Seve had been similarly forthcoming on the subject of his illness, never sparing his interviewers the grim truth of what he was facing. Prior to last year’s Open at St Andrews, his favourite golfing place on earth, he described himself as having arrived “at the twelfth hole ... There is always a beginning and an end and this is the difficult thing when you see the end coming.”
He also mentioned the loneliness that goes hand in hand with being confined to home. His children, though they are based in Madrid, came to visit and so did his brothers. For the most part, though, he was on his own, with dark winter evenings asking the most difficult questions. “So tough,” he said, simply.
Yet on almost every occasion that he has felt that he might be sounding just too morose, he did something to save the situation. For example, when he told Ken Brown of Ryder Cup and now commentary fame, that he could no longer drive his Lamborghini or his Ferrari because he had lost seventy-five per cent of the vision in his left eye, he seized the moment to use TV as a medium for selling the vehicles.
“If anyone has some spare sterling and would like to buy one or the other, come and see me in Pedrena,” he advised cheerfully.
Seve would get away with anything – and everything – simply because of who he was. Namely, to use Gary Player’s words, “the most charismatic man ever to play the game”.
Even the caddies, to whom he has given plenty in the way of abuse across the years, vie with one another to tell proudly of their experiences at the Spaniard’s hands.
“It’s not your fault,” Seve once said to the fellow who had just handed over a wrong club. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault for listening to you."
Peter Coleman, a member of the Caddies’ Hall of Fame, will never forget that occasion when Seve advised, “You’re the worst caddie in the world.”
“I know,” returned Coleman.
“How do you know?” probed Seve, menacingly.
“Because you told me yesterday,” said the caddie.
