Editor’s note: This passage from Jay Sigel’s autobiography “The Last Amateur” recounts his experience at the 1980 Masters Tournament, where he finished as the low amateur.
Jay Sigel speaks after finishing as low amateur at the 1980 Masters.
Augusta National, Getty Images
I went South a week before the Masters to practice and met [wife] Betty and our friends at the home we rented near Westlake Country Club. I was excited to learn that I would be playing the first day with 1977 champion Tom Watson. With five wins on tour in 1979 and three major championships to his credit, Watson had emerged to challenge Jack Nicklaus as the premier player in the game. We were announced on the first tee on Thursday at 12:47.
I can’t say I truly aspired to win the Masters. If I did, I knew I would have to pay the price. That price would be turning professional and living golf 24-7. I was happy with where I was with my life. I played the game mainly because I loved it and to fulfill my urge to compete. However, there would be a moment in time – a one-hour period beginning at 12:47 on April 10th, when I existed in that other world – the world kids dream about when golf first captures their imagination. It started with a birdie on the challenging opening hole at the Augusta National Golf Club in front of a scattering of Sigel fans and thousands of Watson fans. When the putt dropped, I heard Watson say, “Nice putt.”
The first hole at Augusta is not a birdie hole. When you walk off with par, you exhale and head to the second tee, a par 5 where you feel you can be more aggressive and go for it. I dropped another birdie on the second green and heard Watson say nice putt again. The third hole is the last birdie opportunity before you move on to face the back-to-back challenge of 4 and 5. I lofted my wedge to 15 feet on 3, but the putt lipped out. Oh well, I thought, if I can hold on through the next couple, I may have the making of a solid round.
Few birdies happen on the 4th hole at Augusta, but as my iron headed towards the flag, I heard Watson whisper, “Well done.” One putt later, I was 3 under after four. Then I noticed it – my name and the number 3 in red near the top of the leaderboard.
If 4 is a difficult birdie, the 5th is nearly impossible. The slightly elevated green with a stingy landing area seems to be designed to repel any middle iron not struck perfectly. If you miss short, it rolls back; slightly left or right, it runs off to either side; over the back, and you are unlikely to save par. Hitting my second shot, I again heard Watson say, “Nice shot.”
I was beginning to really like this guy!
After dropping my birdie on 5, I tried not to look at the scoreboard, but as you walk to the 6th tee, things open up, and you can see much of the rest of the property. At that point it was hard to avoid the scoreboard. Also, I could hear the buzz of the crowd and some of the patrons murmuring, “Who is that guy?”
Sitting with the green well below the tee, the 6th hole is a wonderful sight. The green, however, is treacherous. Left and below the hole with my iron, I miss-hit my chip, and it rolled all the way back to my feet. My momentum was broken by the double-bogey I made, but I believe I benefited greatly from my ingrained ability to forget what had just happened and focus on what came next. On No. 7, I nearly holed my second shot from the fairway. Unfortunately, I had another missed chip at the par-5 8th leading to a bogey. I knew this was a result of my months-long absence from the game. It’s always the touch shots that are the last to return to form.
As we moved to the back nine, I was still on the leaderboard in red figures, but by now there were six or seven names above me, including Seve Ballesteros. I then birdied No. 11, the first hole of the stretch known as “Amen Corner.” Year in and year out, this hole, lined with white dogwoods and towering pines, is ranked the hardest hole on the course. That was my high watermark on the back nine. A few more poor chips and I signed for 71, Watson, a 73. Just behind Watson with 74 were Jack Nicklaus, Lee Trevino, and Johnny Miller. I was also one shot better than Bobby Clampett for low-amateur honors. That’s what I had my eye on.
On day two, I teed off at 9:58 with Tom Purtzer, who was playing in his third Masters. Once again, I birdied the first and second holes, and my name went briefly back up on the leaderboard. Purtzer and I both finished with 1-under 71. I was now tied for 12th with Watson, Gary Player, and Fuzzy Zoeller, seven behind Ballesteros, who added a 69 to his first day 66. Augusta took a toll on my fellow amateurs. Of the 13 in the field, nine missed the cut. Mark O’Meara failed to break 80, and he wasn’t last amongst them. But Bobby Clampett added a 71 and remained hot on my tail for low-amateur honors.
