Even at his very best, when Mike Weir was a fixture in the top-10 in the world and contender in major after major, he wasn’t much for dwelling on what went wrong.
In place of soul searching were a quiver of handy excuses he used to keep doubt at bay: It wasn’t his game that deserted him it was gusts of wind coming out of the mist; blades of grass conspired against him; putts were foiled by hidden spike marks.
At his best – from 1999 to 2004 when he won six times on Tour and became the first Canadian man to win one of golf’s major championships with his 2003 Masters victory – Weir was the kind of competitor that could never admit that he wasn’t good enough. Often, he was right.
Weir always found a way to believe and never stopped persevering. And whenever anyone dared roll their eyes he could point to the trophy or the big cardboard cheque.
On Sunday at the HP Byron Nelson Championship, he finally got a chance to raise a modest middle finger to those who had long since lost their belief in his ability to compete on the PGA Tour.
At his peak Weir was Canada’s scaled down answer to Tiger Woods – even out-dueling Woods at the Presidents Cup in singles in 2007 at Royal Montreal. At his bottom he was our version of David Duval, the former World No.1 who lost his game and never threatened to find it again.
Once No.3 in the World, Weir was ranked 1136th a year ago and 609th coming into this week.
He didn’t win his ninth PGA Tour event on Sunday. It would have broken his tie with George Knudson for the most ever by a Canadian. But nearly as important, Weir got himself back in the fight — and looked like he belonged.
In the hunt for the first time since he won the Fry’s Electronics Open in 2007, Weir came out slugging, firing at flags and very nearly hitting them as he knocked in four birdies in his first five holes. He had given himself a chance and he went for the kill.
“I was definitely determined to try to win today,” he told reporters afterwards. “But I can feel good about the way I handled things out there.”
He fired a 3-under 67 and finished two shots behind winner Brendon Todd, in second alone. The $745,200 he earned was more than he’d won in total since he finished tied for sixth at the Bob Hope Classic in January of 2010, a stretch of 87 starts. It also secured his playing privileges for next season after he’d used his last full-season exemption this year.
Weir became world class by being the guy past last call who wanted to take on the bouncers; the one who couldn’t take the hint that pretty girl wasn’t interested or that wasn’t qualified for the dream job. It all seemed so hopeless until eventually he would win the fight or charm the girl or get that job, and then get on with the next challenge.
Everyone loves gumption, but when a former champion misses the cut in all 14 tournaments he enters – as Weir did in 2012 – or when you go seven years without a win or five years without a top-three finish or four years without a top-10 finish – it was hard not to cover your eyes.
As we peaked through our fingers his determined optimism – the outlook that made him a victim of the wayward winds rather than his own wayward shots – no longer seemed like the armor of an elite competitor. Instead, it came across as a form of denial as injuries (a torn tendon in his elbow suffered in 2010 that eventually required surgery was the root of most of his problems) age and doubt sapped his confidence.
In the meantime he appeared to be trapping himself in golf’s purgatory: He had been so successful that he could exercise all kinds of exemptions to keep playing on Tour; his game was so damaged there seemed no point.
Weir had shown some faint glimmers of hope since hitting rockbottom – he made five of eight cuts in the last half of last season and finished tied for 28th at the U.S. Open and made the cut at the Masters for the first time in three years this season.
But even when he went into the weekend tied with fellow Canuck Graham DeLaet for the 36-hole lead it wasn’t like there were great expectations – his opening line upon being brought to meet the reporters was telling: “This is what the media centre looks like,” he joked. “I’ve forgotten.”
His teenage daughters back home in Utah were hardly swept up in it all. He exchanged a few texts with the oldest, the other was at a sleepover.
Life had long been going on. Weir had been struggling since his daughters were in primary school. Now they were old enough to encourage him to keep trying. Besides it wasn’t like he was gone most weekends.
“There was plenty of times I was very down and maybe wondering what I was going to do next You start to question the‑‑ if you want to keep doing this,” Weir said earlier in the week. “Especially, you know, I have two young daughters that are teenagers now and being away from home gets harder … If you’re playing good golf that’s one thing but if you’re playing bad golf and missing cuts that’s another thing.
“But there were plenty of times I questioned, but again to have family and friends support and talk through that with and to feel their support saying, ‘Hey Dad, get out there and keep working.’ That made me keep going too.”
Where he goes now, even Weir isn’t sure. He’s not under the illusion that his best days are ahead of him, but he’s at least got proof that at his best he can still compete.
“It just shows you that the things you’re working on your game, when they show up under the heat of competition and stress there that you’re doing the right things,” said Weir.
The next test will be if he can do it again, and again after that. It’s golf, the tests never stop. But for once Weir can bask in the glow of having come through with flying colours. He can look ahead with true confidence rather than look back and try to explain what was.
That was victory enough, no excuses necessary.
“I think I’m here now and pushing forward,” he said. “I’m not going to reflect on the past, that’s history now and I’m playing good golf and I want to keep that going.”