PONTE VEDRA BEACH, Fla. — Justin Leonard’s 1-iron, the forged Hogan club with a wad of lead tape fixed to the back and a top line as thin as a dollar bill, still sits in TPC Sawgrass’ clubhouse with the other clubs used by past winners of THE PLAYERS Championship. It looks even harder to hit today, in an era of hybrids and forgiving cavity-back clubs. With each passing day, it provides further proof of its owner’s overlooked skill. Leonard hung up his clubs a couple of years ago. Like the 1-iron, technology made players of his ilk obsolete. His early retirement makes it easy to forget that when he won THE PLAYERS Championship in 1998, he was drawing comparisons to Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson. That relic played an important role in Leonard’s victory two decades ago at TPC Sawgrass. He used it to make an eagle and near-ace in the final round. Both shots came on the front nine, though, and are lost in the shadow of his back-nine showdown with a 30-year-old local favorite who was seeking his first PGA TOUR title in front of friends, family and his high-school history teacher. Len Mattiace moved to Ponte Vedra Beach in April 1982, months after the first PLAYERS Championship at TPC Sawgrass, and graduated from nearby Allen D. Nease High School three years later. Mattiace remembers using a machete during science class to clear brush from the swampy area behind the school, much like Pete Dye had done to create the groundbreaking course that became the annual home of the PGA TOUR’s signature event. Neither Leonard nor Mattiace were the player who started the final round with a three-shot lead. That advantage belonged to Lee Janzen, a man who already had won THE PLAYERS Championship (1995) and was months from winning a second U.S. Open. He was in such control of his game that week that he was frustrated his lead wasn’t even larger. But, in further testament to the unpredictability of THE PLAYERS Championship, Janzen shot a final-round 79. His struggles cleared the stage for the largest comeback in the Stadium Course’s history, and its most heartbreaking defeat. Leonard and Mattiace combined for 14 birdies and an eagle in the final round. And a quintuple bogey. ONE FOR THE AGES The 1-iron holds a unique place in golf history. Gene Sarazen’s sand wedge was ingenious. The driver has been the focus of unrivaled innovation. And the putter, of course, is either the perpetual scapegoat or the great equalizer. But only the 1-iron is the subject of a joke about its difficulty to hit. Lee Trevino famously declared that “not even God can hit the 1-iron.â€� (Trevino later joked that getting struck by lightning was his penance for that comment.) The 1-iron is a remnant of a hardscrabble era when players toured the country in caravans, playing for pittance. Without the aid of NASA engineers and space-age technology, that generation had to dig it out of the dirt. The 1-iron is for fans of John Wayne and Johnny Cash. It was the single club used for some of the game’s most historic shots. Its sheer difficulty makes any success with it that much more memorable. Hitting into the heavy winds blowing off the Pacific Ocean, Jack Nicklaus one-hopped a 1-iron off the flagstick on the 71st hole of the 1972 U.S. Open. Another shot he hit with that club – to the final green in the 1967 U.S. Open – earned him a plaque in Baltusrol Golf Club’s 18th fairway. Ben Hogan, survivor of a head-on collision with a Greyhound bus, hit one into the 18th green of the 1950 U.S. Open at Merion. His statuesque finish as he watches that shot is still one of the game’s iconic images. Hogan died in 1997, the same year Leonard won The Open Championship, but he would have been proud of how his fellow Texan wielded the club bearing his name at the 1998 PLAYERS. On TPC Sawgrass’ second hole, Leonard hit it to 12 feet to set up his eagle. Six holes later, he used it off the tee on the Stadium Course’s toughest par 3, the 215-yard eighth hole. Hitting a slight fade, his ball hit in the center of the green and rolled within a foot of the hole. Fathers are famously biased, but Larry Leonard was correct in his assessment when he told Sports Illustrated, “When he roped that 1-iron in there, I thought, ‘You just don’t see any better golf shots.’” It’s a shot Leonard had been preparing for on the eve of the final round. Between the late tee times and myriad media obligations, leaders are lucky if they can squeeze in a couple minutes on the range before the sun sets Saturday evening. You sign up for everything when you put that tee in the ground. Leonard used his limited time to work on that push-fade. “It was a shot that I had struggled with a couple times during the week,â€� he said. “I remember Saturday evening hitting that shot off the tee, trying to hold it a little left-to-right. I thought that it was a shot that I might have at 8 or 16. And, sure enough, I had it at 8 and pulled it off.