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NIThis is a young Seve Ballesteros swinging the driver during his first Open Championship victory. In the interview that follows (~1980), he explains why he doesn’t have a swing coach. He says he prefers to manage the swing himself, that he wants to keep a “fresh mind.” He believes that if you put too many things in your head, it only leads to confusion.
At this point, he had already won two majors. And we know what’s coming. In the late ’80s, Seve begins working with swing instructors. He goes down the rabbit hole. And while he still played brilliant golf at times—winning majors, becoming the heart and soul of the Ryder Cup—a piece of his early mastery was still missing, the kind he had in this earlier phase of his career.
Was it the back injury? Doubt? The pursuit of getting better? Too many wild shots? One too many heartbreaks? I don’t know. It’s a question I’d love to ask him.
Seve understood greatness to be authentic. Instinctive. In part DNA, and perhaps even God-given. Miles Davis once said it took him years to learn how to play like himself. Seve was the opposite—he knew how to play like himself from the very start. And yet, he changed.
Who’s to say he was better or worse for it? Not changing might have made him a worse player as his body aged.
That said, for me, there’s nothing better than seeing a truly special player play uninhibited—fully expressing every unique gift without hesitation or second guessing. That was Seve at his best.
(Note: Technically, I think his brother was an instructor of sorts early on, if not a second set of eyes) #seve #seveballesteros
@nickspeargolf
