Masters has long list of heartache

Sometimes they can see the Masters being taken away from them:

Tom Weiskopf was on the 16th tee late Sunday afternoon in 1975, staring across the pond at Jack Nicklaus crouched over a 40-foot putt. The ball disappeared, Nicklaus ran to his right and leaped so high that he left bear tracks on the green. Weiskopf became a runner-up for the fourth time and never again contended.

Sometimes they can hear the Masters elude them:

Ernie Els closed with a 67 in 2004, then retreated to the practice green to prepare for a playoff. First came the warm applause as Phil Mickelson, tied for the lead, ambled up to the 18th green. Els nervously rapped a few putts and munched on an apple, waiting and listening. His dream was shattered by delirium that rocked Augusta National.

“I just heard the roar,” Els said. “I couldn’t see that it was Phil, but after hearing the people’s applause, I knew it was Phil.”

And there are times when there is not much to say:

“Don’t let the bastards get you down,” Nick Faldo whispered into the ear of Greg Norman after coming from six shots behind to win by five in 1996. Norman’s collapse was the greatest in Masters history and one that made him an indelible image of agony at Augusta National.

Every major championship seems to hold a hex over some of golf’s best players.

Sam Snead’s record 82 victories does not include a single U.S. Open, the only major keeping him from the career Grand Slam. Phil Mickelson already has tied his record with four second-place finishes at the U.S. Open. Arnold Palmer and Tom Watson never won a PGA Championship, the major keeping them from the career Grand Slam.

But the Masters has the longest list of heartache.

No other tournament with so much tradition shows so little compassion.

“It bothered me,” Johnny Miller said of his three runner-up finishes, but never a green jacket. “You get some Masters baggage in your brain. The more times you come close and don’t get it, the more it builds up in your head.”

David Duval came close four straight years, the first time in 1998 when he closed with a 67. He was in Jones Cabin with chairman Jack Stephens as they watched Mark O’Meara measure a 20-foot birdie putt on the final hole. Duval figured he was headed for a playoff.

“Don’t worry, David,” Stephens told him. “Nobody ever makes that putt.”

O’Meara made the putt.

“Hey, good tournament,” was all Stephens could say to a shocked Duval. “We’ll look forward to seeing you next year.”

There was always next year, right?

But it never came for Ken Venturi, who was poised to win the Masters three times in six years, once as an amateur.

Not many suffered quite like Weiskopf, a runner-up four times in a seven-year stretch. Even after Nicklaus dropped in that shocking putt in 1975, Weiskopf had an 8-foot birdie to tie, and it somehow stayed out.

“One of these days, the putt is going in and I’ll win a Masters,” he said that day.

He never did.

Tom Kite was a three-time runner-up, and that doesn’t include the one time he held the 54-hole lead, when he shot 75 in the final round of 1984 and tied for sixth. Duval had it as tough as anyone. He played Augusta National in 31-under par during his four straight years in contention.

“I played as well as anyone, including those who won,” Duval said.

Of the seven players who have suffered the most at the Masters, Els is the only one who still returns for more punishment. He was runner-up in 2000 when he couldn’t get a putt to fall over the final three holes. He was closing in on Tiger Woods in 2002 until taking an 8 on the 13th hole of the final round. And then there was 2004, the most devastating of all.

“I’ll get over this,” Els said. “I’ll have another shot. I’m sure of that.”

That’s what Weiskopf said in 1975. That’s how Venturi felt in 1960 when Arnold Palmer birdied the last two holes to win by one. Kite for years could not fathom how his 12-foot birdie putt to tie Nicklaus in 1986 stayed out. Asked recently why there was so little evidence of payback at the Masters, Kite bristled at what he called a “stupid premise” and stormed off.

“You just look at the things that happen at that tournament,” Venturi said. “There’s always something.”

Els backed away and held up his hands when presented with that question two weeks ago, almost as if it would harm his chances.

“No, no. Don’t say that,” he said.