Three cheers for Pete

(From issue - 52)
By Nick Bowen

When Peter Lonard went ballistic in the final round of last year’s Australian PGA, many in the crowd started to get thirsty.

Four birdies in the first five holes took Lonard past overnight leader Rory Sabbatini and into pole position for his third PGA title. But as exciting as his birdie blitz was, for some in the Coolum gallery it was the prospect of Lonard shouting the bar that night that had them salivating.

Some, no doubt, had been lucky enough to be at the same venue three years earlier when Lonard had won his second PGA title, whereupon he had invited all and sundry to come and join him for a celebratory sherbet at the Hyatt Coolum that night – his shout. As much as Lonard – a noted celebrator of a win – would have appreciated people sharing his win and a drink with him, he must have had second thoughts when he was hit with an $8000 bar bill as he checked out the next day.

Not that those thirsty types in the gallery had any reservations about being part of a repeat performance three years down the track. You can just imagine them telling themselves there was nothing wrong in taking advantage of Big Pete’s generosity if he was to open up his wallet again.

‘Be rude not to celebrate with him if he gets over the line, especially if he keeps ripping up the course. If he wants company, who are we to say no?’ Besides, as we all know, there is no shortage of Australians who believe they have a patriotic duty not to pass up a free drink.

So surprise, surprise Lonard’s gallery soon started to swell as news of his Normanesque charge began to make its way around the course that sunny Sunday afternoon last December.

Not that Lonard minded. Speaking after signing for a closing-round 65 that sealed a three-shot shot win and his third PGA title, he acknowledged some of his support that day had come from kindred spirits who shared his love of an ice cold beer.

“There must be a few people back today because I’ve had more people ask me if the bar was on me tonight than have ever spoken to me in my life,” he said.

Though once bitten, Lonard had no hesitation in reaching for his credit card again, promising to “coax as many people to the devil” as he could.

It’s an attitude that harkens back to the ’70s when Aussies like Jack Newton, Ian Stanley, Bob Shearer and Stewart Ginn would play hard on course and just as hard, if not harder, off it. They were Australian golf’s version of the Rat Pack and Lonard would have been right at home in their company.

But it was his fate to be born into a different era – the Tiger Woods era – where player professionalism extended beyond the course and into the gym. In pro golf these days the 19th hole is practically dead. Players have swapped bar stools for barbells, they change out of their spikes into runners rather than party shoes, and they bend their back rather than their elbow.

Where Lonard balances his fierce desire to win golf tournaments with some downtime –he actually allows himself to enjoy the ride – so many of today’s other golfers dream only of majors and toppling Tiger.

Steve Elkington gave an insight into the modern player’s intense and unrelenting focus in an interview a couple of years ago with Australian Golf Digest. The Elk told the story of how he ambled into the locker room after a recent Phoenix Open to watch American gridiron’s Super Bowl over a few beers. Problem was there wasn’t any in the fridge. Just flavoured water, ice cream and Gatorade – as requested by the players! Unperturbed, the Elk eventually managed to track down three beers, and sat down next to young tyro Charles Howell III to enjoy them. At which point, Howell piped up, “Hey, I’ve never even had a beer”. Never even had a beer? What the … ! As Elkington said, “If Charles has never tasted a beer, how does he know he won’t like it?”

Compare this to Lonard’s exploits after he staggered to his maiden US PGA Tour win at the 2005 Heritage tournament after a final-round duel with Irishman Darren Clarke at Harbour Town. It was an ugly, trying Sunday for both players; for the most part they were trying to outdo each other with bogeys rather than birdies. Finally, and mercifully, Lonard got over the line, shooting the highest final-round score ever by a winner in the tournament’s history, a four-over par 75. Meantime, after birdieing four of the first five holes and opening up a four-shot lead, poor old Clarke stumbled through the last 13 holes in nine over, eventually signing for a 76.

But while Lonard wasn’t thrilled about his own play that day –and even stifled his victory celebrations on the 72nd green so as not to kick Clarke when he was down – he wasn’t about to let all of this dampen his enthusiasm for a celebratory ale. After a few quick drinks in the locker room led to a few more, and Lonard missing his flight out that night, he decided to adjourn to a nearby bar at a lighthouse overlooking the course despite the warnings of some locals.

“Someone just told me there's a lot of drunks down there," he said at the time. "I told them, 'That's all right. It will be just like in Australia'."

