The sound when Sam Snead hit an iron shot was like the sound of a Rolls Royce door slamming shut. The contact with the ball and the turf – which was absolutely simultaneous – had a rich sound unmatched in his day, or perhaps any other. With the driver, the sound was different; it had more of an explosive quality, the brisk but definitive report of a rifle shot. Even today, 68 years after bursting onto the national scene, he remains the standard.