Snow grows a winter mustache on the lip of a sand trap. Lonely fairways miss Mark Simpson, whose clubs have been bagged and put away for the last time.
Think this game of golf is humbling? Missing a 5-foot putt is nothing. How does a 55-year-old man accept incurable cancer with humor and dignity?
When he checked into a hospice on Thanksgiving eve, right away Simpson asked if his TV got The Golf Channel.
The game has been Simpson’s reason for living. Why should it be any different in death?
For nearly 30 years, Simpson has given hundreds of players at the University of Colorado more than swing pointers. He has tweaked a generation of golfers’ mind-sets for life.
There’s time for one more lesson from the old teaching pro. So drop that driver, grab a chair and listen close.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Simpson recently shared a secret with Steve Jones, the first kid he ever offered a CU scholarship way back in 1977, a player who would grow up to win more than $6 million on the PGA Tour.
“God did not give us the spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and self-discipline,” said Simpson, quoting from the Bible, citing a verse written centuries ago by a mentor who refused to die without leaving instructions to his disciple.
In a sport that requires the faith to smack a ball and pray the shot will carry 200 yards over a water hazard, it should come as no surprise golfers frequently cite the name of Jesus, sometimes in vain.
“I can hear Coach now, saying, ‘Bradley, never give up on a round. Never give up.’ He could snap hook every shot, but he would never give up, no matter what,” CU assistant golf coach Brad Neher said. “Coach Simpson never gives up. He never will give up. Not now. Not for all eternity.”
Simpson has always been lousy at keeping secrets. Men with big hearts usually are.
Play 18 holes with him, and you know Simpson’s core beliefs.
He believes one sweet walk up Magnolia Lane during the Masters is proof positive that God exists.
Simpson loves this crazy game because the satisfaction on your scorecard never equals more than the effort you, and you alone, put into preparation.
Golf is not a game of perfect, and neither is anybody who plays it. Simpson smoked like a chimney. He tried to hide his vice from CU athletes. No luck. During tourneys, players often passed Simpson, palming a cigarette in the rough, and advised the coach to move away from that tree, because it appeared to be on fire.
Simpson has earned induction to a Hall of Fame for golf coaches and stood on the first tee at the game’s birthplace in Scotland.
But one little sympathy card sitting somewhere in the hospice might be the best trophy Simpson has.
“It was time to bury the hatchet,” said Jonathan Kaye, explaining why he mailed a love note to a coach he once hated.
Kaye walked on the CU team in 1990, carrying every shot in his bag and a Buffalo-sized chip on his shoulder.
“I’m beating all the guys on his team, and this coach makes me beg for a scholarship,” recalled the 35-year-old Kaye, picturing himself as a college prankster who once booby-trapped Simpson’s cigarettes, which exploded in a puff of loud smoke, laughter billowing from a team van. “Coach and I didn’t see eye-to-eye. He was going to nurture the players CU had on scholarship. It was easy to kick a guy like me to the curb, which he eventually did.”
Kaye had the game to beat Phil Mickelson in college. He also showed the volatile temper to get kicked off the team by Simpson before a tourney, with the national championship at stake.
A feud was born. The irascible rebel Kaye played his own loud way, cashing more than $8 million in paychecks as a pro. Simpson put Kaye’s picture in a frame at the office. But the two men could barely speak civil words beyond “Hello.”
Sometimes, all that’s remembered from a tough lesson is hardness in the heart.
After cancer Simpson thought he had licked recently returned with a vengeance, and he played his final round, the coach opened a card in a stack of gratitude from former players.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Simpson has confided to friends and family why Kaye’s note brought a smile to a dying coach.
The penmanship on the card unmistakably belonged to a female. The rich golfer’s wife wrote it, then stuffed the words of peace in Kaye’s hands.
“But,” said Simpson, “it was signed by Jonathan.”
Sometimes, it can take years before those numbers on the scorecard add up and make sense.
“My motto,” said Kaye, “is it’s better to be kind than right.”
Sometimes, it takes years for the biggest lesson of an old golf pro to finally click.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
