Hard man 'Frosty' bids farewell to tour with grace and humility

CADDIE'S ROLE:The veteran South African learned about more things than golf during his long stint among the game's elite, writes COLIN BYRNE

I HAVE seen players ramble through their days on the European Tour and sidle off down some obscure trail into oblivion without making a formal exit, their only mark in history being an amount of euros beside their names buried in golfing annals.

In many sports there is a decisive moment when players choose to retire, it is black and white. In golf it is not such an easy decision, as older players can still compete quite effectively at times, as we saw in Turnberry a few weeks ago with 59-year-old Tom Watson beaten in a play-off for the British Open Championship.

We were in the Czech Republic a couple of weeks ago, a part of the world oblivious to the capitalist game of golf until recently. You can still smell the paint drying on the game there, and it is not somewhere David Frost, the veteran South African, would have visited in his formative days in the early 1980s.

It was, however, where Frost was to hang up his European spikes ahead of his debut on the Champions Tour in America. I was perusing the noticeboard at the Prosper Golf Club before the tournament, and there among bus schedules, starting times and other directives from the tour was a letter from David Frost addressed to his “Friends”.

At first I suspected it might be about the state of his wine business back on the Cape. Over the years he regularly passed around samples to members of the tour and made use of the access he had to a large group of impressionable wine-drinkers.

But as I read the letter I realised it was a heartfelt missive from a man who had initially seemed, on the surface at least, to be just another hard-nosed South African bringing his gruff attitude abroad with little regard for where he was. For those of us who had little contact with South Africans in the 1980s, their language and manner was more direct than we were used to and could be off-putting.

I had the privilege of caddying for David in the Volvo Masters once, when I witnessed the finest display of putting I had seen until I started working for his compatriot, Retief Goosen. Accents can put us on the back foot at times. My lasting memory of the Western Caper was of an uncompromising man.

He grew up in the Stellenbosch area and worked as a cigarette rep and a policeman. There had been no successful golfers from his area at the time.

David couldn’t watch international golf until his family got their first television in 1975. He had no exposure to the international influence in the game. When he was a five handicapper he started to read about the swing. He bought a book by Ben Hogan: this was his first lesson. He knew nothing of swing planes, separation, downward pressure or any other technical terms most modern pros are reared on.

What the younger and more inquisitive David Frost knew was that he would take nothing for granted, and there were no guarantees like so many younger golfers have today. Having taught himself, he bought his first set of Hogan irons in 1978 and decided golf would be his career: no more township patrols, no more cigarette sales, he was destined for the fairways of the world with his self-made swing and attitude.

I remember a colleague telling me about Frosty back when he was a serious contender (he won 10 times on the US Tour). His mantra when he hit a bad shot was “now watch me get out of this”. There was no lingering in the analysis of how he hit a bad shot. It is the telling difference between self-taught players and hands-on, coached golfers who don’t take responsibility for their swing. The self-taught golfer is obviously more self-sufficient in the exposed world of competition.

Giving my observation about Frost, I would say the game humbled him as he continued to play in latter years without the form he enjoyed in his golden years. He learned humility and respect for all of us involved in the travelling circus of world golf.

He was grateful to the European Tour for giving him the opportunity to play in Europe in 2007, which helped him earn his card for the next two years. It kept his match game sharp in his transition to the Champions Tour.

There was definitely a sense of nostalgia and respect in Frost’s farewell letter. He talked about the sense of belonging and being part of a homogenous group. “When others win we are all happy for them, and when we play badly we can all empathise with that.”

He regrets he didn’t interact with the crowd more now that he understands their appreciation for the professional’s talent. “They love the game as much as we do and only wish they could do with the ball what we can.” He wishes he gave the crowd “just a nod or a smile to make them feel special”.

From tour officials to other players and to caddies, David had a touching word for all of us. Of the caddies, he realised our love for the game and our “understanding of the tough times that players have to endure, it is not something you can describe but the looks say it all”.

So many players seem to drift off into the ether without a goodbye to the tour. David Frost, once considered a tough man of the tour, bowed out graciously and with humility.

It adds weight to the argument that the game of golf is a great leveller and can teach people about what is important in life.