"The Bunker Guy"

The twelfth wasn't playing as wicked as we know it can – the wind wasn't swirling. When I was on the eleventh I had seen Bernhard Langer hit a seven-iron to the back of the green, which meant I could hit an eight-iron because I'm a bit longer than him. Again, I felt comfortable with what I was doing and took aim for the right side of the front bunker, which was in line with where the flag was located. I hit it about 96 per cent, perhaps one groove too high on the clubface, but felt it was plenty good enough. I was wrong. The ball caught the front of the green, dug its heels in and spun back into Rae's Creek. The curse of it was that if it had carried two feet more I'd have stiffed it for an easy two.
After pitching up from the drop zone about 70 yards out I did well to two-putt from just off the green for a double bogey. I had lost my lead.
All was not lost however. At the par-five thirteenth I hit a good drive round the corner and only had a seven- iron left. The old gremlins started to come in then because I had
a bit of a hook lie. I was desperately trying not to tug it left or hit it short and into the water, and once again I hit it good. Unfortunately I carried it a bit far – the ball pitched hole high and released into the back bunker into an awful lie. It was a treacherous place to be because the green slopes all the way back down to the water and with the lie I had there was no way I was going to be able to get any spin on the ball. I had to play cagey by aiming away from the pin. The result wasn't bad – I left myself a 15-footer for birdie – but could only two-putt. I had played Amen Corner in three-over-par and was now one off the pace being set by Calcavecchia.
Two pars over the next two holes steadied the ship somewhat – although the fifteenth should have been a good birdie opportunity for me – and I managed to birdie the short sixteenth with a nice putt, parred seventeen and now I'm standing on the eighteenth tee in the knowledge that a par would mean a play-off with Calcavecchia; a birdie would clinch it.
I knew that the main thing I needed to do was stay out of the fairway bunker, so I hit a one-iron up the hill thinking I would be safe. Wrong again! The ball ran straight up in there. The lip on the bunker wasn't too bad but I knew the way the ball rolled in that it would be up against the face. So I'm walking towards it with a black cloud descending, thinking this was not looking too great. It turned out to be a bit better than I thought – the ball was on an upslope but there was just enough room to clear the lip. The number I had was 146 yards to the pin, and just over 150 yards to the landing area beyond that. An eight-iron was exactly the distance to pin but a seven-iron was the safest because being short was far worse than being big.
I knew when I'd hit it I had caught it well, and as the applause from the crowds grew louder and louder I figured the ball had caught the slope on the green and come back to within only inches of the pin. I was actually disappointed to see where it had stopped. Everyone says I only had a six-foot putt but the camera foreshortened the length – it was a good fifteen feet away. I had about 10 minutes to work out the line, because Crenshaw was butchering the hole. The nice thing was that the putt couldn't get away from me because there was a slight upslope beyond the hole. That meant the two-putt – and a spot in the play-off – was assured. My back- stroke was about three inches long but that was enough to send it wandering down in the general direction and it just managed to fall in. The relief was amazing.
The little jig I did in celebration was supposed to be a somersault but the legs had gone. Having won the week before [at the Greensboro Classic] I had had quite a lot of media attention, which kept me busy off the course, and by the time that final putt had dropped I was absolutely shattered.
I am constantly reminded of what I did on the eighteenth. When I'm in America I hear about it every week. I'm remembered as the "bunker guy", which I don't mind at all; in fact I quite like it. What I'm especially proud of is the fact I was the first person in a long time – I think since Arnold Palmer – to birdie the eighteenth to win the Masters. Of course it's happened quite a few times since then – Mark O' Meara's done it, as has Phil Mickleson – but no- one apart from me has done it from that horrible little bunker. –As told to Alex Jenkins