Not since Ben Hogan in the 1950s has a dominant player so thoroughly addressed golf's central enigma: how to develop and repeat an effective swing, the only way any player can hope to truly improve.

In the early '90s, after years of struggle and determination, Nick Price emerged as the world's finest golfer,"striking the ball," as Ben Crenshaw observed, "as well as anyone since Ben Hogan or Byron Nelson."  From his childhood in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), through many seasons on the European tour, to his PGA Championship and British Open victories, Price's abiding keynote has been perseverance, and his passion the art and science of the swing.

For players at all levels, Price now reveals the game's essential elements -- from grip and set-up and downswing, to the short game and effective putting -- in both theory and practice.  Drawing on his own influences, remarkable experiences, and intense study, his program combines both athletic and mental requirements, and offers all golfers the lasting rewards of long-term improvement -- the promise at the heart of the game.

A classic of instruction, with all the wisdom and personality of one of the world's most accomplished and engaging champions.

Not since Ben Hogan in the 1950s has a dominant player so thoroughly addressed golf's central enigma: how to develop and repeat an effective swing, the only way any player can hope to truly improve.

In the early '90s, after years of struggle and determination, Nick Price emerged as the world's finest golfer,"striking the ball," as Ben Crenshaw observed, "as well as anyone since Ben Hogan or Byron Nelson."  From his childhood in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), through many seasons on the European tour, to his PGA Championship and British Open victories, Price's abiding keynote has been perseverance, and his passion the art and science of the swing.

For players at all levels, Price now reveals the game's essential elements -- from grip and set-up and downswing, to the short game and effective putting -- in both theory and practice.  Drawing on his own influences, remarkable experiences, and intense study, his program combines both athletic and mental requirements, and offers all golfers the lasting rewards of long-term improvement -- the promise at the heart of the game.

A classic of instruction, with all the wisdom and personality of one of the world's most accomplished and engaging champions.

could not have been better going into a major championship.

But this game is often bewildering. That sense of well-being can dissipate in an instant -- and for no apparent reason. During my first practice session at Turnberry, all the good feelings I had at Lake Nona mysteriously left me. Monday was bad, Tuesday was awful, and Wednesday's practice on the range was only slightly better. But I worked on the same things as always. These elements had helped me win on the PGA Tour twice in 1991 (after not winning since 1983) and then to win the 1992 PGA Championship -- my first major. I won one other tournament on the 1992 PGA Tour, and then in 1993 and 1994 won seven more times on the PGA Tour prior to my arrival at Turnberry. By sticking to the same things I had emphasized for years, I slowly but surely began to get my game back on the practice ground at Turnberry as midweek came and the tournament began.

How do you explain the dramatic reversal from Lake Nona to the early part of the week at Turnberry, from feeling so confident about my game to feeling so worried? It's easy. It's the game of golf. The experienced player does not panic in this situation. And although I was close to panicking, I didn't, because there was a huge difference from the late 1970s and early 1980s. I could easily remember my inconsistent and inefficient game then and even in 1982, when I led the British Open at Troon in Scotland by three shots with six holes to go but then dropped four shots coming in to lose to Tom Watson. In March 1982, after some dismal play on the European Tour, I had decided to revamp my swing and make a long-term commitment to improving; my swing was not reliable enough to win major championships. I worked with David Leadbetter for five weeks that first visit at Grenelefe near Orlando, where he was then based, and noted in my diary before I left that I had taken a huge step in the right direction. The entry reads: "These five weeks spent practicing with David were well spent! The smartest thing I ever did!"

I continued to refine my technique day after day, year after year, and finally started winning regularly in 1991. Sure, I had won the 1983 World Series of Golf on the PGA Tour, a win which, like my play for most of the 1982 British Open just a few months after starting to work with David, was a sign that I had made the right decision to change. But then it took another eight years for all the hard work to really pay off.

Now, at Turnberry, all my efforts came to fruition. I knew that the swing changes I had made were correct. I was having trouble simply because of human nature. There was no reason to shift focus from what I had been working on to something new. I firmly believed that eventually my body would adjust to the cooler conditions in Scotland and also to the time change. The swing was still there. I just had to trust it, a policy that was proved correct when I went out after my practice session Wednesday for a round in which Greg Norman and I played Jack Nicklaus and Tom Watson. It was indeed an honor to play with two past winners of the British Open at Turnberry, Norman and Watson, and with Nicklaus, probably the greatest golfer ever. I shot 67 and Greg shot 66, but we lost the better-ball match to Jack and Tom, who each shot 64. But I felt I would be ready the next day.

