WEIR DOGGED IN QUEST TO MASTER AUGUSTA
2003 champion refuses to rest on laurels, resolved to do more than `fight for the cut'
Mike Weir never has been interested in others' expectations for him. If he was, we never would have heard of him.
The 2003 Masters champ was in a hurry after signing his scorecard on Thursday at Augusta National. No surprise there. It's a big week, his wife and family stood nearby, and by the time his weather-delayed opening round had finished it was dinnertime. But none of that was it.
“I just have to go over and putt for a bit,” Weir told his companions.
There was perhaps 20 minutes of sunlight left at Augusta National and Weir wasn't going to waste it.
The 53-year-old Canadian shot an opening round 2-over par 74. An impressive score on a tough day, and one he couldn't quite match on Friday. But like most rounds of golf the number didn't tell the whole story.
“That's about as good as I've hit it in a long time around here,” Weir told me Thursday after I'd managed to get between him and the practice green. “I made a five-foot putt for par on the third hole and that was it. I struck it so good, but just putted poorly today.”
Physically, other than a recent ability to appear ageless, Weir has only ever stood out for not standing out. That he came of age in golf at a time in sports when bigger, faster, stronger was figuratively — or even literally — put on steroids, only adds punctuation to his many accomplishments.
Of course, his greatest feat occurred at Augusta National 21 years ago, when Tiger Woods slipped the green jacket onto the Canadian golfer's slight frame. A year later, Weir put sport's most unsubtle evening wear on Phil Mickelson's shoulders for the first time.
Unabashedly sandwiched between two giants of the game somehow seems perfectly fitting for the man who has been forcing his way to the top for most of a lifetime.
When he makes his debut as a Presidents Cup captain this September in Montreal, it will be another first for the Canadian who spent six years problem solving on mini tours in the '90s before breaking through.
“I put my attention on my game the past couple of weeks and then next week I'll put my Presidents Cup hat on again,” he said. “I have a trip up to Montreal in a couple of weeks.”
There is something fascinating about watching Weir at Augusta National. It's a place where he has every reason to spend the week with his feet up wearing a green jacket, but he won't.
I ask him about that, about whether he has thought ahead to days when he's not looking for pars and fighting to make the cut like he is this year. He instantly rejects the premise of the question.
“Yeah, well I came here not trying to fight for the cut, I came here thinking that if I play well ...”
His voice trails off. Not because he's ashamed to admit that he still hopes, even believes, that somehow there is one more week left in him, but more likely because he has grown tired of explaining his very nature to people who don't get it.
“I felt like I was in a good spot with my putting, so that was really disappointing today,” he said taking things back to the present where elite athletes live. “I played great. I don't know.”
Anyone who plays golf understands that it is a game full of `I don't knows.' And nobody in the past 30 years has more doggedly hunted for solutions than Weir.
It's admirable every week, but somehow even more so here at a place where there are endless flowers for past champions to stop and smell.
“If you had told me 74 starting the day with that blustery wind I would have been, `that's great,'” he said. “And it's still a pretty good score, but the way I played today, it doesn't feel like it is.”
Weir walked to the practice green with five minutes less sunlight than he had before.
“Was that Mike Weir?” a security guard asked.
“Yes.”
“He was one of the first guys on site this week,” the guard said. “Saw him practising on Saturday.” “Sounds right.”
“How many wins does he have, three?”
“Eight.”
I came here not trying to fight for the cut, I came here thinking that if I play well ...