Five-times Major winner Severiano Ballesteros, who died on Saturday at the age of 54 after losing his battle against brain cancer, was the most exciting and popular golfer of his generation.
British golf writer Norman Dabell, who has reported for Reuters since 1997, recalls an affectionate relationship with the Spaniard
stretching back 33 years.
By Norman Dabell
BARCELONA, May 7 (Reuters) - Although Seve was 12 years younger than me, he was my hero even as a 21-year-old at the Woburn club in 1978 when we first met.
Seve had a streaming cold but, although he could hardly speak English, he had time for everybody, including a timid reporter from the Milton Keynes Gazette.
British golf fans had taken him to their hearts after a brilliant swashbuckling display at Royal Birkdale during the 1976 British Open that nearly earned him the Claret Jug at the tender age of 19.
One of Seve's endearing traits was that he never forgot a face, even if he struggled for a while to remember your name.
There was never any problem with talking one-to-one. He was a great self-publicist and not only befriended the press corps but used us to his advantage. We didn't mind. A British newspaper was said to have advised one of its correspondents that, whatever they were writing about, the name Severiano Ballesteros had to come in the introduction of their story.
His battles with the establishment were as famous as his miraculous golf. I asked him in Italy once, at a hastily convened news conference, had he really accused the European Tour's executive director Ken Schofield of being a dictator?
There was no backing down. Warming to his task he concurred then compared tour officials with the Mafia. The Italians in the interview room understandably blanched just at the use of the word.
HERO WORSHIP
I did come in for some gentle chiding from Seve in South Africa once, though, over my book 'How We Won the Ryder Cup'.
By then, Seve's English was nigh perfect, so he knew exactly what caddies quoted in the book were talking about when they accused him of being "mean" and "tight".
I was enjoying an al-fresco breakfast at Sun City when Seve spotted me.
He pulled up a chair and opened up his copy of the book with a flourish, pointing to the passages about his meanness. "I am never mean Norman, how dare they say this?" I gently pointed out that at least half a dozen caddies had said the same thing about his short arms and long pockets.
With that he called over the waiter, paid for my breakfast and strode off muttering: "Not as mean as (Bernhard) Langer, anyway."
The last time I saw him face to face was 18 months before he was struck down with the terrible affliction that eventually took his life.
We'd arranged to meet at a hotel in London for him to give me his account of the 1976 British Open for my book 'One Hand on the Claret Jug'. Seve talked and talked, frustrating his daughter Carmen who wanted to get out and see the sights in London.
After recording his 1976 story I then relied on our friendship to throw in a few questions of what he would be doing in starting off his senior career.
He gave me oodles of really good stuff that I used for the Daily Telegraph. A few weeks later he was in a news conference to talk about his plans and denied pretty well everything I'd written.
"But Seve you told me this in London," I protested, "and I used your words in the Daily Telegraph". "Don't believe everything you read in the papers," Seve replied.
Seve was kind to me in so many ways but none more so than last year when I asked him if he would write to the son of friends who was also suffering from a brain tumour.
He advised Simon to "fight, fight, fight and never give in". Regrettably Simon, another Seve hero-worshipper, died a little while ago.
Simon did, though, fight to the end and I like to think Seve's words gave him an extra few months. There was no greater fighter of causes than Severiano Ballesteros.
British golf writer Norman Dabell, who has reported for Reuters since 1997, recalls an affectionate relationship with the Spaniard
stretching back 33 years.
By Norman Dabell
BARCELONA, May 7 (Reuters) - Although Seve was 12 years younger than me, he was my hero even as a 21-year-old at the Woburn club in 1978 when we first met.
Seve had a streaming cold but, although he could hardly speak English, he had time for everybody, including a timid reporter from the Milton Keynes Gazette.
British golf fans had taken him to their hearts after a brilliant swashbuckling display at Royal Birkdale during the 1976 British Open that nearly earned him the Claret Jug at the tender age of 19.
One of Seve's endearing traits was that he never forgot a face, even if he struggled for a while to remember your name.
There was never any problem with talking one-to-one. He was a great self-publicist and not only befriended the press corps but used us to his advantage. We didn't mind. A British newspaper was said to have advised one of its correspondents that, whatever they were writing about, the name Severiano Ballesteros had to come in the introduction of their story.
His battles with the establishment were as famous as his miraculous golf. I asked him in Italy once, at a hastily convened news conference, had he really accused the European Tour's executive director Ken Schofield of being a dictator?
There was no backing down. Warming to his task he concurred then compared tour officials with the Mafia. The Italians in the interview room understandably blanched just at the use of the word.
HERO WORSHIP
I did come in for some gentle chiding from Seve in South Africa once, though, over my book 'How We Won the Ryder Cup'.
By then, Seve's English was nigh perfect, so he knew exactly what caddies quoted in the book were talking about when they accused him of being "mean" and "tight".
I was enjoying an al-fresco breakfast at Sun City when Seve spotted me.
He pulled up a chair and opened up his copy of the book with a flourish, pointing to the passages about his meanness. "I am never mean Norman, how dare they say this?" I gently pointed out that at least half a dozen caddies had said the same thing about his short arms and long pockets.
With that he called over the waiter, paid for my breakfast and strode off muttering: "Not as mean as (Bernhard) Langer, anyway."
The last time I saw him face to face was 18 months before he was struck down with the terrible affliction that eventually took his life.
We'd arranged to meet at a hotel in London for him to give me his account of the 1976 British Open for my book 'One Hand on the Claret Jug'. Seve talked and talked, frustrating his daughter Carmen who wanted to get out and see the sights in London.
After recording his 1976 story I then relied on our friendship to throw in a few questions of what he would be doing in starting off his senior career.
He gave me oodles of really good stuff that I used for the Daily Telegraph. A few weeks later he was in a news conference to talk about his plans and denied pretty well everything I'd written.
"But Seve you told me this in London," I protested, "and I used your words in the Daily Telegraph". "Don't believe everything you read in the papers," Seve replied.
Seve was kind to me in so many ways but none more so than last year when I asked him if he would write to the son of friends who was also suffering from a brain tumour.
He advised Simon to "fight, fight, fight and never give in". Regrettably Simon, another Seve hero-worshipper, died a little while ago.
Simon did, though, fight to the end and I like to think Seve's words gave him an extra few months. There was no greater fighter of causes than Severiano Ballesteros.
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