John Daly is in Augusta. I'm in Augusta. But I have yet to talk to him or write about him. This is the most time I have spent at a golf tournament without talking to or writing about Daly.
Last year I left Augusta National Golf Club five minutes after hearing that he was peddling his wares along Washington Rd. I made a mistake and overshot his trailer and went to Hooter's. They told me where he was and I crossed the street and found him.
Reporters who had talked to him earlier were rejected or dispatched with a few one-sentence answers.So I walked to the long table in front of his trailer and bought a John Daly autographed cap for $20. Then I identified myself. Then we were friends. I hung out for about 30 minutes, talking to him and to his girlfriend, and and watching fans react.
And, no, I wasn't paying for the interview. I don't practice that kind of journalism. Nothing that applies to Daly constitutes journalism.
Daly seemed to have shrunk since I had seen him last. He was smaller than you would expect. I'm 5-9, and I could post him up. But I don't see him playing hoops because he never stopped smoking. He would take a long final drag, fling the butt to the ground and reach for another. He would be easy to track.
I doubt Daly has changed dramatically since last year, but who has? I'll make my way to his table this week. I could use a cap. The dog chewed the old one.