Nick Dougherty joins TG
In a searingly honest first column, our new contributor – hugely-popular Nick Dougherty – reveals how heartbreak off the course sparked a devastating decline on it...
The popular Sky presenter kicks off his first column for us.
What happened to your game, Nick? It’s a question I have been asked more than I care to imagine since I retired six months ago. Until now, I’ve refrained from going into too much detail. But since I’m starting a new chapter as TG’S columnist, it seems only right that I finish the previous one first. And that means starting with the truth. I will bypass the early victories and focus instead on what led to my demise! Fear not, as every good read has a happy ending. And I would like to think my story is no different.
However, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel like my world was about to end when my mum passed away in 2008. She suffered a heart attack, fell into a coma and a week later her life support was switched off. I will never forget the Hollywood film-like moment when the neurologist, who was initially optimistic, told us that she wasn’t coming back. It was the first day that I realised that I was just like everyone else. I knew then that I wasn’t bulletproof.
Comprehending that you aren’t untouchable is a terrifying realisation for any sportsman. Like most athletes, mental resilience was ingrained in my psyche at an early age. It was my biggest weapon and led to titles and accolades all the way through to the top tier of amateur golf and straight onto the professional circuit. I was Rookie of the Year after my first 12 months on Tour and then came the party days where I even thought I could afford to take my foot off the gas and still compete with the best on the European Tour. That was a mistake as my results plummeted, but it was still no match for my armoured ego. I brushed off advice from friends like Justin Rose, Sir Nick Faldo and Thomas Bjorn, who told me to pull my head out of my you know what. I once scoffed at Thomas and told him: “I’m a young man living the dream.” It’s embarrassing to write that now, but somewhat cathartic, too.
I knew when I was ready to knuckle down the wins would come and so they did. In 2005, I held off Monty and ironically Thomas for my maiden title in Singapore. Two years later, I won the Dunhill and held the overnight lead in a Major for the first time. Life was great and in 2008, I played in my first Masters. But little did I know that I would hug my mum for the final time on the back of the 18th green at Augusta. Everything changed so quickly thereafter. I went from feeling untouchable to feeling fragile and alone in the space of a three-minute phone call from my brother.
Until that moment, my life had always revolved around playing golf. Coming to terms with the reality of life and loss didn’t come easily to me. It was a Ryder Cup year and rather than allowing the grieving process to
take place, I threw myself into making Sir Nick Faldo’s team for my mum. This was a huge mistake. Though it came down to the final qualifying event, where I missed out by a whisker, I actually lost my love for the game for the first time in that period from April to September.
I would win again, completely out of the blue, at the 2009 BMW International Open, holding off Retief Goosen and Bernhard Langer in what would be my swansong as a professional. It was arguably my best win in terms of performance, and my only comefrom-behind victory with a final-round 64. I remember pointing up to the sky and saying “that’s for you, mum” after holing the winning putt. At the time, I really thought that winning again would somehow plug the gap in my life and return me to my bulletproof state of mind. Instead, I struggled to even muster a smile. I almost felt dead inside. I knew then that my motivation had gone. Sure enough, my results suffered and I never won again, let alone finished inside the top-10.
Looking back now, the decisions I made were ill-advised and based solely on trying to reconnect with my bulletproof nature. This ever-growing feeling of fear and lack of belief was very uncomfortable and still alien to me. I finished with my friend and coach, Damian Taylor, and started on the treadmill of working through coaches. I ended up blaming Damian for my discomfort and vulnerability, rather than dealing with my grief head-on. I greatly regret this decision; not just because of what happened after that, but because Damian deserved better. We achieved some amazing highs in the world of golf together and I took that for granted.
I hopped between some of the very best coaches in the game, and even had dozens of my peers offering me advice too. They all did this out of the goodness of their hearts because they could see me struggling. But what they didn’t know was that all I ever wanted was to be left alone. Why? Because out of all the coaches and players I spoke to, I didn’t once hear the same prognosis twice. You can imagine how confused and frustrated this left me. Who’s right? Who’s wrong? In my desperate state, I tried everything from everybody. In the end, I made so many wrong turns that when I finally stopped and looked back, I didn’t know the way home anymore. I was no longer the golfer that I once was, nor could I even remember that player. If there is one thing that you can take from my story, please let it be that it’s great to strive for improvement, but remember that there is no “one way” to play this game. In other words, polish what you have, but don’t break it apart and then try and piece it back together. When I look at the top players now and interview them, I am both frustrated because of my own choices, but also satisfied to hear how uninvolved they get with their technique, especially on the course. The game at the top level is still, in its essence, as simple as it has always been. Hit it, find it and get it in the hole in as few shots as possible. Like many amateurs, my game suffered because I overcomplicated things and relied too much on data. A sport that came so natural to me was now based on detailed technique and over thought; the greatest of all golfing enemies. In 2011, I lost my card whilst tying the record (at the time) for the most missed cuts in a row with Justin Rose. Clearly this wasn’t my finest moment, but it was
‘Polish what you have, but don’t break it apart and then try and piece it back together’
‘My game suffered. I overcomplicated things and relied too much on data’
a sign of where my game had gone. I was in the golfing wilderness and I vividly remember saying on five different occasions over the next four years that “this is the bottom of the barrel”. But every time I thought I had hit rock bottom, the ground would fall out from beneath my feet. My struggles brought me to tears at the time. My lowest moment probably came when I was playing on a sponsor’s invite at Fancourt in South Africa. Standing on the 16th tee at 16-over, I hit my ball into the high rough and had to disqualify myself as I had no balls left in my bag. I shouldn’t have felt relieved, but I did. There was far less embarrassment attached to seeing the letters DQ after my name, rather than 92 or more.
It was around this time when Sky reached out to me about doing some guest punditry. I was unsure at first. Playing golf used to be my everything; the thought of doing something different was incredibly daunting and scary.
But from the moment I suited up, I loved every second of it. And I still do. I’ve since made the move across from pundit to presenter, and gone from talking about something I know inside out to steering an entire show and interviewing some of the biggest names in golf at some of the biggest tournaments, too. It’s a completely different skillset and I’m fortunate that I have the perfect mentor to learn from in David Livingstone, the godfather of Sky Sports Golf. I do miss the competition, but the adrenaline surge of live TV is just as addictive and exhilarating. It doesn’t beat the euphoria of winning on the Tour, but it’s a close second.
I retired early enough so I can look back on my career as a professional with fondness, rather than contempt.
Yes, there were struggles, but there were also plenty of highs too. I won on Tour, competed in all the Majors and broke into the world’s top 50. No one can take those achievements away from me. And despite my rapid fall from grace, I feel grateful that I was able to say goodbye to the game in the most magical of places at St Andrews, and my mum at the back of its American equivalent, in Augusta. I never envisaged retiring at the age of 34, but then I never thought I’d find happiness outside playing professionally. The future appears bright again because my livelihood is no longer defined by a number scribbled on a scorecard. I am now so much more than just Nick the Golfer. I am a dad, a husband and a presenter on the side. Maybe I am bulletproof after all...