HUGGAN’S ALLEY: JOHN HUGGAN
Agents. Managers. Player representatives. Call them what you will – and I have many times. But like them or not – and I have mixed feelings, believe me – the men (and sometimes women) standing in the shadows behind golf’s leading practitioners are an ever-present part of the professional game.
Nothing new there, of course. More than half-a-century has passed since an enterprising young lawyer by the name of Mark McCormack tapped into the vast earning potential of a charismatic and up-and-coming golfer by the name of Arnold Palmer. McCormack, whose empire evolved into the International Management Group – or “IMGreedy” in less reverential circles – wasn’t first either. The ever-inventive entrepreneur Fred Corcoran was the man behind the endearingly naïve public image of Sam Snead as far back as the middle of the last century.
Barnstorming exhibition matches were where the real money could be made back then and Corcoran arranged hundreds all across the United States. He also had a keen ear for a witty turn of phrase. It was Corcoran who “invented” the classic but surely apocryphal line attributed to the supposed hillbilly Snead:
“Saw my picture in the New York Times. How can that be? I’ve never been to New York.”
Although there are notable exceptions to this less-than-complimentary rule-of-thumb, the modern-day agent is typically far from warmand-cuddly. Way too often – at least as far as journalists are concerned – they are a complete pain-in-the-you-know-where, world-class pointmissers incapable of recognising what is and is not beneficial to their clients. Given those sadly typical characteristics, conflict is inevitable, both in public and behind closed doors.
“Finding the right manager is a very important part of what you do as a professional,” says former Open and US Open champion Tony Jacklin. “You need complete trust in the people representing you. They also need a full understanding of your particular needs and requirements.
“If I have one regret in life it would be the day I met Mark McCormack. I wish I’d never seen the fellow. But he was the only game in town back then. At that time, Lee Trevino and Johnny Miller had both had managers who turned out to be bad for them. They each lost a lot of money. So McCormack was able to point at them and say: ‘that could have been you.’ And I listened.”
A more modern example of what goes on: A few years ago, a magazine took an interest in David Lingmerth. At the time the Swede was performing with some distinction on the PGA Tour, to the point where he might just be a contender for the next European Ryder Cup team. So a journalist – let’s call him John Huggan – was asked to write a story on Lingmerth while he was in Scotland for the Dunhill Links Championship.
Lacking a relationship with the player, said journo did the “right” thing and contacted the player’s agent. A message came back, something along the following lines: “we’re sorry but David is going to be far too busy. He has three new courses to look at and simply won’t be able to spare the 20 minutes you need. And, as you know, the golf must come first.” Patronising? Moi? Of course, the inevitable happened. There I was on the range at the Dunhill. And there, chatting to anyone who passed, was Lingmerth. Had I approached him and asked for the aforementioned 20 minutes, it is a safe bet that the response would have been in the affirmative. How do I know this? Many times over the years I have subsequently mentioned a (denied) request for his time to a player. And 99 times out of 100 that player has a) never heard of the request and b) would have been happy to talk.
Even more recently, another journalist – okay, me again – sat down to interview a player for a piece. Again, he went through the relevant management company and after e-mail exchanges lasting a week or more, he eventually met with success. The interview went well enough. The player was engaging and the story more than acceptable. But here’s the thing. The chat between writer and player wasn’t exactly one-on-one. Also sitting at the table was said agent. What he was doing there remains a mystery. But there he was, silently taking in the scene.
This is a trend that is spreading. So many agents love not only to see but be seen. Take a look at the range before any tournament round. Standing alongside the caddies and swing coaches will be a sprinkling of agents. I have no earthly idea what they are doing there. But there is seemingly no getting rid of them. Unfortunately.