Despite Accounts of Tiger’s Fines for a Few Four-Letter
Words, His Words Are a Mere Whisper Compared to a Profane PGA Star of
Yesteryear
As Tiger Woods racks up the wins and the “unofficial” record for cuss
words that cull fines from the PGA, a deep breath and a look to the
past might shed a little perspective. The Good Book – or at least a
golfing version of it – might intone, “Let he or she who is without sin
cast the first golf ball. When that proverbial thrown golf ball is a
burst of temper invectively launched across the course, most stand
guilty. All, though, including Tiger and the bulk of the Tour, are
minor-league cursers compared to a major-league mouth that belonged to
“Wiffy” Cox.
Wiffy? The nickname sounds so benign, even comical. The words that burst from this talented but hot-tempered player shocked staid PGA galleries in the 1930s. When he hooked or sliced a drive or left a putt short, his face would flush, and language more common on the docks of Cox’s native New York than on the fairways and greens of America’s toniest clubs erupted – loudly!
Grew Up Fighting in Brooklyn
Cox had grown up in a poor Irish and Italian Brooklyn neighborhood, learning to talk tough and to back it up with his fists. Like fellow immigrants’ sons and future on-course rivals Gene Sarazen (Saraceni) and Tony Manero, the young Cox caddied at Westchester County courses, sneaked in rounds at sunrise and sunset with clubs borrowed from the pro shop, and developed an outstanding game. Other caddies soon learned not to bet their tips against the Brooklyn kid with the fine swing and foul mouth.
By the 1930s, Cox, who had become a club pro, began making some noise at PGA tourneys. Luckily for the promising player, a reporter noted, was that Cox’s game spoke even louder than his mouth. Wiffy finished in the money in many tournaments, and his breakthrough moment came with his victory over a strong field in the 1931 North and South Open, an event ranking just below the U.S. Open in prestige in the era. In 1931 he also finished #1 on the PGA Tour for the most wins (4).
In 1934, Cox stomped, swore, and shot his way to a tense triumph over Ben Hogan and Byron Nelson in the Texas Open, the crowd teeming with rough-around-the-edges oilmen who cheered on the foul-mouthed golfer as a kindred soul.
He Shot 33 Skunks
Cox, one of the first PGA players to cast off wooden shafts for steel, took his clubs and his curses to Tijuana, Mexico, in 1935 for the Agua Caliente Open, which offered the game’s richest purse, $15,000 to the winner. Any spectators who had never seen Cox play might have sized up the diminutive golfer—with his tie, sweater, and crisply pleated slacks—as a pleasant-looking man with a receding hairline and a friendly grin—until he teed off. What followed were mutters and gesticulations accompanying virtually every shot, and curses that swelled in decibels and details alike. In between tantrums and tirades, he bested stars such as Sarazen to take home the title and winnings, which were presented to Cox in a wheelbarrow.
The man with the ugliest mouth in the PGA eventually landed a choice gig as the head pro at one of America’s most beautiful courses, Congressional, in Bethesda, Maryland. Even Cox soon learned to tone down the profanity when giving lessons to members: he wanted to keep the job.
Wiffy? The nickname sounds so benign, even comical. The words that burst from this talented but hot-tempered player shocked staid PGA galleries in the 1930s. When he hooked or sliced a drive or left a putt short, his face would flush, and language more common on the docks of Cox’s native New York than on the fairways and greens of America’s toniest clubs erupted – loudly!
Grew Up Fighting in Brooklyn
Cox had grown up in a poor Irish and Italian Brooklyn neighborhood, learning to talk tough and to back it up with his fists. Like fellow immigrants’ sons and future on-course rivals Gene Sarazen (Saraceni) and Tony Manero, the young Cox caddied at Westchester County courses, sneaked in rounds at sunrise and sunset with clubs borrowed from the pro shop, and developed an outstanding game. Other caddies soon learned not to bet their tips against the Brooklyn kid with the fine swing and foul mouth.
By the 1930s, Cox, who had become a club pro, began making some noise at PGA tourneys. Luckily for the promising player, a reporter noted, was that Cox’s game spoke even louder than his mouth. Wiffy finished in the money in many tournaments, and his breakthrough moment came with his victory over a strong field in the 1931 North and South Open, an event ranking just below the U.S. Open in prestige in the era. In 1931 he also finished #1 on the PGA Tour for the most wins (4).
In 1934, Cox stomped, swore, and shot his way to a tense triumph over Ben Hogan and Byron Nelson in the Texas Open, the crowd teeming with rough-around-the-edges oilmen who cheered on the foul-mouthed golfer as a kindred soul.
He Shot 33 Skunks
Cox, one of the first PGA players to cast off wooden shafts for steel, took his clubs and his curses to Tijuana, Mexico, in 1935 for the Agua Caliente Open, which offered the game’s richest purse, $15,000 to the winner. Any spectators who had never seen Cox play might have sized up the diminutive golfer—with his tie, sweater, and crisply pleated slacks—as a pleasant-looking man with a receding hairline and a friendly grin—until he teed off. What followed were mutters and gesticulations accompanying virtually every shot, and curses that swelled in decibels and details alike. In between tantrums and tirades, he bested stars such as Sarazen to take home the title and winnings, which were presented to Cox in a wheelbarrow.
The man with the ugliest mouth in the PGA eventually landed a choice gig as the head pro at one of America’s most beautiful courses, Congressional, in Bethesda, Maryland. Even Cox soon learned to tone down the profanity when giving lessons to members: he wanted to keep the job.
On October 21, 1939, the real Wiffy Cox materialized shortly after he arrived at the course near dawn. What he saw ignited that unforgettable temper. Skunks had torn up chunks of the course overnight.
Cox waited till the sun went down, grabbed a rifle, prowled the course all night, and shot 33 skunks. He received the club’s thanks and piles of letters from outraged animal lovers.
One can only speculate how Cox’s game might have held up against the likes of Tiger and today’s other Tour stars. It’s more entertaining to muse over what Wiffy’s reaction would have been if any of his peers, including the PGA Tour itself, had the nerve to tell the street-smart golf champion to mind his manners and “watch his mouth.” GN
Peter F. Stevens, book author and New Times syndicated writer, is the News & Features Editor of the Boston Irish Reporter
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