SAVING PAR
John Daly on his journey from suicide to salvation
IN 1997, John Daly already was a two-time major championship winner with more fame and fortune than almost anyone in golf ever had attained.
Yet he sat alone in his Mercedes on the edge of a cliff in Palm Springs, Calif., revving the engine, readying to end his life.
“I was 2 feet away from doing it,’’ Daly told The Post in an interview in advance of Tuesday’s premiere of “Hit it Hard,” an ESPN “30 for 30’’ documentary about his life.
“I had been struggling to see my [first] kid, Shynah; that was the whole focus. And the PGA Tour was making me go to rehab, so I was being forced to do something I don’t want to do. I wasn’t used to the success. I wasn’t ready for it. It was a tough time in my life.’’
“I’m in bed at home and my phone rings, and it’s John Daly, and I hear the gunning of an engine,’’ former NFL star Thomas “Hollywood’’ Henderson recalled in the documentary. “He said, ‘I’m on a mountaintop.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ He said, ‘There will be no more John Daly tomorrow.’
“I started to cry, and I said, ‘You can’t do this. The world is not done with John Daly yet.’ ’’
Daly met Henderson for the first time in 1992, during his first stint in alcohol rehab. Henderson, after living a wild life as an NFL player, had gotten clean and devoted his life to counseling people facing the same de- mons he once did.
“His things in his life related to a lot of things I was going through in my life,’’ Daly said. “He just said the right things.’’
Maybe that’s why it was Henderson to whom Daly, who turned 31 that year, made that last desperate phone call before he planned to pop his Mer- cedes in gear and drive off that cliff.
“I said, ‘John, will you do me a favor? I’ve never asked you to do anything for me,’ ’’ Henderson said.
“I said, ‘ Go home,’ ’’ Henderson went on, his voice cracking with emotion at the memory. “So he went home.’’
Recalling his emotions on the ride home that night after Henderson talked him out of killing himself, Daly said: “I felt relieved. There are people that care.
“If there was anybody that was my big brother in this, it was Thomas. No matter how many meetings I went to, I got tired of talking about alcohol. The more you talk about it the more you just want to go to a bar and get drunk.’’
Daly’s private brush with suicide stands out among the many manic highs and dire lows experienced in a life lived so publicly:
Daly improbably winning the 1991 PGA Championship at Crooked Stick after he had gotten into the field as the ninth and final alternate.
Daly capturing the 1995 British Open at St. Andrews, validating himself as a two-time major champion.
His four wives (who became ex-wives), three kids by three different mothers and messy custody fights.
His multiple bouts with alcohol abuse and subsequent trips to rehab.
The $50 million he estimates he lost gambling.
The times when he quit in the middle of rounds at PGA Tour events.
His peddling of personal merchandise from his RV parked across Washington Road from the gates of Augusta National during the Masters.
“I’ve screwed up a lot, but I’ve always admitted it,’’ Daly told The Post. “Looking at my downs in life, it’s incredible that I’m still here, to be honest with you. I never thought I’d see 50.’’
Does he still drink? “I drink every now and then, but … I still monitor it,’’ Daly said. “I’m not one of those guys where if something goes bad I’m going