’73
In 1973, in his home state of Ohio with a throng of
friendly and familiar faces cheering his every step,
Jack Nicklaus had a week that would have made for a
great Disney movie if Disney had been doing true-life
films about athletes in the Nixon era.
By shooting 7-under-par 277 at Cleveland’s fabled
Canterbury Golf Club, Nicklaus won his 14th major
championship, breaking a 43-year-old record held by
his boyhood idol Bobby Jones and solidifying him as
the greatest golfer of all time.
And if you ask him about that week – what it meant to
win in Ohio and surpass Jones’ major championship to-
tal only 20 months after the Grand Slam winner passed
away – the first thing he mentions is the photograph.
“As much as winning that golf tournament on
that golf course, as much as breaking Bob Jones’
record meant to me, people don’t understand that my
favorite picture from the game of golf came from that
event,” Jack said from his Florida home where any
afternoon a steady stream of grandkids can be found
fighting to get into his lap.
“It was in the third round when my son Gary, who
was 4 years old, ran out onto the 18th green and jumped
into my arms. (In the picture) I’m walking off with him.”
He doesn’t remember much about the shots he hit,
or the back and forth he had with Australian Bruce
Crampton, who finished second. He vaguely recalls the
1-iron he hit to the back of the green on the par- 5 sixth
on Sunday to break out of a tie with Don Iverson, and
the 22-footer he sank for birdie on 15 to open a four-
shot lead. He ended up winning by four, which was, at
the time, the largest margin of victory since the PGA
shifted from match play to stroke play in 1958, but he
doesn’t talk much about that.
And he will only say nice things about the golf
course, calling it “great” and “classic” and mention-
ing how he had played it as a boy and was very fond
of it at the time. When asked if it could host a major
today, he launches into one of his impassioned ser-
mons about the golf ball.
“Canterbury is a wonderful golf course and it should
be able to hold up, but it can’t compete against modern
equipment,” he said, the emphasis in his voice growing
with each breath. “They would have to change it.
“The problem today is that golf courses in 1973
were set up to handle the golf ball of the day. There
were probably a few new tees added for the ’73 cham-
pionship. But today the golf ball goes so much farther
that they would really have to come in and do some-
thing dramatically different to the golf course. They’d
have to lengthen it, maybe tighten it, probably take the
driver out of the hands of players on occasions.
“Otherwise, they’re going to shoot 10-, 12-, 15-shots
lower. It’s not because the golfers are so much bet-
ter; it’s that the equipment allows that to happen on an
older golf course. That’s why I complain so much about
the golf ball. How can you compare scores? And if you
go in and change the course, then they aren’t playing
the same venue. Why should you let that happen? ”
There’s no memory of the fact that the PGA chose
the relatively short ( 6,852 yards) Canterbury with lots
of narrow doglegs and firm greens back then in order
to take driver away from longer hitters and, for lack
of a better term, “Jack-proof” the event. He doesn’t
remember Johnny Miller, who has never been bashful
about sharing his opinions, then or now, saying, “They
tricked it up. I don’t care if it’s the PGA or not, you
shouldn’t trick it up. This is a joke.”
Nicklaus doesn’t think about tournament courses
that way. “I liked the golf course,” he said then and
reiterated 38 years later, a consistent theme that
emerged throughout his career. When others com-
plained, especially in majors, he thrived.
“It was very, very special to be playing in my home
state,” he said. “I guess Canterbury in ’73 and Fire-
stone in ’75 were the only two times I won majors in
Ohio, so, yeah, it was very special.”
You would think that breaking one of the greatest
records in sports would have been very special as well,
but that wasn’t something Nicklaus thought about. He
didn’t paste Jones’ records on his bedroom door as A
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