A Quote by Sam Snead

I've been on some fairways that are as good as the greens we putted on back then. We had crab grass. I remember one green where I putted through ants. — © Sam Snead
I've been on some fairways that are as good as the greens we putted on back then. We had crab grass. I remember one green where I putted through ants.
The way I putted today, I must've been reading the greens in Spanish and putting them in English.
I have three-putted in 40 countries.
I didn't do anything spectacular when I won the Open in 2001. I hit the ball good, not great. I putted good, not great, but I think I missed maybe two putts inside eight feet all week.
Why don't you have a room done up in every color green? This will take months, years, to collect, but it will be delightful-a melange of plants, green glass, green porcelains, and furniture covered in sad greens, gay greens, clear, faded, and poison greens?
Pretty much whoever wins the tournament at the end of the week is the guy that putted probably the best.
I always putted without a glove but I have no idea why - I saw others doing it and copied them.
Hitting a golf ball and putting have nothing in common. They're two different games. You work all your life to perfect a repeating swing that will get you to the greens, and then you have to try to do something that is totally unrelated. There shouldn't be any cups, just flag sticks. And then the man who hit the most fairways and greens and got closest to the pins would be the tournament winner.
If you meet a cross-eyed person you must plunge into the grass, alongside the chilly ants, fish through the green fingernails and come up with the four-leaf clover.
My childhood was elegant homes, tree lined streets, the milkman, building backyard forts, droning airplanes, blue skies, picket fences, green grass, cherry trees. Middle America as it’s supposed to be. But on the cherry tree there’s this pitch oozing out – some black, some yellow – and millions of red ants crawling all over it. I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath.
The story of the week is you have got to putt well to win the Masters and I haven't putted well.
I didn't hit the ball like I was 46. But I putted like I was 66.
I did everything I could do and tried as hard as I could. In light of how I putted, I guess second place will do.
They'll sell you thousands of greens. Veronese green and emerald green and cadmium green and any sort of green you like; but that particular green, never.
I hope we've got a lot of fairways and greens. We'll go from there.
Green grass, green grandstands, green concession stalls, green paper cups, green folding chairs and visors for sale, green and white ropes, green-topped Georgia pines. If justice were poetic, Hubert Green would win it every year.
Golf has become so manicured, so perfect. The greens, the fairways. I don't like golf carts. I like walking. Some clubs won't let you in unless you have a caddy and a cart.
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