In Praise of Elk

Wikipedia (the keeper of all knowledge) cites him as one of the best interviewee’s of all time on the Jim Rome show (something to do with his use of the phrase “rubber dongers”). Johnny Miller has routinely described him as the best dressed man on Tour. He’s had meningitis multiple times and he was invited to kiss Bubba Watson’s back side. He plays timeless (outdated) irons.

In spite of such peculiarities, or perhaps partially because of them, Steve Elkington has been seen by many as an embodiment of the golfing lifestyle; a nattily dressed shotmaker who has been known to speak his mind to any/all press outlets.

Never mind the fact that he finished in a tie for 53rd place last week at the FBR Open in Scottsdale, the significance of Elkington is more symbolic than statistical, more with the man himself than his accomplishments. That’s not to say that his record is a dismal one, he’s won 10 times on the PGA Tour during his career and amassed more than $10 million in earnings.

Also, he won the 1995 PGA Championship, defeating Colin Montgomerie in a playoff and he’s made the cut in 17 of 25 events over the last two years, but he’s been perceived as (and statistics show this in to form of limited starts prior to 2007) a player who is often injured or unwell and devoted to enjoying life off the golf course.

As much as Tiger Woods may be the embodiment of golfing excellence, Steve Elkington is the personification of something much more accessible-something you might expect more in a club champion than a PGA Champion. If Woods is the standard for the “new golfer” we’ve been hearing so much about these past few years, (committed to physical fitness, golf-centric, a corporate athlete, inaccessible, etc) Elkington, and those similar to the Australian, could be a dying breed. In short, expect more Sean O’Hairs and Charles Howells and fewer, Elkingtons, Austins or Pates. Or, consider the “evolution” of Darren Clarke into a gym rat.

Consider, also, that in clear contrast to Woods and company, Elkington has often had no major equipment or clothing contracts. He would rather be putting back a few at the bar with friends after a round than getting a rub down and sipping a Gatorade before a pilates session. Certainly, he would rather be working in his garden than shooting a car, credit card or even golf equipment commercial. What this points to is a distinct difference in priorities, between Elkington and the “new” generation of aspiring golf superstars.

“I’m a throwback,” Elkington states in a Golf Digest interview with Bob Verdi, “Everything I like is old. Look at this house. It was built brand new, but with stuff that’s old, from the windows to the flooring.” In setting up this old/ new dynamic, it should also be noted that the golfer believes that many foreigners, particularly Australians, have both the ambition to both achieve and relax, or, perhaps, to both work and play. Or, as Elkington-an accomplished artist, gardener and dabbler in car restoration-puts it, “If all you have is golf, and that’s in disarray, you’re screwed.”

Here’s another bit from the Verdi interview: “Not long ago, Lisa and I were planning to have dinner with the Normans in Denver, at the International. Laura calls Lisa and says, “Greg just finished his round, and he’s not feeling that well. So, he’s going to have a couple beers and see if it goes away.” Further, Elkington intones “That’s a typical Australian story.” This isn’t to paint alcohol as a panacea for ailments mental and physical, but rather it’s a tangential element of a different, and somewhat antiquated, philosophy of life.

Another manifestation of this philosophy is Elkington’s wardrobe. “I like to get out there and dress up a little bit, he states, “Historically, the great players all wore good gear. Raymond Floyd rocked; Tom Weiskopf was off the charts.” You aren’t likely to see Elkington in J. Lindberg or a painter’s cap anytime soon. Neither are you likely to see him with sleeves past his elbows or with color combinations which would indicate having gotten dressed in the dark or shopping exclusively at discount retailers. In short, he cares about his appearance, but isn’t flamboyant or absurd with his attire.

I’m going to include, at length, two of my favorite Elkington anecdotes, both from the Verdi interview:

I was skiing on my birthday — Dec. 8, 2002 — and some drunk in an orange suit came from the other side of the mountain and wiped me out. I’d had a few, too, or else I could have gotten out of the way. I mean, I’m perfectly capable of getting hurt on my own without somebody helping me. I thought I broke my shoulder right there, but I came back from skiing, had an MRI at home in Houston, and it didn’t show anything. So I tried to play with it through the pain, which I did, until the British Open…I’m playing with a torn rotator cuff, only I don’t know it. I went down to hit a ball out of this real thick hay, and I felt something pop in the same right arm, only lower. I finished the round, shot 86, and had to withdraw the next morning. I had a pool of blood in my right arm. So, a few of my mates and I pulled out a map and did a pub crawl, drinking beers all day. Then I came back to Houston to fix the rotator cuff and the British Open problem, which was a torn biceps.

Like with Craig [presumably Stadler]. We were flying together a few years ago, so we switched up with someone so we could sit together. “Wanna beer?” he asks me. “Of course,” I said. So, he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out two beers, one for him and one for me. Little while later, he says, “Want another beer?” I said, “Yeah, let me get the lady’s attention.” He says, “No, we don’t need any flight attendant.” He reaches in the other side of his jacket, and pulls out two more beers. He must have had a case on him. We drank his jacket.”

I’m not going to try and qualify exactly what Steve Elkington represents to me in a coherent and composed fashion, (readers should know not to expect coherence from this writer, anyways). I will however make a few suggestions. Elkington is symbolic of “enough” rather than “exposure,” he’s symbolic of proven tradition triumphing over supposed innovation. He’s at once similar to the average golfer (you may share his priorities) and different (you probably don’t share his achievements). He represents shotmaking, before bombing and gouging and an era in golf where the best were gentlemanly and engaging, professional, particular and, perhaps, peculiar.