Paul Goydos is 42 years old, and a portly 5″9″, 190 lbs. He hits sort of a cut shot (i.e, a controlled slice), not terribly far, but extremely reliable.
He putts with one of those huge, ugly mallet putters – a TaylorMade Rossa Monza – that looks like a model of a space ship, or a branding iron, or a medical device.
And he doesn’t even have a sponsor. He wears a hat with the logo of the Long Beach State 49ers, and a mock turtleneck in the final rounds of The Players Championship.
When Goydos was asked why he buttoned his shirt all the way up the on Saturday, he deadpanned, “I don’t have any shoulders. If I didn’t button it, my shirt would fall off.”
Goydos is every man.
Sergio is the Euro-chic twenty-something who parties with supermodels, jets around the globe, has a putting coach and a swing coach and a sports psychologist and a trainer and a handler and an agent. He has been known to spit in the cup out of anger.
“Sunshine” Goydos is ironically nicknamed, but he is well-liked. He’s Everyman.
And today, he came a yard from winning for all of us who are not on the permanent guest list at Joy Esclava nightclub in Madrid. Even those of us who have been on that guest list were pulling for Goydos.
Well done, Paul.
And all you equipment companies, pony up some dough and sponsor Goydos. Play to your customer base. The folks stumbling home from European discos at sunrise are not heading to the links.
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Jason Scott Deegan:
The Accidental Golfer:
Katharine Dyson:
Kiel Christianson:
Are you listening? I doubt it. Tradition, yes, Elitism must be eliminated from Golf. Mr. Goydos had all of us in his corner.