The fifteenth—and best—club in Scottie Scheffler’s bag Sunday at Augusta was composure. That could have gone South for him, and almost did. But he didn’t let it. Ultimately, he out-toughed and out-cooled Cameron Smith.
I would suggest there’s more pressure with a three-shot lead going into the final round than there is with a three-shot deficit. Scottie felt it. He stumbled. Then he got it back together and crushed it. That’s what champions do.
Champions recover. If stuff isn’t hard as hell, what does it mean?
There’s a lesson there for all of us. Just because a day gets off to a shaky start doesn’t mean it has to disintegrate. One of life’s great pleasures is pulling the nose up on a day that looked like it might augur in.
I just had a wonderful memory. At Lockhart, we did not keep our helmets in our individual cubicles. They were assigned to a block of cubbies right outside our locker room door. You took your helmet on your way outside the door. You put it back in on your way back inside. Everybody saw you take it out. Everybody saw you put it back in. Everybody saw the Lion on the side. Every day. We were all accountable to each other. Coach Roy Dollar was a subtle genius. And, by the way, your name was not on your cubbie. Your number was. I was not ever going to embarrass 84. Yes, it was a big deal to me.