â€� Mattiace also had an important epiphany on the range that evening. The same swing thought led to his magical play in the final round … and may have aided in his tragic demise. Mattiace was bothered by a few drives he missed right during the third round. He was working with instructor Jim McLean at the time, but Mattiace’s older brother Bob was always a reliable second set of eyes. So, the brothers headed to the range that Saturday evening to sort things out. “The key was turning through the ball instead of stopping at it,â€� Mattiace recalled. “Then I could release the face instead of leaving it open.â€� ‘LOOK AT HER AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE’ Len’s two older brothers, Ken and Bob, both played professional golf on various tours around the world, but their little brother was the only one to make it to the PGA TOUR. Their father, Lou, was a club champion at Garden City Golf Club who introduced his sons to the game. He built a putting green and bunkers on their big backyard on Long Island. The boys could hit 60-yard wedge shots back there. “My dad asked the greens superintendent at Garden City for help and bought a used push mower,â€� Len said. “My brother Ken cut the green in the morning and I cut it in the afternoon. There was not a weed on the green. It was rolling as fast as (TPC Sawgrass’) greens during tournament play.â€� Len eventually earned his first TOUR card after pulling off a risky recovery on the final hole of the 1992 Q-School, hitting a high hook with a 6-iron through a small chute in the trees to a green fronted by water. A par on the last hole allowed him to graduate without a shot to spare. “I remember the 4-foot putt like it was yesterday,â€� Len said. “I drove from Houston to home nonstop. It’s 1,000 miles. It was a huge accomplishment. My brothers were still trying to make it. They were over in Asia and Canada. It was an accomplishment that was a long time coming. For everybody.â€� Len was the family’s standard bearer, and that continued at the 1998 PLAYERS, where he was playing for a family coping with one of life’s tragic turns. He was driving to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, for the 1997 Heritage when he received the phone call that his mother, Joyce, had lung cancer. Joyce Mattiace was known for her a soft side. She was the one who offered support and encouragement, Len said. Now, as she watched THE PLAYERS from a wheelchair, her youngest son was looking to her once again. Her lung cancer had been declared inoperable. “I had a sports psychologist, Fran Pirozzolo. He had the foresight to see what’s coming. He didn’t say enjoy it. He said, ‘Look at her as much as possible and capture that,’â€� Len said. “And I did.â€� He started the final round of the 1998 PLAYERS in fourth place, six shots off the lead. The swing key he’d ingrained Saturday evening was still there when he warmed up Sunday. He hit his opening tee shot down the fairway. Then he made a 40-footer for birdie. “It just kept getting better and better,â€� Mattiace said. He chipped in on 10. Then he took the lead after knocking a wedge close on the short 12th hole. It was his third consecutive birdie, and seventh of the day. By the time he stepped to the 17th tee, he was one shot back. Leonard had taken the lead with a run of unconscious putting. He one-putted six consecutive holes from 10-15, holing birdie putts of 20 feet or longer on Nos. 10, 13 and 14. ‘WE’RE TRAINED NOT TO SAY ANYTHING’ The 1998 PLAYERS Championship was Gary Koch’s first in the tower behind the 17th tee. He assumed the role after Dave Marr, winner of the 1965 PGA Championship, succumb to cancer the previous October. Koch, a six-time TOUR winner who still calls THE PLAYERS for NBC, said NBC producer Tommy Roy tells his crew to ascribe to a “less is moreâ€� philosophy on one of golf’s most famous holes. “We’re trained there at 17 that, once the club is pulled, you try not to say anything after that because you want to kind of let the scene play naturally,â€� Koch said. There were no hospitality tents at 17 back then. Instead, the mounds that form an amphitheater around the green were filled by some 10,000 people. Mattiace had controlled his emotions all day — until playing partner Scott Hoch knocked it stiff right in front of him. Hoch tapped Mattiace on the backside and told him, “You hit it close too.