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God bless the human car crash that is John Daly - just don't bet on him

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Observer golf columnist and editor at large of Golf Monthly in praise of The Wild Thing

You have to love John Daly. Well, actually, you don't have to love him and, indeed, several of his ex-wives no longer do but there remains something irresistible about the man/boy from Arkansas, the same state, of course, that gave us that other irresistible joker Bill Clinton.

The big difference between these two guys is that Daly really can play golf and Clinton can't. Mind you, I doubt Daly would have made it big-time as President of the United States although there would have been a few laughs along the way had he ever hauled his bag into the White House.

Anyway, Big John turned 41 in April this year and is still plugging away at a game that made his fortune, a shedload of money that he then threw away. Mostly he threw the stuff away - around 50 million bucks - in the big-time slots that litter Las Vegas and that Daly became addicted to.

As a compulsive-excessive character he is always, sadly, becoming addicted to something or other. Currently this is Diet Coke, Marlboro Lights and M&Ms, a relentless diet that explains why he is built like the sort of brick outhouse you may still find in the outer reaches of the Don Valley.

This may be bad but it is better than the Jack Daniels and Diet-Coke that he used to prefer and that led him, shaking and sweating, to join Alcoholics Anonymous. He has been good enough to win the USPGA (1991) and our Open (1995). This second major came as very good news indeed to Sir Michael Bonallack, then secretary of the R&A, and a man astute enough to have placed a decent bet on Daly at 80-1 that year at St Andrews.

Daly lost his US Tour player privileges a couple of years ago and nowadays he relies on sponsors' invites. Despite a track record that would have him put down if he was a horse, enough sponsors pull him in for Daly to still make a very decent living. Whatever else he is, he is box office.

And this is why he is performing this week in Sweden at the Scandinavian Masters. The Swedes, almost all of whom are mad as hatters in my experience, recognise a fellow traveller when they see one.

Whatever happens scorewise in Sweden, Daly is assured of some kind of pay packet just for turning up. He comes to Sweden direct from a rather impressive display in the USPGA Championship when he reminded us what a talent he has serially abused over the years. Tiger Woods prepared for this fourth and final major of the year by retreating to some Zen Buddhist cave high in the hills, studying the course from 360 degrees and working out for 25 hours a day.

Daly, on the other hand, merely loaded up his trailer with coke, fags and sweeties and headed for the course the day before. Tiger says he won because he is fitter than anyone else, Daly just grins and lights up another one. As I say, irresistible but then so, too, are motorway wrecks. There is a school of thought that believes he can win in Sweden this week but, if I were you, I wouldn't bet on it.