Drinks With Lucas Parsons

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He turned pro aged 21 and for a decade was among the country’s best players, winning nine times around the world;

Orange-born golfer Lucas Parsons had a glittering amateur career, winning the Australian and New Zealand Amateur titles. He turned pro aged 21 and for a decade was among the country’s best players, winning nine times around the world, including the 2000 Greg Norman International. But from the age of 30, with the golf world seemingly a this feet, he didn’t win again. What happened? He shares a few beers with Inside Sport at the Coogee Bay Hotel and gives his version.

In your third start as a professional, in the 1992 Air New Zealand-Shell Open, you lost a play-off to Nick Price. Would’ve been a buzz?

Great buzz. We were both 10-under after four rounds. Third was 3-under. He was playing in the group in front and all I could see was his arse pickingthe ball out of the hole. It was an event that I walked away from thinking, “Well, I couldn’t play any better.” I wasn’t disappointed about running second; I did everything in my power to win, but he did something more special. He was world-class. He’d just won the US PGA.

Life on the Australasian Tour in the ‘90s must’ve been fun. Lot of tournaments, a bit of money. You were in your 20s. Any stories fit to print? Ever play with a skinful?

[Laughs] Mate, what goes on tour stays on tour! But yeah, I’ve done it a couple of times, nothing to be proud of. At the Australian Masters [in 1998], I’d split up with my first wife, so I was a bit emotionally ... loose, if that’s the term. And I shot 76 in the first round. Now, the Masters at Huntingdale, I considered it my event. It was very special. The previous year I’d shot 9-under, broken the course record. On this day, Bradley Hughes (who went on to win) shot 10-under. So I went out that Thursday night, had dinner with people, had a few too many. Woke up under the weather. I was off early. Preparation not ideal. I saw my physio and said, “I’m crook, I’ve got the flu.” So he put these glass things on my back, these hot, suction cup things. And I went out and after 17 holes was 10-under. Par the last and I’d equal Hughesy’s record.

What happened?

[Laughs] Oh mate, I hit it behind a tree, had to chip out, made bogey. A big night wasn’t a formula for playing well, but I got away with one.

The European Tour seemed to suit you. You’re a food person (Parsons was a finalist in the first season of Masterchef in 2009), a people person ...

It was fantastic. As an Aussie, the older guys, if they liked you, would look after you. Peter O’Malley, Peter Senior, Brett Ogle, Rodger Davis, Frank Nobilo. There were 28 or 30 Antipodeans on the Tour and each week you’d play golf, have a shower and meet up with ten guys asking, “Where are we going?” And you’d go and experience the south of France, and eat at a 300-year-old restaurant, drink vin rouge. You’d eat chateaubriand, which is a thick end of an eye-fillet. And it’s six feet high and comes out hot on a stone, with Bearnaise sauce. It was one of the most memorable things, and we’d do it every year. We’d talk footy, cricket. It was a great way of life outside golf.

Then you got a card on the US PGA Tour, but it didn’t work out. Why?

All I’d ever wanted to do was get on the US Tour and win in the States. But it was a learning curve. I didn’t like the place that much. And I did what a lot of the young guys do, which is take a lot of advice but forget to focus on what I did well, and what got me there. 

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Why didn’t you like it?

Maybe it’s different today; there are a lot more Aussies over there. Back then it was Norman, Baker-Finch, Wayne Grady, Brett Ogle. I remember playing with a fellah called Hugh Royer III. I’d been drawn with him three times and we got on fine. After a round I asked him what he was doing later; did he want to grab a beer, have some dinner. And he looked at me and asked, “Why?” I said, “Y’know, to eat.” He said, “No, not really. I’ve got my family, things to do.” And he looked at me like ... Jeez. And that little moment meant a lot to me. At the time my partner was back in Australia pregnant with our first child. It got a bit lonely.

See any drugs on tour? Performance enhancers? Cocaine?

Don’t know about cocaine. I’ve never seen anything more than the occasional person puffing on a joint. As for steroids, I’ve heard stories. But stories are stories.

Best moment in golf?

The Greg Norman International (in 2000) was my best win. My best moment in golf was playing for Australia in the World Cup in Argentina. Peter O’Malley and I, we took on Tiger Woods and David Duval, number one and two in the world, and nearly pipped them.

What about the British Open in 2000?

Playing the Open at St Andrews was something I’d always wanted to do. I only played two Majors (the other was the ’96 US Open). I made the cuts. Got off to a good start at St Andrews, four-under after seven, name top of the leaderboard. But the old story, don’t get too far ahead of yourself. Hit one to ten feet on nine, three-putted and stopped the momentum. You get excited being in a Major and performing well. Guys like Appleby and Allenby, they’ve played 50 Majors, even they still get kind of anxious. But mate, just playing in the British Open, to do it at St Andrews ... it was my best year.

So there you are, aged 30, it would seem your best golf ahead of you. Yet you didn’t win again. How come?

