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CARY, NORTH CAROLINA | John Daly sat in the October sunshine last week, slow-rolling in a cart through a pro-am round before the SAS Championship, a Marlboro in one hand and an uneasy quiet surrounding him.
He is three weeks removed from surgery for bladder cancer. Doctors believe they got all of the cancer but Daly has been told there is an 85- to 90-percent chance it will return.
“I’ll beat it,” Daly says softly, looking down a par-4 fairway.
Daly’s hair and beard are as white as daisy petals, contrasting nicely with his black shirt and black-and-white shorts that feature skulls among the artwork.
He has just hit his tee shot on a dogleg par-4 and asks his longtime caddie, Peter van der Riet, where it finished because he couldn’t see it hop into a fairway bunker through his 54-year-old eyes and wraparound shades.
Daly watches his pro-am partners at the PGA Tour Champions event – one of whom is wearing American flag pants with stars on one leg and stripes on the other – and suggests it’s time for all of them to start making some birdies.
Because of the way Daly played and the way he lived, grip-it-and-rip-it became more than his slogan. It felt like his mantra. It made Daly gloriously imperfect but that has remained part of his roguish charm.
It’s a big day because Daly’s 17-year old son, whom he and everyone else calls Little John, is committing to play college golf at Arkansas, following his famous father there. Little John is building an impressive collection of trophies already, his father says, and is a 3.8-GPA student at Montverde Academy in Florida.
“He’s really come a long way,” Daly said. “He has every part of the game. He works his butt off. I’m proud of him.
“When I watch him play, I just stay away. I’m one of those stay-away dads. I don’t want to be that guy.”
John Daly may not be that guy but he’s a guy like the game has never seen. He was the definition of raw power, not just on the golf course where he won the 1991 PGA Championship and the 1995 Open Championship, but also off the course where he has lived a full-throttle life rambunctious enough that getting to age 54 is something of a triumph.
Before Bryson DeChambeau brought science to his tee shots, Daly brought a mullet haircut and country strong to the tour.
“I was hitting it 340 with a balata ball,” Daly says with a laugh.
“Bryson couldn’t do that,” van der Riet tells Daly.
Through it all, Daly has remained loved like few sports figures, perhaps because he has been willing to own his missteps and mistakes. If the World Golf Hall of Fame was more about fame than achievement, then Daly would have been enshrined long ago. But his 18 professional wins, including five on the PGA Tour, probably won’t get him in the hall. It would be one hell of an acceptance speech, though.
“I did a lot of great things. I did some pretty stupid things,” Daly said. “If you think I moved the needle in the game, that helped the game, then put me in (the WGHOF). If you don’t, then don’t.
“I always wanted the fans on my side and I did it because I just don’t lie to them. I tell them the truth. If I screw up, I screw up. I never lied to them. I think they appreciate that.”
Daly can still move a golf ball, averaging 301 yards off the tee, and the action is still unmistakable even if his clubhead doesn’t dip as close to the ground during his backswing anymore.
Age and illness have limited Daly’s ability to practice. He couldn’t hit 500 practice balls in a day if he wanted now but he still likes to work on his game.
“I don’t put any pressure on myself any more,” he said. “If I play good, I play good. If I don’t, I don’t. It’s not the end of the world any more to me.
“I have to face the facts. I don’t have the game I used to have. I don’t have the distance. Not being able to practice the way I want with the injuries and all the crap going on, I have to take that out of my mind and just go play.”
Daly opens his right hand to show the effects of his recent chemotherapy. The skin is dry and scaly, peeling in spots. It’s uncomfortable for him to hold a club.
On Dec. 2, Daly is scheduled to begin a second round of chemotherapy treatments. The survival rate is high for those whose cancer has been caught early. Daly is encouraged by his doctors and by the treatment he has received at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, but the reality is he’s still fighting a frightening disease.
Daly is already looking forward to playing the PNC Father-Son Challenge with Little John the third weekend in December, a short-term goal. He is counting on his son to carry the load that weekend.
“The chemo dries you up,” Daly said. “It makes you tired all the time. It’s a different feeling. I’m hitting it so bad. It’s like the first time in my life I don’t have feel.
“Luckily it’s something that can be cured. It’s just going to take some time. It’s just having to go through (treatments) every three months. Then hopefully it’s six months then it’s a year and hopefully it’s gone.
“I just have to play it by ear. (The doctor) got it all but it will come back, he’s 85- to 90-percent sure it’s going to come back.
“It’s just a tough 10 days of that month. Your pee burns for 10 days. You take pills that make you pee blue. It’s just really weird and it doesn’t feel good.
“It’s like having to go back for the first day of high school. You don’t want the summer to end.”
Daly, who sets up shop selling merchandise and visiting with fans just outside the gates of Augusta National during the Masters each year, won’t be there in November. But he intends to return next April.
He’s working on a new album of songs and has plans to record a couple of them this week in Nashville, Tennessee, a troubadour in soft spikes. The road may not go on forever but Daly still sees a vast horizon.
“I’m a fighter. I’ve beaten a lot of (crap),” Daly says to van der Riet.
“I’ve known you since ’87. If you can’t beat this, nobody can,” his caddie replies.
Daly smiles.
“We’ve been everywhere but the electric chair, me and this guy,” he says. “I’ll beat it. It’s just the fact it’s going to take time.”
Daly settles into his cart, hits the accelerator and heads to the 10th tee. The back nine awaits.
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