remembering seve

i cried when i heard he was gone—and i know i was far from alone in feeling such a profound sense of loss. to generations of european golfers, seve ballesteros was both an icon and a hero, a shining, smiling and joyous example to us all in the way he played his golf and, most of all, a seemingly endless source of fantastic entertainment. well, it wasn’t endless of course. nothing is. and now he is dead at the ridiculously early age of 54. like everyone else, i felt cheated he wasn’t at st. andrews last july for the british open, when he would surely have received the

01

long and heartfelt acclaim his rich genius deserved. the tributes have poured in since saturday when, surrounded by his family, he passed away in his home village of pedrena, on spain’s northern coast. all have made noble and earnest attempts at capturing the essence of the man, the golfer. but we have all failed in that regard. mere words could never be enough to sum up seve; you had to feel him and experience him first hand to even begin to know the presence and charisma of a unique individual who was, by any measure, one of golf’s true greats. —John Huggan