CLOSING CREDITS ROLL ON DARCY’S ‘HOLLYWOOD STORY’
How the Wicklow man went from humble 12 handicapper to Ryder Cup legend is tale worthy of movie scriptwriters
IT SPEAKS volumes about Eamonn Darcy that one of the greatest short game artists of all time turned to him for help early in his career.
Seve Ballesteros loved “the Darce”, who retired after the Costa Blanca Benidorm Senior Golf Masters on December 1, not just because he had one of the best chipping and pitching actions in the world or because he clinched that groundbreaking win in Europe’s first away Ryder Cup win at Muirfield Village in 1987, but because they were kindred spirits.
Like many others who moved into professional golf in the late sixties and early seventies, Darcy jumped the ditch from the caddie shack to the golf course, digging his unique method out of the dirt. His idiosyncratic swing was ridiculed on television and in the British and US press. But he had the respect, not just of a genius like Ballesteros, but of a generation of tour players who knew that what really mattered was not God-given talent but a capacity for hard work.
One of five boys in a family of six from Delgany Co Wicklow, his mother was just 39 when she passed away, leaving his father Christy, a former scratch player, to do the best he could.
Young Eamonn had dreamed of becoming a jockey but as his interest in school and his height and weight went in opposition directions – he had sprouted into a 6 foot 2 inch gangling youth by the age of 16 – his move into the world of professional golf was never seen as anything more than a way to make ends meet.
Perhaps there was something in his genes – his grandmother was Mary Anne Doyle, whose brother Pat Doyle became the first Irish-born golfer to complete all four rounds in that famous 1913 US Open won by Francis Ouimet.
Credit
“It’s an unbelievable story that never got the credit it deserved for as great a player as he was,” said Paul McGinley, who played in Darcy’s final Staysure Tour event in Spain earlier this month, where the great Delgany man went out in style, racing to the turn in five-under 31 en route to a bogey-free 67, one shot shy of matching his age
“With the golf swing he had and the upbringing he had, it’s a really a marvellous story, a Hollywood story in a lot of ways. He dug it out of the dirt, as Ben Hogan did. He understood how to hit different shots, he learned it all himself and he owned his swing.”
Darcy made 603 official appearances on the European Tour from 1972 to 2002, winning four tournaments as well as another 18 worldwide in a career that brought four Ryder Cup appearances. As an Irishman, he regards that breakthrough win in the 1988 Dunhill Cup with Des Smyth and Ronan Rafferty as one of the proudest moments of his career.
But he will always be remembered fondly for his lone Ryder Cup win at Muirfield Village in 1987, where he sank a slick downhill putt on the 18th green to beat Ben Crenshaw in the singles, ensuring Europe would retain the title. “Even today, I still think is one of the best putts I’ve ever seen holed,” Pádraig Harrington said of that fivefooter for the ages.
On seeing Darcy’s unique swing that week, one American remarked: “Eamonn shouldn’t take that swing out of town too often – he might have trouble getting spare parts.”
The swing gurus forgot to tell Darcy’s bank manager and while the purists rejoiced when “the axeman” (as English golf writer Ian Wooldridge dubbed him) came up short in his bid for The Open at Royal Birkdale in 1991 and finished fifth, his peers had nothing but respect for him.
Grange professional Wattie Sullivan did not know what he was getting in 1968 when he asked the Delgany professional Jimmy Bradshaw (brother of Harry) if he knew any young lad who wished to train as a professional.
Darcy was a humble 12 handicapper when he hopped on a Honda 50 and headed over the Scalp to begin one of the truly remarkable careers in golf. “Everyone thought I was stone mad – at least they didn’t think I was going to
be a golfer,” Darcy said of his start.
While he was supplementing his £3-a-week wages playing early morning money matches with a well-to-do member, he knew he had to play more and spying an ad in a golf magazine for an assistant’s job at Erewash Valley in Derbyshire at 18, he took the plunge, working nights as a crane driver to boost his meagre wages.
The European Tour was in its infancy back then but Darcy took to it immediately, and by 1975, he was leading qualifier for the GB&I Ryder Cup team, making his debut a few weeks after his 23rd birthday.
“Through the ball,” his first employer Sullivan always maintained, “Eamonn was as good and as orthodox as anyone in the world.” It’s a view echoed by 1987 Ryder Cup captain Jacklin and his Irish pals from Des Smyth to Philip Walton and McGinley, who loved his company but also realised watching him practise that there were no shortcuts to success.
Tinged
“Henry Cotton took me under his wing,” Darcy explained. “And he’d say, ‘Laddie, I want you to listen to me. Don’t listen to anybody about your swing and don’t change it.’ When I asked who was the best player he ever played with, Henry always said Jimmy Bruen. I guess that’s why he never tried to change my swing.”
He never did change and his farewell to tour golf was tinged with sadness, not for himself but for an older era.
“I am sad,” he said just a few hours after his swansong. “But it’s time to say that’s it. There is no point in just carrying on. I always said, if I didn’t think I could compete, I wouldn’t be playing. I don’t want fellas saying, he used to be a good player, look at him now.”
Always a home bird, he has time now to spend more time with his wife Suzanne and their horses in Enniskerry, reflecting on a life lived well.
“Four Ryder Cups, 22 tournaments worldwide…,” he mused. “The highlight? Captaining the Dunhill Cup-winning team with Des and Ronan Rafferty and holing the winning putt in the Ryder Cup at Muirfield Village in 1987. It was great.
“I have no regrets. I have played with so many legends and met so many great people. What slowed me down a bit was missing my old pal Christy O’Connor Jnr. We kept each other going for a long time and if he was around, we would probably still be going. He would have loved to have bowed out the way I did.”