A seven-stroke lead with nine holes to play disappeared on me almost in a flash. Bill started playing well at the same time, which contributed further to my anxiety and increasingly poor play. As for the playoff the next day, I tried as hard as I could, but I just couldn't muster any intensity, and my concentration was lacking, too.
Did it hurt? I won't lie; it hurt a lot. When pressed about it, San Francisco was the toughest, given the lead that I had. Especially with my mentality about winning, about feeling that I had to win, losing was a bitter pill, and this might have been the most bitter of all. But as awful as I felt after losing to Billy in that playoff, in many ways my life improved. In the aftermath of that lose, more of life came calling, and I continued on with a slightly different perspective. I was better for the experience.
I was a better person. I had a better perspective on things. I would never have felt good if I had not experienced losing, because losing is part of your life. But there was something else. For quite a few years I had received my share of fan mail, but after the loss at Olympic, the letters were different. People wanted to help. They were comforting and encouraging. It was just a different sensation entirely, and it meant a great deal to me. I looked at everything a bit differently because of that. I had always appreciated folks, my "Army" of fans, but their gestures of support in defeat meant more to me than any adulation I experienced in victory.
-Arnold Palmer, A Life Well Played: My Stories
The tourney in question was the 1966 U. S. Open
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