â€� It was an unexpected gesture. Now the adrenaline started pumping. Thirty-seven seconds passed from when Mattiace teed up his ball until the start of his swing. The scene was too big for NBC’s crew, especially Johnny Miller, to let it pass. This is the dialogue that occurred during Mattiace’s pre-shot routine: Miller: “You want to see somebody really nervous, maybe the most nervous you’ll ever see a pro? This is it. We’ll see if he can do it. I hope he can hit a good shot, but I’m telling you, he is way over his comfort line.â€� Koch: “You know there must be some serious churning going on in his stomach. Heart pounding.â€� Miller: “He’s played this hole birdie-par-par, though. That’s pretty good. See if he can do it.â€� The fans erupted immediately after impact. Mattiace stared down the shot. NBC’s Roger Maltbie declared that the ball was headed right for the hole. Then the announcers go silent. The screams turn to shrieks as the ball flies over the green and into the water. It never touched land. Watching from the 16th green, Tom Lehman said he could tell the ball was hit too hard as soon as it left the clubface. Finally, Miller said: “You think he wasn’t pumped up, guys?â€� After Mattiace asked his caddie if the ball went in the water, the camera cut to an image of Joyce Mattiace in her wheelchair. As NBC showed an aerial replay of the shot, Miller pointed out the same swing key that led to Mattiace’s success on the previous 16 holes. Mattiace’s aggressive move through impact, as well as the adrenaline flowing through his body, caused his 9-iron to fly some 15 yards farther than normal. “It was really a very fine swing,â€� Miller told the TV audience. “He really released his right side big time. It was a great shot, huh, Gary?â€� But it was too far. Koch said recently that he was concerned as soon as he learned that Mattiace pulled 9-iron. Many players had opted for pitching wedge because the hole played slightly downwind. And then you have to factor in the adrenaline. Miller has made a living out of his blunt assessments of players’ performances late on Sunday. His colleague, Dick Enberg, practically declared Miller prophetic after Mattiace hit his tee shot in the water. “The first thing I saw was that in 63 events, his career earnings were $713,000 total and he was playing for $720,000. … That oughta do it,â€� Miller continued as Mattiace prepared to play from the drop area. “He hasn’t been here before. You just couldn’t expect him not to be waaay nervous.â€� The tee shot wasn’t the end of Mattiace’s troubles at 17, though. After taking his one-stroke penalty and a drop, he hit a wedge shot into the front right bunker. More disaster followed – his bunker shot also sailed over the green and into the water. Another drop and penalty stroke followed. He then chipped onto the green and two-putted for an 8. Mattiace actually summoned the strength to birdie the last hole. It was his ninth birdie of the day, and a testament to his fortitude. What club did he hit into the final green? A 9-iron. The same club he hit on 17. Only this time he accounted for the extra yardage. ‘HE SEEMED TO BE SO MUCH IN CONTROL’ Leonard, his navy-blue Hogan hat pulled low over his eyes, was known for his stoicism on the course. The Stadium Course was a perfect fit. It didn’t demand extraordinary length off the tee, but it rewarded exquisite control and cool decision-making. Dye designed it so that players who took aggressive lines off the tee, often aiming toward the trouble, were rewarded with better angles into the green. Miscues were severely penalized, though. Leonard had a four-shot lead after Mattiace’s 8, but even Leonard knew that advantage wasn’t safe entering the Stadium Course’s hazard-laden last two holes. That’s why he broke character after his tee shot on 17 found the green, staring directly into the camera and letting