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Griffith cautiously suggested that most players would use a spoon. Snead walked all the way to the green and studied the shot from all angles. Then he pulled his No. 2 iron—a dangerous choice of weapons—from his bag and slammed the ball with everything he had. "It went like a rifle, 230 yards," says Griffith. "It was on the pin all the way." The ball stopped 18 inches from the cup, and Snead was down in three for an eagle.
Another time at the Greenbrier, Snead drove into tiger country and found that two trees were directly in his approach line to the green. He had only a three-foot avenue between. He selected a pitching wedge, lined up his shot, and blasted the ball 120 yards, right into the cup.
How He Plays. Snead is a thrilling performer to watch. With effortless grace he smacks the ball 300 yards or more, straight down the fairway. Explains Snead: "If you want to hit a nail especially hard with a hammer, you don't jerk it back and slash at it. Rather, you draw it far back, nice and slow, and, with careful aim, let 'er rip. Now why not drive a golf ball that way?" With the long irons Snead is just as impressive—a rare thing in a good woodsman. His chip and pitch performance with the short irons is executed with the most delicate finesse. He combines deftness and power with an acute sense of rhythm (Snead is an excellent dancer, has long had an untested theory that he could play better golf if music floated over the fairways). On the green his long, approach putts are skillful and deadly. His short putts—admittedly his weakest point—are erratic, although not nearly so bad as he himself seems to think. He has used more than 250 putters in his tournament career in a search for one he can use with confidence. At tournaments Snead carries the regulation number of 14 clubs, but he substitutes two extra irons for his No. 2 and No. 4 woods.
Snead talks to himself quietly during a tournament ("That'll be a little short . . . This one will stick"). He has never got over stage fright. Says he, pounding his chest: "Man, that thing has a heart in it, and the heart goes 'thump, thump, thump.' " Gamesmanship is practiced in golf more freely than in any other sport, and Snead has frequently been the victim of other players' psychological warfare.
In a tournament at Hot Springs in 1935, Snead loped through the first four rounds at the head of the pack until a critical pro asked: "What's wrong with your stance, Sam? You look ridiculous." Sam became acutely conscious of his stance, his game went to pieces, and he lost the match in the final round. An opponent taking off his glove or breathing heavily in the concentrated hush of a putting green will throw Snead off his game. A clicking camera infuriates him. "They try to get your nanny," he says.
But Snead has developed a deadly ploy of his own. When an opponent disconcerts him, Snead waits until the bedeviler is concentrating on a putt. Then he walks off the green. The sound of Sam's faithful fans following him is enough to crack the nerve of the most stoic Gamesman.
Snead himself is rarely stoic in defeat.