BOOK REVIEW: Joe Culleyon Ian O'Connor's book that recalls the great rivalry between Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer

AT THE World Golf Village in St Augustine, Florida, there is a course called The King Bear. The story of how it was designed and built - that it was built at all - is a neat metaphor for one of the most intense personal rivalries in sport, both in competition and out.

The course is the only instance of collaboration in design by Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus, the two most important figures in the modern game. (Tiger will leave his own legacy, but there would never have been a Tiger without the other pair, particularly Palmer.)

They first met in 1958 at an exhibition in Athens, Ohio. Jack was an 18-year-old from nearby Columbus already building a reputation as the top amateur of his day; Arnold was a 28-year-old from the not-too-distant Latrobe, Pennsylvania, who had just won his first major, that year's Masters.

They couldn't have been more different.

Palmer was the son of Deacon, the head green keeper at Latrobe. He was working-class, strong, outrageously good-looking. He had a violent swing, and attacked on every shot: "lay-up" was not in his vocabulary (and that would cost him dearly). And charisma oozed from his pores.

Nicklaus was the son of Charlie, a successful pharmacist. He spent his childhood honing his game as a member at the country club. He was big and strong alright, with a fat face and an ugly army crewcut. He had a classic swing and always played the percentages. And no one could warm to him.

Ian O'Connor has brought the stories of the men and their five decades of heated battle together in Arnie Jack: Palmer, Nicklaus and Golf's Greatest Rivalry, an immensely entertaining work full of telling detail.

In the 1950s two things arrived to change the game of golf: television, and Arnold Palmer. They were made for each other. The camera loved Arnold, and he loved the show. This handsome, swashbuckling young man from rural Pennsylvania captured the imagination, in particular, of non-golfers. Let's face it: he made the game sexy.

His influence was quickly international. Palmer was already arguably the most recognised face in world sport in 1960 (pre Pele, pre Ali) when he captured the 1960 Masters and US Open, both times producing his patented, last-day "charge", thrilling the galleries with his aggressive play.

It was Palmer's decision to play the British Open that revitalised the venerable competition: it again became a tournament the best Americans wanted to win.

It was Palmer, talking to his sportswriter pal Bob Drum on their way to the 1960 British Open at St Andrews, who mentioned that he'd like to win the British and then the PGA to collect a "grand slam" of pro majors.

Drum wrote it and it stuck. Not only was Palmer changing the face of golf, he was changing the language of the game.

And it was Palmer's decision to let a young businessman named Mark McCormack handle his financial affairs, his endorsements and appearance fees, which revolutionised professional sport.

By 1973, three-times more people played golf than in 1960, and that was virtually entirely down to Palmer's appeal - and his battle with Nicklaus. Their competitive rivalry first came to a head at the 1962 US Open at Oakmont, in Arnie's back yard of southwestern Pennsylvania. Jack was 22, Arnie 32, with five major victories already.

According to Gary Player (who was an important and yet somehow marginalised member of the decade's great triumvirate) Arnie's Army treated Jack "like a dog". O'Connor writes: "When the Palmerites weren't calling him "Fat Guts" and "Fat Jack", they were calling him "Ohio Fats". The gallery was full of labourers - Palmer's kind of people - and it took on the personality of a beered-up Pittsburgh Steelers crowd."

By the way, two months before that showdown, at the Masters in April, Palmer had holed a magical, 45-foot downhill chip on the 16th right in front of a flabbergasted Player, the defending champion. Palmer had been two behind the South African, but would then beat him in the play-off.

The shot - which brings to mind Woods' outrageous chip-in at the same hole a couple of years ago - cemented his status as a fearless charger.

Yet despite their relationship, from the very start Palmer was remarkably helpful and generous to his new rival Nicklaus. He flew him around in his plane, introduced him to influential friends.

And the greatest bit of assistance he offered was to allow Jack to become Mark McCormack's client. It was a decision Palmer would regret.

Palmer's on-course ascendancy did not last terribly long. Only five years after their duel at Oakmont, Nicklaus had already established that he was a better golfer than Palmer.

"Palmer was the King in name only," O'Connor writes. "In the 18 majors leading up the 1967 US Open at Baltusrol, Arnie had captured only one while Jack had landed five."

But the fans still hadn't let up.

At Baltusrol they were paired for the third round. Arnie's Army "were ruthless", according to Mark McCormack's wife, Nancy. "They had big cardboard cutouts of Arnold that they carried on sticks." Nicklaus played it down. "I'm used to it. It has become part of the game . . . You expect yelling, screaming and banners when you play with (Palmer)."

