Ballesteros longs to rediscover his old magic

Former Open champion is still peerless around the greens but is struggling to retrieve his swashbuckling long game

The best that can be said about the decline and fall of Severiano Ballesteros is that it has been characteristically dramatic. Not for Seve an imperceptible slide from the summit, rather an alarming plunge which nine days ago in County Cork finally hit rock bottom.

Ballesteros returned an 89 in the first round of the Irish Open, and then, to add insult to indignity, was disqualified after signing for a 10 that should have been a 12. He promptly withdrew from the Open at Muirfield.

For those of us who were there when the star was born, it was all the more poignant to see it imploding. In July 1976, at Royal Birkdale, a 14-year-old boy (me) bagged the autograph of a 19-year-old Spaniard with a seemingly unpronounceable name (him) shortly before he embarked on a final round of 74 that would yield second place in the Open, alongside Jack Nicklaus.

Before that week, hardly anyone had heard of Severiano Ballesteros But one shot in particular suggested that we would hear plenty more. On the 18th hole, short of the green in two, he conjured an audacious bump-and-run between two bunkers. The ball stopped three feet from the flag. Posterity, and a huge crowd utterly won over by his good looks and awesome flair, demanded that he hole the putt. Naturally, he did.

Not wanting to kick off with his recent travails, I tell him that I was there that day 26 years ago. He smiles. The smile could still light up Santander harbour on a dark night. "Yes, I remember I had a policeman caddying for me that week," he says, in heavily-accented English, a guttural, Spanish J replacing the H. "He had never caddied before."

We are at San Roque, near Gibraltar, once a summer house owned by the Domecq sherry family, now a handsome hotel and golf resort, where Vicente Ballesteros, Seve's older brother, runs the Seve Ballesteros Natural School of Golf. Twice a year Seve travels down from his home in northern Spain to give a masterclass at San Roque, concentrating on the finesse shots around the green, in which arena he is still peerless.

For 30 absorbing minutes I watch him demonstrate his genius before a small posse of starstruck, mostly British pupils. With a nine-iron he flips the ball high, almost vertically, bringing it to rest by a flag 20 yards away. With the same club he then clips the ball low; it appears to be running through the practice green, but wondrously checks and stops, by the same flag.

He then steps into a bunker and shows us his full repertoire from sand, before offering someone the chance of a one-to-one lesson. I wait for a polite micro-second, then volunteer. He watches me hit my usual bunker shot, with warthog finesse.

"You're supposed to get the ball out, not the sand," he says, to widespread laughter. "Don't put any pressure on your grip... just enough to feel... lift your head, are you trying to read the writing on the ball?" More laughter. Eventually I make some progress, which seems to please him.

After all, he now knows better than I do how it feels to fail, dismally, before a crowd.

Later, he spends the first few minutes of my private audience talking further about how I might improve. He really seems to care, which is as ironic as it is touching. It is his disintegration as a golfer, not my improvement, that I wish to talk about.

I approach the subject circumspectly. His short game, I venture, seems as good as ever. "It is still pretty good, though maybe not as good as it was. But I am still one of the best, I would say. The long game is my problem."

There have been plenty of theories about why his long game has gone to pot. Some point out that it was never exactly reliable. His buccaneering reputation was built on the sublime recovery from the impossible situation, for example the celebrated "car park" shot at Lytham, in 1979. But these days he finds the impossible situations more frequently.

He sighs. "My brother Vicente and me, we think we have reached a conclusion. The set-up has not been correct. On the takeaway I have been swinging the club too much on the inside, the shoulders were turning a little bit flat.

"So now I am trying to turn the shoulders a bit more upright, stay closer to the ball, keep a better posture, take the hands a bit higher. But it takes time to put right. It takes patience, and that's one of my problems, I don't have much patience." A long pause. "If it doesn't happen, it's not going to be the end of the world. I play golf because I have a passion for it. But I don't see myself playing the Seniors Tour. It's a fantastic game, but there are other things in life."

This, although I spare him the observation, is the talk of a defeated man, the defeatism exemplified by his withdrawal from this month's Open.

Ballesteros has not made the cut in the Open, or any other major tournament, since 1995. His last top-10 finish in the Open was 11 years ago at Royal Birkdale. But equally he has not missed the event altogether since turning pro in 1974. It is the major he has won most (three times, in 1979, 1984 and 1988) and the one closest to his heart. Indeed, he has often said that he feels far more appreciated in Britain than he does in Spain.

One anecdote sums up this oddity, and also sheds light on the nature of this charismatic, complex man. It was told to me by his friend Michael Robinson, the former Liverpool and Republic of Ireland striker who is now one of Spain's most popular television football presenters.

Evidently, the two of them were once on an Iberia flight, and were invited into the cockpit by the sports-mad pilot. Robinson recounted: "The pilot said to Severiano: 'Will you take a look at my swing?' "And he stood up and swung an imaginary golf club. Severiano just looked at him and said: 'What swing?' Then he went back to his seat. Had it been a British pilot, he would have been much nicer. He feels resentful towards the Spanish for not recognising him more, even when they do. When we're out together, I get asked for autographs more than he does."

