John Daly is crying out for help.
Again.
He's caught in yet another downward spiral of self-destruction, chain smoking his way around golf courses, swiping at golf balls, backhanding putts and shooting 80s. He's drinking. His weight is soaring.
He has become a caricature of the worst country-western song imaginable. His personal life has taken another you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it soap-opera turn. His who-gives-a-damn attitude has torn apart what's left of another less than memorable season and the remnants of what was once an incredibly promising career.
So Big John did what he always does. He got on his knees and tried to beg his way out of the doghouse.
It didn't work.
Instead of an open door, Daly found himself talking to the hand. A firm hand. One that said enough is -- finally -- enough.
Call it tough love.
And say a prayer that it works. Daly needs the help.
This isn't just about a couple of backhanded putts. Or another marriage gone wrong. Or another drinking binge.
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| John Daly is getting another chance to get his life in order. It's up to him whether he takes advantage of it.(Getty Images) |
It was Henry Hughes, the Tour's chief of operations, who convinced Daly, as Golf World first reported, that a voluntary decision to undergo counseling and begin a long-term program to deal with everything from substance abuse to anger, health and financial management would be the way to save his career.
And, just maybe, his life.
Technically Daly wasn't suspended by the Tour. But was he seriously urged to deal with his problems and spend time thinking about how he has spun out control again? You bet.
"This was voluntary," Hughes told Golf World. "John has reached out for assistance, and we've put him in touch with people who will develop a baseline program designed to get him healthier and make him a better person."
Ironically, the decision came two weeks after Daly won the Korean Open in an upset. He tried to use that as proof he was ready to play in Orlando. The Tour wasn't biting.
Daly has made just eight cuts all season and only one since the Buick Open. He did finish tied for seventh in the comfy confines of the Houston Open, but after that? Try T38 at the Buick Open and a bunch of T56s. And there was the unpleasant moment at the Classic of Pennsylvania when he hyperventilated and later withdrew due to dehydration.
What was already a bad season deteriorated into a truly ugly one -- and we have seen them all -- in July when, five days after giving birth to a son, fourth-wife Sherrie and her parents were indicted on charges of laundering drug-related money in Mississippi. That's when Daly started another freefall.
The final straw for the Tour? His second-round 83 -- his fifth round in the 80s this year -- at the Southern Farm Bureau Classic when he backhanded some putts and swiped the ball out of the rough with a one-handed swing.
It was time for someone to step in. Again.
Two stints in alcohol rehab. A decision to resume drinking that cost him his $3 million endorsement contract with Callaway. Trashed hotel rooms. A lifetime of the wrong women. Public arguments that make Jerry Springer shows seem PG-13.
Changes he swears he's making that never completely take hold. A personal life that no matter how crazy the twist, you know the next one is going to be crazier. Hands reaching out to grab at him from everywhere. A heart so big he can't say no. Three children to support on a shrinking bank account. A group of friends and managers who stand by helplessly, wondering if they'll be able to catch him the next time he falls.
Enough sad stories to fill a honky tonk for a year. And the kid is only 37.
So many highs. So many lows. So many chances to pull it together.
Yet he hasn't.
It would be easy to say deal with it and put him out of our minds, yet we can't.
Daly reminds us of actor Robert Downey Jr., whose battles with drugs have wrecked his career and his life. Downey just finished the first drug-free movie of his career and said the key to sobriety is dignity. Finding it. Understanding it. Living it.
We hope for his sake, this time he really means it.
What draws us to guys like Daly and Downey is simple. Their frailties are as real as our own. Their talent can take our breath away as easily as their constant plunges to rock bottom rip at our hearts. We can't stop pulling for them. We want them to get it. To realize 12 steps isn't just for addicts, it's for everyone. Every day.
But the harsh truth is they may never get it.
Downey found a strong woman to help him. And Daly? We'd like to think he'll take advantage of Hughes and that firm hand.
This isn't just another rehab. It's a chance to pull it together. Maybe his last one.
Hughes has reached out with the firm compassion that any CEO or vice president or manager should have for lost souls in their organization. He has given Daly an opportunity to make changes in a life that's not working and find that dignity Downey talks about. Hughes has even given him a road map -- a program filled with specialists to walk him through it.
Now, it's up to Daly to want it. His career and his life depend on it.
Daly didn't return calls to his cell phone but we hope one day he does. We want to hear him say, like Downey did, that living life means dealing with it. Not letting it manhandle him.
We want to see the John Daly who disarms the crowds with his country charm and grip-it-and-rip-it drives, not the one who has become an embarrassment to himself and a distraction to everyone in the field. We want him to understand his frailties and turn them into strengths. We want to see him play out his career as a two-time major champion, not as a one-swing-away-from-self-destruction country horror show.
We don't want to see him lose it all and be remembered as a great talent who couldn't stay out of his own way, as a man with a career and life unfulfilled.
Maybe he'll return the call soon and say he grabbed that firm hand. That he's sober. That he gets it. And wants it.
That he's working on that dignity. One day at a time.
It's all we -- or he -- can ask.