out a large exhale as he rolled his eyes back in his head. Avoiding the water meant he could play safely on 18. A lackadaisical three-putt was just his second bogey of the day. He won by two shots over winless journeyman Glen Day and Tom Lehman, who preceded Leonard as The Open champion and reached No. 1 in the world ranking less than a year earlier. It was the fourth PGA TOUR win for Leonard, then 25, and the third in a row where he overcame a five-shot deficit in the final round. He had won the previous year’s Open Championship and finished second in the PGA Championship. Now he beat the strongest field in golf. He moved inside the top 10 of the world ranking for the first time. He also had a U.S. Amateur and NCAA Championship on his resume. “He had a way of playing, he seemed to be so much in control,â€� Koch said. “He was rarely out of play, which back then still worked. That’s not necessarily the case anymore.â€� Growing up in Texas, Leonard was a throwback who looked up to Hogan and Byron Nelson. He was one of the last players to use a persimmon driver, as well as the 1-iron. He finally had to give it up after the advent of solid-core golf balls. It was too hard to get the club airborne with the lower-spinning balls. The distance boom also left the 5-foot-9 Leonard in the dust. He would win eight more times, but his last win came in 2008. He retired eight years later at the age of 44 and moved from Texas to the Colorado mountains to enjoy the outdoors with his family. ‘I GOT TO SEE THE SON I RAISED’ Mattiace’s grace in defeat moved not only the large television audience that watched THE PLAYERS, but also his mother. “She said, ‘I saw my son play a wonderful round and then I read what people wrote about him and I got to see the son I raised. What is more important? To see him win his first event or see what a class act my Len is?â€� Len’s wife, Kristen, told Golf World magazine in 2004. It took several weeks for Len to get over the tough defeat at the 1998 PLAYERS, though. He could hear the murmurs in the crowd whenever he teed it up. But he was buoyed from the hundreds of letters he received. Some were mailed to PGA TOUR headquarters. Others somehow found his home address. “I’m just out playing a golf tournament, trying to capture moments with my mother, and a lot of people connected with that and felt moved to write,â€� Mattiace said. “A lot of people were touched because they had a family member who was dying. They could grasp it because they relived their last few months with their family member.â€� Joyce Mattiace watched her son play again at the Heritage a few weeks later. Len again found himself in contention, starting the final round in fourth place, four shots back. He shot 76 on Sunday, though. Joyce Mattiace suffered a stroke shortly after that left her without the ability to talk. She passed away that June. Len finally won his first PGA TOUR title at Riviera in 2002. Then he won a few months later at the FedEx St. Jude Classic. Those would be his only two wins. Another heartbreaking loss would come a year later after another magical run on a Sunday. Mattiace was 8 under for the first 17 holes in the final round of the 2003 Masters. He bogeyed the last hole, then waited as Mike Weir tied him. Mattiace made double-bogey on the first hole of their sudden-death playoff. Later that year, Mattiace crashed while skiing, tearing the ACL and MCL in both knees. He was never the same player. But Mattiace can still be spotted most days at TPC Sawgrass. He still loves the game. Still embraces its challenges. He plays and practices at the site of his difficult defeat. When he enters the clubhouse, the small locker room reserved for PLAYERS champions is just to his left, through a pair of swinging saloon doors. He turns right, though, to change his shoes in the same room as the members and other TOUR players who call the course home. And Mattiace is still willing to talk about that week because he feels he’d be short-changing the game that has given him so much if he didn’t share his story. “That’s part of the history, for good and for bad,â€� he said recently. “I blew that tournament but there was a lot of good in that, as well. We didn’t want that to happen, but you sign up for everything when you put that tee in the ground.â€� The 1998 PLAYERS Championship proved that.
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