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David Duval Comeback Surprises Everyone But David Duval

by Christopher McIntosh
06/24/2009

David Duval came back this week. And there's not a soul alive who believed it possible, with the possible exception of one Duval, David.

David Duval stood on the 17th hole--the 71st hole of the US Open, one of the two tournaments he claimed to be the most important in the world--with a share of the lead on Monday, needing only to make par to (momentarily) maintain his position and walk into the stadium of the eminently birdiable 18th hole and possibly take the lead into the clubhouse and make Lucas Glover, a man one one hundredth as accomplished and one one thousandth as talented, make birdie to force a playoff.

Then the four foot putt for par, a putt that looked like it was already in the bottom of the cup, inexplicably took a full U-turn, dropping halfway into the hole and choosing to slide back toward Mr. Duval after taking a tour of the inner side of the far lip.

Bogey.

Glover almost simultaneously made birdie.

Two shot swing.

And as the brilliant filmmakers chose to conclude The Usual Suspects, "And just like that, he's gone."

Duval was the absolute truth when I was in college. I was lucky enough to attend a large public university in the South where the weather held nearly all year round and anyone with a student ID could walk nine for nine bucks on a course good enough to hold the D1 conference championships. It was 1999. Duval was absolutely destroying fields. Shooting 59 on Sunday to win tournaments. Refusing to accept victory as accomplishment, he chiseled his doughy frame into a nearly unrecognizable scrawny, yet wiry dude who looked like he could scrap with the best of them and didn't need much of an excuse to do so.

Tiger was God in those days, but he was in the wilderness. Duval was our Moses.

We rooted for him despite his damnable association with Georgia Tech. All the claims that he was aloof, rude, disrespectful, and arrogant only added to his mystique amongst my group of friends.

We loved Tiger, but Duval was the guy that we all wanted to be. Sure of himself. Sure of his game. Surely unrepentant about his desire to be number one and his refusal to accept anything or anyone that interfered.

He was the embodiment of the reason that every college has an objectivism club. Independent to a fault, his life was the product of his choices--no one else. If he (or we) worked hard enough and were single-minded enough, we too could experience what he had.

But the cover finally blew off. Just about the same time that it did for the rest of us. 2001. Winner of the Open championship at Royal Lytham.

His reaction? "Is this it?"

I think everyone I know at that age--two to six years out of college, successful achievers (both over and under)--or at least everyone I respected, had the same realization. It's like the dog that chases the car down the street.

What would it do if it caught it?

Duval caught the proverbial bumper and broke his teeth on it. Probably his jaw, too.

Many of my friends caught that same bit of chrome between the teeth and felt the horrible feeling of fingernails on a chalkboard.

And that was it.

Since 2001, he's basically been useless. Once the number one player in the game--miles, and I mean, miles, ahead of one Eldrick T. Woods--he sank. And sank. And sank.

Seven plus years in the wilderness.

He dropped so low in the world rankings coming into this tournament, that no less than four reputable news organizations have been unable to identify his ranking coming into the tournament (882 in the world, for the record).

Why?

No, seriously. Why? The world wants to know. His shoulder turn was a thing of beauty, something we copied in our silly rounds trying to keep the ball in play so we could somehow break 90, yet emulate one of our heroes.

But it broke. It didn't break down, mind you. It just broke. Period. Seven plus years don't happen because of a break down. You just call AAA and get your flat repaired and move on about your life when there's a breakdown.

Seven plus years as the butt end of jokes? After being number one in the world? That's just broke.

Was it breaking up with his girlfriend? How about the back pain? Or the wrist pain? Or the other ailments lined up to provide explanation?

Truth be told, no one knows. Not even Duval.

And that's where this parable begins. What do we really know about famous athletes? Or entertainers? Or performers? Or politicians? Or anyone else in the public eye?

I got a glimpse into Duval's personal life via one of the best pieces of sportswriting I've ever read. It detailed the torment of his youth, watching his brother die after donating his own bone marrow in gruesome fashion. Watching his parent's marriage disintegrate. His father and mother both found solace in the bottle after all they'd been through.

