Copyright 2004 Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service
Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service
Detroit Free Press
April 9, 2004, Friday
SECTION: SPORTS
KR-ACC-NO: K2321
LENGTH: 781 words
BYLINE: By Drew Sharp
AUGUSTA, Ga. _ Fighting through tears welling in his eyes, Tom Watson scrambled to pull up a laugh from the deep grief within.
What's there to smile about after you've just lost the person who was the yang to your ying for most of the past 30 years of your golfing life?
Watson was mad, cursing fate's unfairness, angered that he was helpless in his dear friend's duel against an insidious disease that does not lose.
But there's comforting solace in this: Those treasured memories endure.
And any story remembering Bruce Edwards ultimately ends with a smile.
Edwards, Watson's longtime caddie, died Thursday at his home in Florida after a courageous battle against amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. He was only 49.
"Damn this disease!" Watson cried. "Damn it!"
The incurable neurodegenerative illness, commonly referred to as Lou Gehrig's disease, had wasted away Edwards' body, but never deflated one ounce of his spirit. He spat at his affliction. He teased it, not once bowing to it. He never gave it the satisfaction that it had so unfairly consumed his very existence.
"When somebody came up to put their arm around him and say, 'Bruce, I'm so sorry,' he'd say, 'Don't feel sorry for me, I can deal with it,' " Watson recalled. "And then he'd put them off with a joke about the Eagles or how bad the Cowboys were. He hated the Cowboys and loved the Eagles" of the NFL.
Edwards died two hours before Watson was scheduled to start his first round at the Masters.
Edwards' wife, Marsha, telephoned Watson's wife, Hilary, about 15 minutes after Edwards passed away at 6:26 a.m.
"I had left Hilary, and she was going back to the house," Watson said. "I was just doing my normal routine. I was in the champions' locker room and a guy at the door said Hilary was at the door. And I knew exactly what it meant."
Only briefly did Watson entertain the possibility of withdrawing from the tournament. If he did that, he thought, Edwards would chastise him, as he occasionally had in the past. But Edwards was with him in spirit and verse.
Edwards sent Watson a copy of his Masters yardage book last week. Watson kept it in his back pocket throughout Thursday's round, referring to it on the par-fives. Who better than Edwards would know the limitations of Watson, a two-time Masters champion? That's the way it is in these golfer-caddie relationships. One gets an itch, and the other one scratches.
Is it any wonder Watson conceded that he felt somewhat lost on the course?
That loneliness didn't really hit Watson until two-time U.S. Open champion Andy North approached him on the practice range with condolences. Watson broke down and cried. North placed his arm around Watson and said if he wanted to pay tribute to Edwards, he should do what Ben Crenshaw did.
Crenshaw lost his beloved golfing mentor, Harvey Penick, on the eve of the 1995 Masters. He went out and won his second green jacket in one of this prestigious tournament's most decorated moments.
Watson shot a four-over-par 76 on Thursday.
"I did think that we were going to have more time," Watson said. "It's been 15 months since he was diagnosed, but you knew even before then that something was wrong because he was slurring his words.
"He knew he was in trouble when he went into a bar one time. He had not had a drink. He ordered a drink and the guy says, 'I'm not serving you, you're drunk.' And Bruce says, 'Hold on here.' That woke him up right there."
And a laugh found its way to Watson's face.
"You laugh about it," he said, "but he wants you to laugh about it. Bruce would want you to laugh about some of the tough things that he went through, not feel sorry for him."
Edwards was honored Wednesday night, receiving the Ben Hogan Award at the national golf writers' dinner. His father, Jay, accepted the award in his son's absence and passionately spoke of his courage and his sense of humor in those final weeks.
Watson has taken a strong lead in raising research money and national awareness about ALS in the past year. Interestingly, there was another one-man crusade on Washington Road, just outside Augusta National. It was a vendor accepting whatever contributions he could for the Bruce Edwards Trust.
"There's a great verse called St. Augustine's poem that I always send to people who've lost a loved one," Watson said. "It says don't cry for me, but remember the most important things of my life and what I represented in my life and make that your memory of me, not my death."
And then Watson smiled brightly, the perfect salute to his friend.