Thursday I opened with an encouraging one-under-par 69 that was full of solid shots. The week got progressively better, but I was beginning to wonder if things were going to work out. Then in the final round I was three shots behind with nine holes to play. I still felt I had a realistic chance to win. Jesper Parnevik was clearly playing the best golf of the day and up to this point was making it difficult for anybody to catch him. Yet I knew that Parnevik had never been in this situation before -- leading at the British Open during the last nine holes -- and thought perhaps he would make a mistake or two coming in. But I would also have to make something happen.
in my golfing life as significant as holing that eagle putt on the seventeenth. It was like holing a shot on the last hole when you had to, fairy-tale stuff. Now I had made the eagle I needed. The crowd was going berserk, Squeek was hugging me, and my playing companion, Ronan Rafferty, appeared as excited as I was after witnessing the turn of events. Then I learned that Parnevik had bogeyed the last hole. I couldn't hear myself think, but I knew one thing: I had to control my emotions, because the round wasn't over. Back in 1982 at Troon I had awarded myself the championship on the thirteenth tee, when I quietly said to my caddie and friend Kevin Woodward, "That's it, we're going to win this thing now." That was a big mistake, one that haunts me to this day.
.. I wasn't going to make the mistake now that I had made on the thirteenth tee the last day at Troon; there was no way I was going to take anything for granted. But the situation was heart-stopping, and I had to gather myself. I had gone into the seventeenth two shots behind Parnevik and had emerged one shot ahead with one hole to play.

The eighteenth at Turnberry is a dogleg left par-four. To add pressure to the situation I had bogeyed this hole in rounds two and three. I took a three-iron to make sure I hit the fairway, and I killed it, although I wasn't trying to hit it hard. I pulled the shot maybe two yards off line -- that's how defined my targets had become -- and when the ball bounced forward I thought I would have a five-iron to the green. One last iron, two putts, and I would win the British Open. I got up to my ball and had only 157 yards to the flag. It was a perfect seven-iron for me; with the pin being left of center I had plenty of green on the right to use.

First I assessed the shot as I walked up to the ball. At that stage I noticed a "D" on a sign in the grandstand behind the green and told Squeek I was going to aim there. Squeek, who is always positive, said, "Split it, Nick." Then I went through my normal routine, as if this were any shot at any time. I was feeling aggressive and wanted to get the shot over and done with. But experience helped me there. I held back and went through my preshot routine bit by bit, and although it only took five or six seconds it felt like a minute, because I was slowing myself down. The routine is important, and I think that if you go through it correctly at a crucial moment, the adrenaline you are holding inside comes out at the right time. I made sure I did that. No longer would my routine vary from two or three seconds to fifteen seconds depending on the shot, as it used to. I had learned how important a routine was to efficient golf, particularly for getting into a nice comfort level. I was at that level as I stood over the shot from the last fairway at Turnberry.

I flew that shot straight at the "D," splitting it. The ball finished in the middle of the green, twenty-five feet right of the hole and just past pin-high.

But still the championship was not over. I misread the speed of my first putt and it came up a couple of feet short. Just before me I had watched Ronan hit a putt of the same length from the same point, and it broke. The last thing I needed at that moment was anything but a straight putt, and I don't mind admitting that I had the wobblies on my putt to win the British Open. But I stuck to the putting routine I had so meticulously developed in the same way as I had refined my swing, and holed the putt. It went in very slowly. I was not going to jam that putt in. I was under control and put the right speed on the putt.

Even now I get choked up when I talk about the final three holes at Turnberry. The calculating precision of my play was the culmination of years of working at the game to which I had dedicated myself more than twenty years ago halfway around the world in my home country of Zimbabwe. I was in the middle of quite a streak at Turnberry, and in fact won my second PGA Championship and my second Canadian Open later that summer. I might not have thought it possible to continue the successful run I had been having since 1991, but by then the victories were only the result of my previous years of commitment to improving. The streak could not last forever, but it was proof to me that it was possible to make dramatic changes to one's game.