Samuel Jackson Snead had never forgotten his three most horrible minutes of golf, at Philadelphia's swanky Spring Mill course eight years ago. On the final hole, with golf's greatest prizethe U.S. Open all but won, Sammy swung at the ball. There was a cloud of sand but he had missed the ball; it rolled feebly to the edge of a sand trap. Sammy swung again. The ball plunked to the edge of a trap on the opposite side of the green. To cap his rout, he missed a one-foot putt.
Last week at the St. Louis Country Club, Sammy Snead trudged onto...
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