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By the time he got to Brookline, Strange had banked 14 Tour wins, along with enough prize money to cover his mortgage, a fishing boat and fines for salty language, which arrived as reliably as his phone bill. ("I guess I can't get away with 'goddamn' on Thursdays anymore," he once observed). One year, at Bay Hill, Strange unleashed a verbal tirade so blue that a volunteer complained, and Arnold Palmer saw fit to dress Strange down. ("Ungentlemanly behavior," the King tutt-tutted.)
Strange was an equal-opportunity upbraider. Woe was the reporter who pestered him with a mindless question. But pity also the cameraman who tried to take a shot while Strange was taking his: He'd be threatened with procedures a sadistic proctologist wouldn't recommend. Strange even teed off on a fan who'd snapped a picture mid-swing — in a practice round.
Says Strange's friend, mental-game expert Bob Rotella: "Off the course, he was a sweetheart. People called him Hogan-esque, and in ways he was. He was on a mission to win championships. To play his best, he felt he had to get lost in his own world."
Strange's single-mindedness, Rotella says, combined with his work ethic, made him the perfect animal at the Open, which rewards resilience as much as crisp play. "But," Rotella adds, "when you're a perfectionist, you tend to have trouble forgiving yourself for mistakes."
Strange's single-mindedness, Rotella says, combined with his work ethic, made him the perfect animal at the Open, which rewards resilience as much as crisp play. "But," Rotella adds, "when you're a perfectionist, you tend to have trouble forgiving yourself for mistakes."
Distrustful of shrink-speak, Strange obsessed instead about his swing.
"He was always thinking about it, trying new things," says his brother, Allan. "He'd ask for swing tips from the cab driver on the way to the airport."
Adds Haas: "We used to ask him, 'Hey, Curtis. What did the Delta skycap think about your position at the top?'"
Whatever tips he picked up, they worked. Between 1986 and 1990, Strange spent 200 weeks in the top 10 of the World Ranking. He led the money list three times, and in 1988 became the first-ever Tour player to claim $1 million in prize money in a single year, this in an era when earning seven figures meant you'd done much more than make a half-dozen cuts.
At the 1988 Open, Strange had his A-game. ("Incredibly precise and deliberate," says runner-up Faldo. "Like playing against myself.") But the next year at Oak Hill Strange won through persistence, not pitiless pursuit. Starting the final round three shots behind Tom Kite, Strange parred the first 15 holes, then birdied the 16th (his first birdie in nearly two rounds). He closed with a 70, claiming his second Open as Kite stumbled to a 78.
Often overlooked is the feisty run that Strange made at a third-straight Open title. In 1990 at Medinah, however, something was amiss with his mechanics. "I was really doing it with smoke and mirrors," Strange says. Nevertheless, by Saturday night, he'd clawed to within two shots of the lead.
"There was a lot of buzz going around about a possible third straight," Strange says. "And I was just arrogant enough to think that I could do it. But I wasn't playing well. I remember I hit a bad shot on the second and I knew right then that it wasn't meant to be." He finished tied for 21st, six strokes behind winner Hale Irwin.
The decade marked a period of gradual decline. Strange stayed in the top 100 on the money list, but that's not enough for a man who'd round out his Tour career with 17 wins and $7.5 million in earnings. By 1997, encouraged by Jack Graham, a friend and a producer at ABC at the time, the fighter left the ring for the tower.
"It was an adjustment," Strange says. "I'd work a long day, but feel like I hadn't accomplished anything. I'd climb down from the tower and feel like I should go run five miles."