I touch on this issue with Ballesteros. "Golf in Great Britain is nearly as big as football in Spain," he says. Hmmm. I'm not sure this is true but offer no contradiction. "That is why I am very much appreciated there. But it is starting to be very popular in Spain. The Ryder Cup changed that."

He is referring to the 1997 competition at Valderrama, just down the road from San Roque, which, under his non-playing captaincy, Europe won. His desire to win that week teetered on the manic, which makes me wonder, now that his own days as a competitor seem to be numbered, whether the deeds of others ever thrill him as much as he used to thrill us? His 11-year-old son Javier has a handicap of eight, and has informed his father that he wishes to follow in his footsteps, but in the meantime, how excited is he by his young compatriot Sergio Garcia? "Sergio reminds me of me in many ways," he says.

"He is very aggressive, very natural, has tremendous imagination, all the shots." The two fell out when Garcia declined to play in the new matchplay competition between Britain and the continent, the Seve Trophy. Does that still rankle? "Well, we had small differences about the Seve Trophy. In my opinion he made a mistake about that. But he is young. When I was young I made mistakes too.

"Our relationship is OK, but I don't often see him. I watch him on TV, and I worry for him when I see so many waggles (Garcia's tendency to lift the club repeatedly before drawing it back). I remember playing the Irish Open one time with Mark James, and he did that on the first tee [here, Ballesteros leaps up excitedly to demonstrate the James waggle]. It took maybe three or four minutes [for him] to hit the ball.

"For Sergio at the moment it's a small problem, but it could become a big one. It shows he's not sure when he's ready to hit, but in golf it's important to have a clear picture of what you want to do. You should take the same amount of time before each shot. And it was a problem for him in the US Open. Some people counted his waggles, and he was getting upset."

And what of the US Open champion, Tiger Woods? Does the former numero uno consider the current numero uno to be the greatest golfer of all time? "He is the most athletic golfer of all time, but not the greatest.

"Because he's very strong physically, that gives him a tremendous advantage mentally. His concentration too, his desire, is better than the rest. And of course he has very good technique. In 15 years' time he might be the greatest of all time, but right now it's still Jack Nicklaus. And I think that Nicklaus had better competition than Tiger has today. In the US Open, next to Tiger, Sergio looked like a little ship next to the dock. My impression was that he was intimidated by Tiger. And that happens with the rest too.

"I know this because I used to feel that others were intimidated by me. Tiger has that hard look in his eyes that I used to have. In matchplay, or medal play, when you say 'good luck,' you look straight into their eyes, and give them a kind of message. Your determination, your desire, your willpower, it is all in the eyes.

"And you know on the first tee whether the other guy feels intimidated. Some, like Raymond Floyd, Jack Nicklaus, Tom Watson, Paul Azinger, never did. But others you keep an eye on, looking for their weaknesses. For example, if he is a quick player, you walk slowly."

Alas, there is no time to learn more about his gamesmanship ploys, because I am also keen to hear what changes he would make to golf, given the power. "I would ban the long putter," he says briskly. "Golf in my opinion was invented to reward the skill, ability and intelligence of the player.

But when I see guys using that putter, on the short putts especially it looks like an incredible help. People who can't putt at all, all of a sudden they're making everything inside 20 feet."

But shouldn't we spare a thought for poor old Sam Torrance, among others, whose conversion to the broomhandle putter has extended his competitive career? "That's a good question. But if the long putter did not exist, Sam Torrance couldn't have tried it. He would have continued to find another way.

"I would also change the loft on the sand wedge, from 60 degrees to maximum 54, so there is more feel involved. Some guys carry four wedges, I need only one. I would have only 12 clubs in the bag, not 14, to eliminate all those wedges.

"And I would change the size of the ball. It should be bigger, to stop distance. Great golf courses all over the world are being redesigned, because with new technology players hit so far. That is wrong because great courses, like St Andrews, are pieces of art. The ball should be changed, not the course."

Ultimately, however, the change he yearns most of all is closest to home. "My main ambition," he says ruefully, "is to gain back some of the magic."

* The next Seve Ballesteros Masterclass will take place in December. For details, contact Wentworth Travel on 01344 844622.

Life and times: Severiano Ballesteros

Born: 9 April, 1957

Nationality: Spanish

Birthplace: Pedreña

Nickname: Seve

Height: 6ft

First golf experience: When he had a cut-down three iron and learnt how to play an array of different shots on his local beach.

Highest world ranking: No 1

Current European ranking: No 237 (7,224.72pts)

Major wins: Open Championship: 1979, 1984, 1988. US Masters: 1980, 1983

European tour titles: 48

Dunhill Cup appearances: 1985, 1986, 1988.

Ryder Cup appearances: As a player: 1979, 1983, 1985, 1987, 1989, 1991, 1993, 1995, (won in 1985, 1987, 1995). As captain: 1997 (won).

Career prize money: £1,455,054.

Interests: Cycling, fishing, gardening. Has own company, Trajectory Golf Course Design.

Family: Wife: Carmen (m 1988); Children: Baldomero (born 1990), Miguel (1992), Carmen (1994).

They say: "Seve plays shots I don't even see in my dreams." (Ben Crenshaw).

He says (on Tiger Woods): "It's like he's on a mission, he's fighting a war in Vietnam. But I don't see anything very special. He's light years away from me as an artist."