With a late time on Saturday (1:22 pm), I was happy to have family and friends along for distraction. We killed time talking and playing pool and finally made our way up Magnolia Lane late that morning. I was paired with fast-talking and fast-swinging Hubert Green for the third round. Considering that I had not played tournament golf for nearly six months, I was holding together pretty well that day. In the middle of “Amen Corner,” I stood at 5 under. When I reached the par-5 13th in two, I couldn’t help myself – I started to think of actually winning the Masters. It was a mistake.
Before I stroked my 60-foot putt for eagle, I realized I would not only reach 6-under, but I would probably be tied for second with another potential birdie hole waiting at 15. And if I only parred the other holes, I would be within striking distance of Ballesteros. No amateur had ever won the Masters, and only two had ever finished second: Ken Venturi in 1956 and Charlie Coe in 1961. Projecting what could happen probably precipitated my slide. I not only 3-putted 13, I added three more bogeys to close with a 73. Instead of checking on where I stood with Ballesteros, I was back to worrying about low amateur.
It turned out my 73 was better than I thought. I was tied for 21st with Lee Trevino, and my fellow amateurs had struggled and fell well back. Jim Holtgrieve shot 77, Clampett a 79, and Hal Sutton didn’t break 80. In the battle for the low amateur, I had a seven-shot lead.
As I progressed through the week of golf, I noticed that my grips, which I had forgotten to change before leaving home, were becoming worn and slippery. I asked my caddie to clean them, but for some reason, he decided to use a wire brush. Since they were a combination of cord and rubber, they started to shred, and old glue began to seep through. When I realized what had happened, I went to the Augusta golf shop to see if they could replace them. To my surprise, they were out of grips.
I left the Augusta grounds and drove to the Westlake Country Club. I guess there was a run on grips that week because they only had five left. I had them regrip the driver and the 3, 5, 7, and 9 irons. To absorb some of the remaining residue, we dusted them with the blue pool chalk from the basement table. I hoped I wasn’t breaking any rules.
Once again, I found myself with an afternoon tee time at the Masters. It really felt strange to see Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer going off a half hour ahead of me. I was paired with Sandy Lyle and kept telling myself the grips were fine and nothing to worry about, but once I got out on the course, I tried to avoid using the ones with blue chalk on them. Midway through the round on Sunday, I hit a bad stretch. I bogeyed 9 and 10 and hit it in the water at 12. Fortunately, I was able to gather myself, make birdies on 13 and 15, and post a 74. Jim Holtgrieve fired a 70, but with my head start, I still managed to finish low amateur by four strokes. Meanwhile, Seve, the dashing Spaniard, coasted to his first Masters win by four shots.
Shortly after I finished, I was told to change into something suitable because I was going to be interviewed on national television during the green jacket ceremony at the Butler Cabin. Of course, I didn’t bring a change of clothes, so I began worrying about that. Then the new Augusta chairman, Hord Hardin, pulled me aside and said, “Listen, you stay close by and practice your answers to these questions.” He then started reciting the questions.
The questions weren’t difficult—mainly things like, tell us where you are from, how does it feel to be low amateur, etc. So, I sat there for over an hour practicing my answers. Finally, we start the show, and Hardin asks me completely different questions – ones I hadn’t prepared for. It was a “deer in the headlights” moment, but I stumbled through it. Then the chairman turned to Seve, who probably knew 50 words of English, and said, “So Seve, how tall are you?” I don’t think the Spaniard was prepared for that one, and I imagine CBS wasn’t either. The good news was that the media quickly forgot about my awkward responses and flogged poor Hardin the next day in the national newspapers for asking Seve how tall he was.
The 1980 Masters was an experience I will always treasure. I could have looked at it as if I had let a golden opportunity slip through my fingers, but looking back, I wouldn’t trade a moment of it.
