Paul Lewis: Composed Campbell breathes easy

The choice of Michael Campbell's US Open win as the greatest sporting achievement of 2005 was a bit of a no-brainer, really, even in a year of outstanding success in New Zealand sport.

One of the key components in that win was the way he withstood the pressure or, to put it another way, maintained his composure well enough to win while others - including the great Tiger Woods - were losing theirs.

Of all the sporting qualities, composure is possibly the most difficult to find and maintain. Plenty of sports people have talent, many have flair but the ability to compose oneself to win remains the toughest art of all.

Sports history is full of talented sports people who have lost their composure and even been saddled with that most horrific label: chokers. Like the 1999 World Cup All Blacks; 'Lay Down Sally' of Australian rowing fame in the 2004 Olympics; The Black Caps in the first Chappell-Hadlee ODI; Brett Lee in the second.

But it is in golf that the choker is most grievously visible - and where composure is most needed. An unforgiving sport at the best of times, golf can play cruel tricks. Greg Norman's epic crash-and-burn at the 1996 Masters when he blew a big lead for Nick Faldo to, well, nick it is just one example.

John Daly had a major choke against Woods in the WGC American Express Championship this year. Having played magnificent golf to force a playoff - and carrying the hopes of everyman golfers everywhere - Daly missed a tiddler of a putt. You could have knocked it in with a teaspoon. It was a tiny little thing of miserable dimensions. A mere micron to the megaton quality of Daly's golf that day. Daly looked stunned. Woods looked embarrassed. The golfing world looked away.

But even that pales next to the most famous golf choke of all - Jean van de Velde's 1999 horror at the British Open at Carnoustie. Arriving on the tee at the 18th, the Frenchman needed only a six - two-over par - and he'd still win the old Claret Jug.

What happened was the archetypal effect of pressure on a sportsman. He hit a wobbly old tee shot but it ended up safe. His second clattered into the grandstand and fired off into nasty rough. Still no problem. Still shots to spare. But pressure's cold hand had gripped him by the throat and his next shot - a tentative, skittery thing - scuttled into the famous Barry Burn, the creek that guards the 18th.

With his ball in the water, he could take a drop and a penalty stroke and still win the major with an up-and-down for a six.

And then the full force of his meltdown became apparent. Van de Velde was a space probe returning to earth and his heat shields had malfunctioned. He took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers and, as a horrified world watched, paddled into the chill waters of the burn. The Frenchman appeared outwardly composed but, underneath, well, he was more like a frog in a blender. He was actually contemplating playing the ball out of the shallow water.

In degrees of difficulty, this is like facing Brett Lee with a toothpick instead of a cricket bat with two sausage rolls taped to your legs. It's like getting in the ring to fight Lennox Lewis with your hands tied inside your shorts. It's like Winston Peters being Minister of Foreign Affairs...

Even Tiger wouldn't have bitten that one off. In fact, after a while paddling around in the burn, neither did van de Velde. He eventually emerged, took the drop - and plunked the ball into a bunker with his next shot. Five. He had to sink it from the bunker but put it seven feet away and sank the putt for a seven.

On the other side of the world, I had to get up for a moment and leave the TV. Burnouts like that often comfort we hackers. They remind us that golf's sharpest teeth do not bury themselves exclusively in our buttocks. But there is little pleasure in such ugly crashes.

However, van de Velde's courage remained intact. He could have slunk away after the 18th, seeking the solitude. I know I would have in his shoes, er socks, er, bare feet. He stayed. He did interviews.

He must have known that he would be marked for all time as the choker of all chokers. Not so much a choke as strangulation. Hanging oneself from golf's highest rafters with one's own belt. But he stayed, politely answering even the dopiest questions. He may not have been composed in action but he was decidedly courageous and prepared to face up to his own actions - demonstrating that composure in sport is not always about winning.