the ultimate TRAVEL + LEISURE GOLF guy, and his column, Aussie Rules, will reflect his enormous breadth of experience about various subjects relating to the golf lifestyle.

Yes, I've found Augusta National to be a cruel temptress. But I may have gotten more out of the Masters than anyone besides Nicklaus.

I love the Masters. Even though I've never won it, it is still my favorite tournament. I don't think there is an event anywhere that has brought me more enjoyment or shaped my development more profoundly as a player and, more importantly, as a person.

But yes, Augusta National has been a cruel temptress to me. I've been close enough to taste victory there many times, and while I have suffered a number of heartbreaking defeats, I can honestly say I probably got more out of the tournament than anybody besides Jack Nicklaus.

The Masters is pure golf. The club and the tournament are run with discipline and control, two attributes I respect. When you walk onto the first tee, you feel an overwhelming love for the game. It is the most beautiful expanse of grass you will see in the world. And the sense of history is powerful: I have really enjoyed walking in the footsteps of so many great players.

I think part of my problem was that I got too excited every year. The other majors come so quickly that you never have time to worry about them. But I would start thinking about Augusta on January 1, so by the time April arrived I was already impatient.

People say I can't stop until I win a Green Jacket, but they don't understand that it wouldn't make one bit of difference in my life. I've had a lot of great things happen to me at Augusta and almost as many painful moments, but they're all just memories now, and I know everything that has transpired there has made me a better person. Every year has been special to me, but these in particular stand out.

1981 I'll never forget how Augusta National struck me when I first saw it. In only my second major championship on American soil, I opened with a sixty-nine and had a share of the lead.

The media immediately started asking questions about this unknown, aggressive blond-haired Aussie who used to swim and dive with sharks. In that Friday's Augusta Chronicle, in large type on the cover of the sports section, the headline read: "Great White Shark Leads Masters."

By Sunday I was just two shots behind Tom Watson with nine to play, but my tee shot on ten drifted left. I chipped out, made double bogey and just couldn't recover, finishing fourth behind Watson, Nicklaus and Johnny Miller. It was a magical start to my Masters ride, and twenty-one consecutive such rides were to follow.

1986 My greatest regret in golf came five years later on the seventy-second hole. That was the year Nicklaus mounted his fabulous final-round charge. He started four shots behind and closed with a sixty-five, holding the clubhouse lead for ages.

After birdies on fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, I needed just a par on eighteen to force a playoff. I was in the middle of the fairway, 187 yards out, right between a four-iron and a five-iron. I chose a soft four.

Wrong choice. I should have stayed in attack mode and hit the hard five. Alas, I made bogey and handed victory to Nicklaus. If I could have one career mulligan, I'd take it there.

Painful as it was, I waited around for Jack to finish with his interviews. Even though he already had five Green Jackets, I knew how special that moment was to him. I wanted to offer my congratulations in person--and he did the same for me at Turnberry later that year when I won my first major. He was the first to congratulate me after my caddie and my wife.

1987 Bob Tway holing out from the bunker at the 1986 PGA Championship at Inverness, I could live with. Robert Gamez and David Frost holing out from the fairway to beat me at the 1990 Nestle Invitational and the 1994 Greater Hartford Open, respectively--those hurt, but I got over them. The one that killed me inside was Larry Mize's pitch on the second playoff hole at the Masters in 1987. That was destiny saying, You aren't going to win this tournament. That one really rocked me.

1996 The best four rounds I've ever put together were during the 1994 Players Championship, where I shot 264. But I came close to matching it for fifty-four holes at the '96 Masters.

It started in the first round when I equaled Nick Price's course-record sixty-three. My lead swelled to six shots after three rounds, and then everything started to cave in.

I've never been one to shy away from my own screwups, and screw up is exactly what I did during that final round. People use the word "choke," but I don't think that's right. I just plain screwed up. I'd do anything to have the round over--no way would I ever shoot seventy-eight again.

I sensed early on that things weren't right. I said to Tony Navarro, my caddie, "Boy, it's going to be a tough day." I just couldn't feel what I had the previous three days. The more I tried, the more it went away.

Obviously I wasn't playing well that day, but if I could take one of those seventy-eight shots over it would be my approach to the ninth green. You have to be so precise at Augusta, and when my wedge came up three feet short and the ball rolled down the hill I knew then that the back side would be one of the longest nines I would ever play.

The embrace I shared with Nick Faldo on the eighteenth green meant a great deal to me. He was genuinely concerned about how I would handle what happened that day, and how others would handle it. As we hugged, he leaned in and said sincerely and succinctly, "Don't let the bastards get you down."

That, I'll never forget.

Since '96 Of everything that has transpired in my career, I am most proud of how I handled that loss. As devastating as it was at the time, it was important for me to go to the media center and handle the bullets that were fired at me, and then get up, walk away and say, Hey, it's over and done with. Too many athletes turn down the media and, in doing so, eschew their responsibilities. You need to accept what happened.

When we got back home, my wife, Laura, and I went to the beach and had a good cry, which is exactly what I needed to do. I'm not one of those macho guys who think men can't cry. If you're hurting, unload.

The whole experience changed my life. My most poignant memory was when a man at my son's soccer match came up to me and said that because of the 1996 Masters, I had changed his life. I doubt I would have generated that kind of reaction had I won.

Honestly, if you had told me twenty years ago that I'd never win a Green Jacket, I wouldn't have believed it. Hell, after 1981 I thought I'd win one the very next year.

But you can't control what other players do out there, only what you do. If you have a weakness, you have to deal with it and still get around. That is the beauty of sport. You have to know you are going to hit highs and lows. You just have to embrace your mistakes and learn from them.

And I can sincerely say I have learned more about myself and my love for golf through the hard knocks than through the easy wins. I would not have the same depth of understanding if I didn't have to deal with the heartache. Sure, I would have loved to win more, but at the end of the day I didn't, and I had to channel that frustration and learn from every defeat.

Ultimately it doesn't matter how many majors you've won. It doesn't matter if you've never won a single tournament. It's the commitment you make to yourself and to the game that is the measure of how great you are.

If I stop playing golf tomorrow I'll have achieved nearly everything I ever wanted--more than most if a little less than others. I've felt agony and ecstasy. I've experienced things that very few people ever will.

The days you cry your eyes out and the days you celebrate with your friends--to me, that's what it's all about. Sure, there's a part of me that feels hollow, but that feeling is part of who I have become because of the Masters, and I would not dream of trading that, even for a Green Jacket.