Not David. He turned to the golf course.

But those seven plus? It's like the lost years of Jesus himself. What happened between His kicking out the troupe that turned his local temple into a casino and his triumphant ride into Jersualem framed by the waving of palms?

No one knows. And no one is talking.

Duval says he's back. That his game has finally caught up to what he's capable of. That he's finally scoring the way he's been playing. What used to be the subject of categorical eye-rolling, "sure, David, you're just not scoring well. You're playing great, but somehow shooting 83 in the opening round of the Masters."

Duval's most prescient quote from the week, "I had no question in my mind I was going to win the golf tournament today."

Duval started with a triple bogey. Three shots. In a US Open. Gone in the blink of an eye.

Tiger Woods dropped four shots (merely one more than Duval dropped on a single hole) in the last four holes of his first round. Erase those and he might still be playing Herr Glover for his second US Open title in a row.

And yet there Duval stood, tied for the lead on the 71st hole.

We may never know where he's been. But then again, I don't think he has to explain himself.

We all know where he's been. Even Tiger Woods has had his moments of doubt. His time in the Garden at Gethsemane. We've all been through the doubts and the danger and the fear.

What if we can never do it again? What if this is just a flash in the pan? What if this all ends in the next instant? Am I really succeeding or is this just luck, something I can't control and can't recapture if it starts to go sideways on me?

To say success is fleeting is both cliche and the understatement of the century.

Unfortunately, it's also highly important for understanding the curious case of David Duval.

Duval's life has been about squeezing out the pain. Wanting life to be fair, but accepting that it isn't and attempting to defy that paradox by making it fair through hard work, sacrifice, and an unwavering desire to achieve.

He only broke through once he realized that he couldn't control the outcome. He could only try and control what he did. But even that wasn't fully under his control.

Listen to Duval now and you listen to a man who's desire to be the best still smolders under the surface, but he has learned that that fire needs to be kept in check lest it consume everything that makes it's pursuit worthwhile, rendering it all worthless even if actually achieved.

I nearly cried when Duval's putt on 17 refused to drop. It didn't lip out. He didn't burn the edge. It simply refused to drop.

Just like his brother's disease refused to seize it's hold.

But there's a reason I say "nearly" and it's because of this that I know Mr. Duval is going to be okay.

Will he complete the comeback? Is he the next challenger to El Tigre and Big Phil?

If you think you can answer the question, you've missed the point--and the beauty--of his comeback.

Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Ultimately, it just doesn't matter. He showed up. He listened to the doubters. Hell, he even probably internalized some of the doubters, because truth be told, they were right. Why bet on an 882nd ranked, washed up has been who totally lost his [redacted] nearly a decade ago?

He came into the Masters a few years ago and shot a number that began with a snowman. This was on a course, that much like they say about Tiger, is designed for someone of his stature to absolutely massacre.

An NFL quarterback shot 81 at Bethpage--a dramatically tougher course for Duval-- before the tournament started, to give you some idea of how bad he did at that Masters.

When asked if he was going to withdraw after his Masters disaster, he looked at the reporter as if he'd just been asked if he was from another planet.

"I'm not a quitter."

Four words. No results to speak of for nearly eight years since winning the British Open and realizing that his endless quest for glory was joyless.

But in those four words, I gathered strength. And I rooted hard for him. Because I was rooting for myself. And everyone around me who had experienced success and failure in equal measure.

If the very, very best in the world, someone so good it could bring tears to your eyes and a reorientation of the record books could declare that after seven plus years of appearing absolutely pedestrian, ordinary, and damned near useless that he wasn't going to quit, than I was pretty sure I could find the strength to carry on through whatever my day, week, month, year, threw at me.

Back in the day every swing of his seemed to be preternatural. Something to be envied but only impersonated, never copied. Now it was back.

And results be damned, it felt good.

Is Duval back? If you're asking that question, you just don't get it.

He never left.