The Way of an Eagle by Bob Darden, P. J. Richardson, Robert Darden

Paul Azinger

Sure, Paul Azinger has won eleven tournaments. And no doubt you know that he's won tournaments seven years in a row. You may even know that he's earned more than seven million dollars on the PGA Tour. And you probably watched the improbable bunker shot on the eighteenth green at Memorial. But none of Paul Azinger's accomplishments match his defeat of lymphatic cancer.

That Azinger is still playing is a greater victory than any on the Tour in recent memory.

Azinger isn't all the way back. He hasn't won a tournament since the 1993 PGA Championship. And it may be a while before he's atop the earnings board once again. But Paul Azinger is a winner for now and for all time.

His heroic struggle with lymphoma, his gutsy comeback, and his inspirational message have all touched more people-golfers and non-golfers alike-than he'll ever know.

And when you've come back from the brink of sudden death elimination on life's eighteenth hole, every day from there on is the best day of all.

Ask Paul Azinger.

I was probably the happiest guy on earth.

On the last hole of the 1993 Memorial Tournament, I holed a bunker shot to win. There's just no greater feeling than to win a tournament that way.

It was the bunker shot of my life. I was just hoping to get the ball our softly on the green. So when it coasted toward the hole and into the cup. I was in shock. The birdie put me one shot ahead of my good friend, Payne Stewart, giving me my first victory of the year and extending my winning streak to seven consecutive years.

It was the thrill of a lifetime.

Reading about myself the next day and enjoying the satisfaction that came with winning the tournament gave me the contentment that only winning can bring.

The next week at the Westchester Classic, I was looking forward to explaining to the press how I hit the winning bunker shot-about the little lump of sand behind the ball. And how it was all I could do to whack the sand so the ball would float over the lip and trickle gently into the hole.

But they didn't ask me about the bunker shot.

The first question was, "Paul, now that you've won the Memorial, you're probably the best player in the world who's never won a major. What do you need to do differently to win a major championship?"

Suddenly, all the contentment I felt form winning the Memorial was stolen from me-just like that. So much for being the happiest guy on earth.

Now the pressure was on me to win a major championship.

A few weeks later, I had a chance to do it at the U.S. Open at Baltusrol. I ended up finishing third-losing by only three shots. I was pretty satisfied with my performance, but I was also greatly disappointed that I had let the opportunity get away. But I figured with the PGA Championship coming up, I'd have another chance.

During the practice rounds at Inverness for the PGA's, I was nervous. I knew how good I was hitting the ball and had every reason to believe that I could contend. After shooting 69-66 the first two rounds, I was four shots behind the leader, Vijay Singh.

Before coming to the PGA Championship, I was having a lot of pain in my right shoulder. My doctor was concerned and did a MRI to look at the bone a few weeks earlier. The results came in, and on Friday night, two rounds into the tournament, I received a phone call from Dr. Jobe.

"Zinger, that shoulder looks abnormal to me," he said with a serious tone. "I'd like to do a biopsy."

"When do you want to do it?" I asked.

"Tuesday or Thursday of next week."

"Dr. Jobe," I pleaded, "I'm playing great. I've got a chance to win the PGA. The Ryder Cup's coming up. Can't we do it later?"

"Well, it could be some kind of infection," he said. "I'm going to give you some antibiotics. Keep taking an anti-inflammatory, and we'll put it off."

The next day I shot a 69, followed by a 68. I birdied four of the last seven holes and was fortunate enough to get into a play-off with Greg Norman. And I was even more fortunate that a couple of his putts didn't go in. After two play-off holes, I had won my first major championship.

Talk about contentment and happiness! I really was the happiest guy on earth. I'd gotten the press off my back for life. This was the ultimate. I had won major championship, and I would probably never have to deal with pressure from the media again.

That is, until after the Ryder Cup.

A few weeks after the PGA's, the press was at it again. Now the big question was, "Paul, now that you've won the PGA and two other tournaments this year, you have a chance to be the leading money winner and player of the year. What are you going to do differently? Are you going to continue your schedule/"

I thought, Is this ever going to stop? It just never ends!

The joy I felt from winning the PGA started to wane.

It's almost like buying a new car. At first you don't want anybody touching it. You wash it every week. Then, a couple weeks later, you might wash it again. Then you wash it every three months. The next thing you know, someone dings it, and you don't even care.

The contentment from being a major champion was slowly dissolving.

Nick Price ended up being Player of the Year and leading money winner. I was about $250,000 short. But, obviously, the year was a tremendous success.

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