"Banners?" O'Connor writes, "Yes, Palmer's people had brought in bedsheet-size signs that invited Nicklaus to land his shots in a bunker or rough.

"The fact that they'd won team championships together (already at that stage four Canada/World Cups) helped to contain the hostility, at least on the players' side of the ropes. "We appreciated what we had begun (as team-mates)," Palmer said. "We kind of practised the fact that we respected each other . . ." "At day's end, that mutual appreciation and respect didn't dull each man's desire to conquer the other.

"We wanted to beat each other's brains out," Nicklaus said.

During his research, O'Connor gained access to most of the television coverage, and peppers his accounts of the crucial shots and rounds with descriptions of the player's dress, body language and facial expressions, which add to the colour of the reports. At Baltusrol, Nicklaus had a putt not only to win the US Open but to break Ben Hogan's aggregate record of 276.

"Nicklaus made sure his putt wasn't short. As the ball was about to fall, Jack stepped forward and swung his right hand back over his head like a softball pitcher. As his ball disappeared, Nicklaus whipped his right hand forward and kicked the air with one of his tree-trunk legs. Palmer stood to the side, right hand on hip, leaning on his putter, wearing a look that could kill."

As Palmer's influence on the course waned, the men's rivalry only intensified off it. Arnie designed courses, so Jack would design courses (very different courses). Arnie had private aircraft, Jack would get a plane. Arnold had his logo, a multi-coloured umbrella, Jack would have his Golden Bear - which Arnie referred to as the Golden Pig.

O'Connor also examines the cement that bound the men: the great friendship of their wives. Remarkably, Winnie Palmer and Barbara Nicklaus first met at the great firestorm that was Oakmont 1962, and the women walked together in the galleries following their husbands as Arnie's Army hurled abuse at the young Nicklaus, shouted at him to miss putts, threw his ball into a bunker or kicked Palmer's out of the rough and onto the fairway. From that day Winnie and Barbara thought of themselves as sisters, and through the years their friendship ensured that the men's relationship never descended into animosity.

Both men married early, and were clearly devoted to their wives, though in Arnold's case there is much speculation that "devoted" did not always equate with "faithful". Palmer never hid his attraction to women, and would even flirt in Winnie's company. But although Arnie always insisted nothing much ever happened, that's not the impression everyone else got. Yet it seems Winnie preferred just to ignore the issue.

At the 1975 Masters, the authorities ensured Palmer and Nicklaus were yet again paired for the third round, even though theirs scores should have had them in different groups. It was their way of saying, "We want great theatre at the Masters, and Arnie and Jack make for great theatre.

"The circus turned into a most predictable act, as Palmer and Nicklaus ignored the other highly capable men in the tournament and turned their portion of the Masters into a matchplay stare-down. The simply couldn't resist. Even in a major, even with both in contention to win that major, Palmer and Nicklaus could never be on the same fairway or green without burning to outplay each other above all else, regardless of the consequences.

"And yes, there were consequences." Arnie shot 75 and Jack 73, as Tom Weiskopf and Johnny Miller jumped into contention.

But the next day, "Nicklaus made off with another piece of Palmer's legacy, becoming the Masters' first five-time champ".

In the end, Jack won the battle on the course and as a designer, Arnie won the popularity contest, the endorsements deals and business success.

Jack had the trophies, Arnie had the love. Each man craved what the other had.

In the 1980s, as Palmer went off to provide the same impetus to the seniors tour as he had the main tour, their friendship cooled as the simply didn't see as much of each other.

Also, they had a new battlefront: they fought to have their own tournament, Arnie's at Bay Hill and Jack's Memorial, gain the greater prestige on tour. Again, their wives helped to sort that out.

Winnie died in November 1999. That day, Jack was watching son Gary at US tour school in Florida. Of course, Jack and Barbara went to Latrobe for the funeral. After the service, everyone retired to the golf club (which Palmer had purchased many years earlier, much to Deacon's private delight).

"During the reception Jack was on his cell phone to his son's coach to get updates on Gary's endless pursuit of his tour card. Arnold walked over and asked how Gary was doing.

"He's got a couple of holes to play," Jack said, adding the updates were encouraging.

"Well, come on, let's turn on the TV," Arnold suggested.

"You don't have to do that," Jack responded.

"I would want to know," Arnold said.

So Palmer and Nicklaus watched the boy Jack named after Gary Player finish his sixth and final round, a round of seven-under 63. The Golden Bear's own son was a member of the PGA Tour. Overcome by joy and sadness, Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer fell into each other's arms and cried."