A few reasons, none of any great stature. Maybe I got a bit complacent. Took a couple of months off and lost the hunger. Then I came back in 2001, had some injuries. It was where I started going downhill a bit. I had recurring back problems which I worked hard on but probably too hard. I was getting leaner, down to 90kg. But the harder I worked the more I’d break down. I didn’t give myself any rest. I drove myself into the ground.

What sort of advice were you getting?

You do get good advice, but it’s a bit like being in love: you’re blind. Now I know what was wrong, but I didn’t then. You go out for five years believing

it’s the right thing. You come out the other end and you wonder, “What was I thinking?” If I could tell a young guy something today it’d be, “Remember your strengths. Work on your weaknesses, but remember your strengths.”

The public sees golfers as “process-driven” and “focused” and all that sports-psych stuff. And golfers can seem a bit mechanical, even boring because of it. Fair cop?

A lot of it is front. But you do have to be incredibly focused. And the media hates it because it’s boring. The more focused the individual is, the more boring he’ll be to talk to. In the Greg Norman tournament I think I was leading by one heading into the last round and I was just talking about doing what works, taking it one shot at a time. And this journo, (Inside Sport columnist) Richard Hinds, was trying to bait me. He said, “Tomorrow when that doesn’t work, how are you going to feel?” I said, “I haven’t thought about it.” He asked again, “Yeah, but when it doesn’t work, how ... “ I said, “Mate, I haven’t thought about it. Let’s move on.” I was that focused, I was like, “Don’t even put that in my head. I’m just getting through where I am right now. Which in this case is dealing with fucking you!” Then he wrote a shitty story. But that’s okay, that’s his job.

By 2008 you decided to pack it in. How come? You’d have still had decent golf in you, no?

I’d worked hard to get back to Europe, but it wasn’t happening. At the Australian Open in 2007 (at The Australian) I’d played really well, but my short game had deteriorated. I ended up 42nd but had chipping problems. Putting wasn’t great, and I thought, “I’m not competitive playing golf this way. I’ve got to step away and do something else.”

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Did you ever try the long putter?

I did. But I got a bit like Brett Ogle. I don’t know how many times I’d come to a par-5, hit driver, three-iron, chip to 30 feet and three-putt. And, Christ, mentally that just fucks you. You start getting defensive. You can talk yourself into it that you’re playing poorly.

Biggest dummy spit you’ve seen?

I was playing with Wayne Riley, who I get on very well with. We were on the first tee and he said something quite crude about a girl in the gallery. She happened to be my girlfriend who I’d met about four weeks before. Radar doubled the second, and we’re walking to the next tee and I asked, “What did you do last night, mate?” He said, “What are you fuckin’ asking me for? Go away. Get out of my face.” I said, “I’m just checking because I went out for dinner with my girlfriend over there.” And he went white. He said, “You heard what I said, didn’t you?” I said, “Wayne [he hates being called Wayne], she’s someone’s daughter, someone’s girlfriend.” He’s like, “Yeah yeah, I wouldn’t have said it if I knew.” After a few holes he’s struggling to pull the trigger. He’s slow, we’re behind. We’re playing with an amateur, a kid called Aaron Baddeley, a week from winning the Australian Open.

Anyway, we get to 14 and there’s a hold-up. Brett Ogle’s in front, they call us up. And a minute later Radar’s still on the tee. We’ve got about 500 people with us. Because it’s a call-through, the tournament director Trevor Herden’s there. And a minute later Radar still hasn’t played. I turned to him and said, “Radar, it’s fuckin’ your shot, mate.” And he goes, “You! You can’t talk to me like that!” And he turned to Trevor, “Did you hear what he said?” And he’s spitting it. And Trevor says, “Have a look at him. If I was you, I’d play the shot.” And Radar’s worked up. He hits it over the back and he’s storming down the fairway. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe he said that!” He stormed off 18 and we didn’t talk for four months.

When did you patch things up?

He came up to me at Coolum and said, “Mate, I’m sorry,” and we’ve been fine ever since. If I was ever drawn with him, I loved it. He’s probably the most charismatic bloke you’ll ever play with. And so competitive. He brought the best out in me. He gave a shit, a 100 per cent competitor.

You’d have played against Peter O’Malley in the country. He’s a Bathurst boy ...

Big idol of mine, the Pom. Of all the people in golf, he’d be the nicest bloke. Great gentleman, great ball striker. Putting’s never been great, but his nature; he takes it on the chin. Doesn’t let nerves do his head in. Well, mostly! These days he putts with his eyes closed to take the anxiety out of it. Tiger Woods said the only difference between him and Pom is 30 yards and a different putter. They played at Bethpage once, the longest US Open ever. Pommy was drawn with Tiger first two rounds. The 14th hole is 450m, 240m just to get to the fairway. And it’s blowing 50 knots. The US Open rough is notorious. But from tee to fairway they’d mowed a three-metre-wide path for the guys to walk. First day Pommy’s flushed it. Didn’t reach the fairway, but he’s hit this cut in the middle. Next day he did it again. Tiger’s walked up and says, “You’re the only man in the world who can do that.”

‒ Matt Cleary