Not many things can make someone forget they are dying. But for five hours and 65 shots in the US Open on Thursday, Tom Watson made his caddie, Bruce Edwards, forget. At times, sports defies time, mocks age. Or, makes us cherish time. Watson and Edwards did all of that—evoking their storied 30-year golf past together, then creating a new moment as moving as any before it. ‘‘We turned back the clock today. It was wonderful. It was a blast,’’ said the 48-year-old Edwards, whose speech is slurred from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s disease) diagnosed five months ago. ‘‘Not bad for old folks, eh?’’ Edwards added as the 53-year-old Watson’s name stood at the very top of the leader board, tied for first place. The last three holes of Watson’s round—which equaled the best of his entire US Open career (in ’87)—were full of birdies, thunderous cheers and tears from both men. ‘‘Bruce started it,’’ said Watson, as though blaming his old friend for stirring the emotions that shook them both. ‘‘He started to crack up late on the first nine holes. By the last few holes, there were quite a few tears from both of us. . ’’ Watson tried to sum up his feelings, saying the US Open was his favourite event, the hardest of all events and that this Olympia Fields Country Club was the site of his first appearance in a professional event 35 years ago. Then he tried to express what it meant to share such a moment for joy, unexpected stolen pleasure and celebration for Edwards with ‘‘my friend and caddie for 30 years.’’ But perhaps the ferociously competitive, overachieving Watson, who has won five British Opens and eight major championships, was captured best by one short sentence which was completely unlike anything he has ever said in his public career. ‘‘If I shoot 90 tomorrow,’’ Watson said, ‘‘I don’t care.’’ And the reason he didn’t care was that he had captured the moment, grabbed the entire golf world’s eyes and ears one last time in his career, at the very moment when he wanted to do it most—for Edwards’ sake. Great champions, when they have a moment of unexpected grace fall upon them in athletic old age, often cannot stop talking about themselves. And Watson, who won his first major (the 1975 British Open) before Tiger Woods was born, did beam as he talked about his amazing play. But mostly, more than everything else combined, he talked about Edwards, ALS and the need to raise money to find a cure. ‘‘I’ve got the bully pulpit and I’m going to use it,’’ said Watson, who, like the Stanford grad he is, began talking about ‘‘transgenic mice’’ and various stages of clinical drug trials. ‘‘If I’m boring you, stop me,’’ he told a mass news conference. Then, he quickly reversed himself. No, he was going to be heard on Edwards behalf. ‘‘Bruce was diagnosed on January 15. He’s deteriorating some. . The average life expectancy (after the disease is discovered) is three years. . It speeds up the aging process,’’ said Watson. ‘‘This is what’s called an ‘orphan disease.’ According to Watson, doctors have told him that they believe a cure will probably be found in five to 10 years. ‘‘(With) the disease I have, what I am trying to do is show other people to keep going,’’ Edwards said after the round. ‘‘I don’t know when I won’t be able to (caddie) any more. I love what I do. I love working for him. It makes me forget all about my problems.’’ Someone asked Edwards what Watson has meant to him. Edwards simply wept for several minutes. In the last 30 years, they only broke off their work relationship for three years when Watson was in a slump in the late 1980s. Golf is well known for offering us stunning individual rounds by great players, like Ben Hogan and Nicklaus, who are far past their prime. But this may have been the first time that such a moment had so much extra poignancy. Watson’s moment was much more than shared with Edwards. It felt dedicated to him without anyone saying so. ‘‘Well, will wonders never cease,’’ Watson said. ‘‘I am the guy I used to be. Maybe it was just one day. But let’s find out.’’ (La Times-Washington Post)
