The toughness of Cameron Smith

PONTE VEDRA BEACH, Fla. – His father gave him the golf part. Cameron Smith would go out with dad, Des, on weekends at Wantima Golf Club, first beating the old man when he was 12. RELATED: Final leaderboard | What’s in Smith’s bag? How he came by the toughness part, though, is harder to pinpoint. “I think both sides of my family, my mum and my dad’s side,” Smith said after making 10 birdies and staving off disaster on 18 to shoot 66 and win THE PLAYERS Championship on Monday. “Both have – just both mentally strong. They’re working-class people who have had to work their whole life to live basically, and yeah, I guess that’s just kind of what I grew up in.” Which means? Sharon Smith, Cameron’s mother, smiled from under her beige broad brim hat. “My father rode bulls,” she said as she walked the soggy back nine at the Stadium Course at TPC Sawgrass. “My mum made him choose, and he was smart. He picked her.” Strict constructionists will tell you it was Smith who grabbed this PLAYERS by the collar with five birdies in his first six holes and limited the damage of a wayward driver late on the back nine. But he brought a lot of people, those who came before him, along for the ride en route to his fifth PGA TOUR win. And it’s only when you get to know one of them, his maternal grandfather, that his seemingly preternatural toughness starts to make sense. Working class? John Hilliar, who will turn 83 next month, was the second-to-last of 13 kids growing up in Kempsey, New South Wales. The area is known for its national parks and farmland, and the Hilliar family made their living off the latter, milking cows and running cattle. “It was not a big house,” Sharon said. “They would fight for a bed after dinner.” Although Hilliar picked up golf recreationally, and Sharon expected her dad was almost certainly watching Smith from Brisbane on Monday, glued to the TV set, the sport that would make his grandson famous would have meant nothing to him then. The prospect of whether you used an interlocking or overlapping grip was immaterial next to whether you’d fixed the fence. “He has hard-working hands,” his daughter said. “They’ve done just about everything.” Sharon Smith stepped carefully around the soft areas on the course, careful to take the high ground. She said more than once that Cameron was a product of his father’s side, too. Cameron has settled in Ponte Vedra Beach, and he hadn’t seen Sharon or his little sister, Mel, in over two years. Late last month they made the long journey from Brisbane to Jacksonville. They were to meet him in baggage claim, but Cameron came as far toward the gate as security would allow. “Mel started crying first,” Sharon said. “Then I started crying.” And Cameron? “He had a bit of a giggle. He’s like me. He likes to keep things light.” It wasn’t until after Smith had salted away the tournament, the result becoming official only when Lahiri failed to birdie the 18th hole, that Smith blinked back tears, his voice breaking. “It’s just really nice to have them here,” he said. “It’s nice to give Mom a hug, and – yeah.” The three have been palling around, making up for lost time. Along with Smith’s agent, Bud Martin, they flew to Tampa last week to catch a hockey game between the Tampa Bay Lightning and Pittsburgh Penguins. They sailed around on Smith’s boat, ordering takeout from a popular restaurant just up the Intracoastal. They ventured as far south as St. Augustine. Cameron gets a kick out of the stories about his grandfather, but his toughness is a product of more than that. Generations he never even knew. The ethos of being a Queenslander. Also, he’s not always so tough. It’s not an accident that his first two individual victories on TOUR, at the Sony Open in Hawaii and the Sentry Tournament Champions, both came in Hawaii, Sharon said. “He likes Hawaii because it’s closest to home,” she said. “It’s only 10 hours.” At the start of his TOUR career, Smith suffered from acute homesickness. He tried to base himself in Australia, then, upon moving to Northeast Florida, kept flying home. He finally had to accept that it was just too far, and set about making a life for himself here, leaning on friends like Aron Price, himself an Aussie touring professional before turning to real estate. But Smith held fast to his working-class roots. He’s so tough, in part, because it’s his connection to home. “I think it’s probably just never give up,” he said. “I grew up watching rugby league and watching the Queenslanders come from behind, and even when it got gritty they’d somehow manage to win. I think that’s kind of instilled in all of us.” Said his pal Price, “He thinks head-to-head he’s got the wood on everyone.” That could mean world No. 1 Jon Rahm, whom Smith held off with a record-breaking performance at the Sentry Tournament of Champions in January. Or it could mean Justin Thomas, whom Smith beat in singles at the 2019 Presidents Cup at Royal Melbourne. “He thinks back to a time when he beat them,” Price said. “His self-belief is everything. I play a lot of golf with him. Even if he’s playing s— he’ll birdie the last three holes and take all your money. I don’t know where he gets it. His dad? Queenslanders are tough.” Sharon and Mel Smith will head back home on Friday. They wiped away tears, indulged the TV cameras. Cameron held them close, along with his girlfriend, Shanel Naoum. Cameron was bear-hugged by his friend and right-hand man, Jack Wilkosz, who was in tears. They shared the moment with Jack’s mom, also named Sharon, and her fiancé, and Cameron’s agent. It was Tuesday morning in Brisbane, where, one might imagine, an old man with working hands pointed the remote and clicked off the TV. His golfing grandson, rawhide-tough, had fought hard and prevailed. Cameron Smith would sleep well Monday night, in a bed of his own.

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