Brilliant. Then there was his comment before a recent Presidents’ Cup clash: “If you count how many beers (the American team) drink and how many beers we (the international team) drink at the end of the week, I think we’ll win quite comfortably.”

Fair call. Obviously, Lonard knew Howell’s attitude to the demon drink was not uncommon among the best Yank players. Better still he was not afraid to say it. Can you imagine anyone else in professional golf – let alone a self-righteous, god-fearing Septic – talking like this to journos in this day and age? Can you think of anyone more down to earth than Lonard? I sure as hell can’t.

Unfortunately, we now find ourselves smack bang in the middle of an age where sports stars are becoming more and more remote from their fans, and where someone like Lonard stands out like the proverbial. Where a lot of other sports stars hide behind body guards and minders and do the bare minimum to fulfil their obligations to tournament organisers and sponsors before fleeing the scene in a courtesy car with tinted windows, Lonard not only invites them to join him at the bar, but opens up his wallet for them too. It is a refreshing change – and not just for those lucky enough to down a frosty with him.

But what makes Lonard different? Why is he so down to earth where most others in his position are so controlled and stand-offish?

Perhaps the answer, or at least part of it, lies in the curve ball he was thrown when he contracted Ross River fever in the early ’90s. He was hit by the debilitating viral infection, which among other things causes chronic fatigue and swollen joints, after he had made a promising start to his career on the Australasian Tour in the late ’80s before graduating to the European Tour in 1990.

And the wretched bug completely floored him. At his lowest point, he was unable to do anything other than sit on a couch and eat bread for 18 months, with his weight ballooning to 120kg. To give you an idea of just how much he stacked on, his playing weight is now back to 95kg.

When he finally recovered in 1994, Lonard returned home to the security of a club professional job at Oatlands Golf Country Club in New South Wales, where he had earlier completed part of his professional traineeship. There he would continue to dabble in the Australasian Tour in summer but he had given little thought to returning to the life of a full-time touring pro. Understandably, he was more concerned with regaining and maintaining his health.

But then fate – and his prodigious talent – stepped in. Taking time off from his pro shop to play the 1997 Australian Masters, the teaching pro left his touring cousins in his wake, outlasting Peter O’Malley in a play-off.

His win saw him top the Australasian Tour Order of Merit and earned him playing rights again in Europe. And the rest, as they say, is history.
It may be Lonard’s time out of the game made him appreciate the privileged existence professional golfers enjoy. Perhaps it taught him that golf’s not everything, so it was no crime to play the game hard but not too seriously.

Who knows? Whatever the case, he certainly has the results on the board – 11 professional trophies, including two Australian Opens and two Australian Masters. He has also dominated the Australasian Tour in a way that no one else has come close to in recent years, with the possible exception of Robert Allenby. Just consider that Stuart Appleby described him as the Tiger Woods of our tour in the lead-up to this summer’s tournaments. In golf, accolades just don’t get any bigger than this. And, yet, for all his achievements Lonard has remained a decent bloke. Halle-bloody-lujah.

But all of this may be lost on a newcomer to golf or a casual viewer of the tour. While Lonard off the course is all fun, on course he is all business. Peter Lonard on the fairways and Peter Lonard everyday bloke are very different people.

On the course, Lonard is all business. A steely, almost robotic competitor, there is not an ounce of flamboyance about him as he goes to work.
His short and quick swing, which flies around, above and back around an almost rigid lower body, looks robotic and, better still, achieves robotic results – arrow-like shot after shot after shot. His putting may be more haphazard and is certainly not as reliable. But the fact remains he uses a broomstick, which somehow seems to reinforce his robotic on-course persona.

There might even be some who see him and find him intimidating, even scary. After all he is built like a brick outhouse, with the shoulders to stand in for Chesty Bonds if he ever called in sick, and forearms that would do Popeye proud. There’s also the slightly manic look he sometimes has in photos. For some reason, any photo of him mid-follow-through, eyes on the ball, makes him look …. how can I say this? … demonic. On film, his eyes appear unnaturally wide and are locked in a slightly crazed stare. In fairness, his eyes look perfectly normal most of the time but the camera’s just not kind to them and someone seeing this for the first time might do a double-take.

But anyone out there harbouring even the slightest doubt about Peter Lawrence Lonard please, trust me, there is no need to fear. He is one of the good guys. And if you don’t believe me, just ask one of his best mates, Australia’s original working class man, Jimmy Barnes. If that’s still not enough for you, just make sure you’re around the next time big Pete wins and he’ll buy you a beer to prove it.