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no better than sixteenth place. Wayne Levi and Danny Edwards had to be the most disappointed, because they bal- looned to 76s and quickly became mere footnotes on Sunday afternoon. Such a fate did not await Jack Nick-


laus. Instead, as much as ever before— and one could argue more so than ever before—during the last two hours of the 1986 Masters, he went toe-to-toe with the best players in the world. “Knowing him as a friend and a


person, I knew about the pride Jack had in his game, and how much he had the ability—more than anyone else—to put himself in a capsule, so to speak, and ignore what was going on around him,” says Pat Summerall. “Jack knew, of course, where he stood at that par- ticular time, and he had the ability very few of the players, even Tiger today, have to isolate themselves and put themselves in that capsule. He had the remarkable ability to block everything irrelevant out and yet know exactly what was happening.” It had not only been six years since his last victory in a major championship but four long years since he had truly threatened to win one. That had been in the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, and Tom Watson had snatched it from him with that incredible chip shot out of the bunker at 17. Now here he was in the tournament no one had domi- nated as he had, a ghost of Masters past come back to life. If he managed to snatch this title, it would be a win for the ages.


31


Herbert Warren Wind’s observations about Nick- laus’s disappointment at the twelfth refl ected the attitude of much of the


crowd that packed the galleries sur- rounding the tee at the thirteenth hole: Jack had made a valiant effort, but as the shadows lengthened and the sun became less brilliant on the azaleas, being at least a decade older than his rivals for the green jacket had fi nally


56 / NCGA.ORG / SPRING 2011


caught up with him. For once, perhaps the last thing Nicklaus needed was a par-5, but that is what awaited the weary warrior. As he stood on the tee awaiting his


turn on the sixty-seventh hole of the tournament, he was as worn down as he’d been at any time during the day, but he tried not to feel it. He had to look up to meet the taller Jackie’s eyes. There was nothing either could say. As much as Nicklaus loved the Masters and could refl ect with pride on winning fi ve previous green jackets, failing now could well be the lowest point of


his career, because there would be no opportunities like the one he had held in his grasp as he had stalked off the eleventh green. Nicklaus knew that his competitors


would show no mercy. Norman, Balles- teros, Watson, Kite, Langer, and a few others—up ahead young Corey Pavin, playing with Mark McCumber, was making a strong run, and McCumber was still in the hunt—were playing with a vigor that he hadn’t felt since winning his last major six years ago. But he wouldn’t go down without a fi ght. Jack remembered a writer once


PHOTO: AUGUSTA CHRONICLE


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