The Waterbury Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1917-1946, 1942-02-20
BY JACK GUENTHER
UNITED Press Staff Correspond


New York, February 20. - CUP
One of the many crosses a sport
writer must bear is the stubborn
refusal of certain performers to
accept the mantle OF greatness he
persists in weaving about them. You
know the type - those who should
be tops and somehow never quite get
there. Like Lou Nova, for instance,
or Alsabz or Hank Lieber or Sam
Snead.
Particularly like Sam Snead. The
bug eyed mountain boy goes out
again today at New Orleans in the
tenth big tournament of the winter
Golf Safari. A year ago, two years
ago or even three, the golf writer's
would be tapping out endless stacks
of copy about him and saying that
here was another case of Sneau
against the rest of the field.
Forgotten Man
But this isn't a year ago or two
years ago; 1t is February 20, 1912,
and the eccentric West Virginian no
longer is lone wolf fighting the
pack. Today he is just another name
in the summaries. The boys are too
busy spinning yarns about Chick
Harbert and Ben Hogan and Byron
Nelson to save space for the for
gotten man of the fairWays.
Apparently, that is Snead's place
In golf today-the forgotten man.
At %, when he should be still climb
ing toward his peak, Sammy is a
legend before his time. History
touched him briefly and then fitted
along its way. He is the shining
example of the athlete who was
born to greatness and yet somehow
can't quite attain it.
He is such shining example that
he might as we'll wear mirrored
vests and have his Stacks stitched
with Neon tubing. Not that the
isn't a fine craftsman. He Is an ex-
cellent one, easily one of the four
or five best golfers in the world.
But instead of taking his place as
the Jones of the generation, he is
just perennial runner-up.
The facts Of the Snead case are
well known. Mechanically, he has
all it axes to hammer his name up
among those of Jones or Hagan or
Ouimet or Sarazan. The records
show that for six years he has aver
aged better than $4,000 annually in
tournament play alone. In five
years he never has been lower than
third in the Harry Vardon cup race.
Twice he has finished second in
the National Open once when it
appeared certain that he had won 1t.
He has won almost everything else.
I saw him take his first major tour
nament - the Bing Crosby affair
at Del Mar, Calf, in the middle
1905 and he has gone on steadily.
But it seems that he just can't go
past the thin line which divides the
good from the great,
Comparison
A number Of people have asked
recently why sport writers insist
on intimating that Snead is a fail
ure because he hasn't developed into
the player they thought he was.
These critics emphasize that if any
other of 100 golfers could match the
Snead game for just year he
would be the subject Of more stories
than the California Gold Rush.
That is true enough, but there Is a
rebutal. An ordinary ball player
is Whiz if he hits Is home runs
If Babe Ruth had hit Is home runs,
he would have been bust. You
don't expect sour notes from Toscan-
mini or just a satisfactory salad from
Oscar of the Waldorf. You expect
the very best, even something a trifle
inspired.
That is what we have expected
from Sam, but maybe we've all been
wrong. Maybe his beautiful wood
shots and his booming irons aren't
enough for greatness. Maybe the
locker room gossips and tavern psy-
biologists who claim he lost his
nerve on that historic 18th hole in
Philadelphia have arrived at the
correct diagnosis. But don't think
so.
I remember horse named Whirl-
away, a fighter named Billy Petrolle
and a pitcher named Bobo Newsom
They had the stuff, too. right from
the start but it was long while In
coming out. Once they got under
way, there was no stopping them.
And once Sam Snead gets rolling
some day look out. When you
remember that the only opponent
who ever has whipped him consist
entity has been himself. you realize
that some day could be today.