Okay, so. A guy with a law practice wins four majors in one calendar year and then goes back to the office. That's 1930. Bobby Jones, amateur, never took a dollar for any of it, and he closed the whole thing out at Merion in the U.S. Amateur. Then he quit. Weeks later, done, twenty-eight years old, see you at Augusta later when he got around to building it.
But look. There's another man on that green. Eugene Homans. He's the finalist, he's playing match play against the most famous golfer alive, and the gallery is so thick they brought in marines to hold people back. Imagine trying to line up a putt with a human fence breathing behind you and everybody on the property rooting against you in the friendliest possible way. Homans lost 8 and 7. He shook Jones's hand and I hope somebody bought him a drink, because somebody had to stand across from history and he did it without falling apart.
Amateur. Day job. Four for four. I keep thinking about the ones who went 0-for-4 that year against him and went home and practiced anyway.
The four weren't the four we'd name now — two Opens and two Amateurs, British and American. The Masters didn't exist in 1930; Jones went and built it four years later, so he won a slam that couldn't be repeated in that shape.
Four majors in one summer and the man still got home for dinner. Most people can't manage four loaves in one day without burning the last tray.