The New War

For 49 years, Casey Martin lived with a leg that was a constant, throbbing reminder of his own fragility. When he finally underwent an amputation of his right leg at the midthigh in October 2021, the expectation was relief. He had spent his life fighting for the right to play golf on his own terms, culminating in a landmark 2001 Supreme Court victory that forced the PGA Tour to accommodate his disability. But the surgery didn't bring the peace he anticipated.

"The pains that I used to have for 49 years are gone," Martin said. "Unfortunately, there's a new set that came with it. I wasn't 100% prepared for what I was going to deal with. I'm not going to lie, it's been a bit of a war."

Martin, who turns 54 this week, has spent the last two decades as the head coach of the University of Oregon’s golf team. While he can still stripe a 7-iron on the practice range, the physical demands of a full 18-hole round have become an insurmountable barrier. He hasn't played a full round in nearly two years. For a man who defined his life by his ability to compete against the odds, the transition has been a quiet, painful grieving process.

A Lifetime of Managing the Inevitable

Born with Klippel-Trenaunay-Weber Syndrome, a rare and degenerative birth defect, Martin’s condition was a ticking clock. The veins in his right leg lacked the valves necessary to pump blood back against gravity, causing it to pool and slowly deteriorate his tibia. As a child, he was a fixture in doctors' offices, enduring the routine of having blood drained from his knee with a syringe.

His family treated his athleticism as a necessity, not a luxury. His brother, Cameron, ensured Casey was included in every backyard game, though by the eighth grade, the risk of a catastrophic injury—a slip that could lead to life-threatening bleeding—forced him to abandon contact sports for the relative safety of the golf course. It was a calculated risk that eventually led him to Stanford, where he became a two-time All-American and a teammate of Tiger Woods.

The Legal Fight That Changed Sports

Martin’s name became synonymous with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1997, when he sued the PGA Tour for the right to use a golf cart during tournaments. The Tour argued it was a private organization exempt from ADA mandates, claiming that walking was an "essential" part of the game.

In 2001, the Supreme Court ruled 7-2 in Martin's favor. Justice John Paul Stevens wrote that the use of a cart would not "fundamentally alter" the nature of the game. It was a watershed moment for disability rights in athletics, yet for Martin, the victory was always secondary to the simple desire to play.

The Reality of the Fairway

Today, the battleground has shifted from the courtroom to the physical reality of the course. Martin can handle a flat surface, but the uneven terrain of a bunker or a side-hill lie is now beyond his reach.

"It's just so hard to play, and it hurts," Martin admits. "I kind of felt like it just wasn't worth it."

He remains a fixture at Oregon, guiding the next generation of Ducks, but the man who once forced the most powerful organization in golf to change its rules is now navigating a different kind of adjustment. He is no longer fighting for the right to play; he is learning how to live without the game that defined his public identity.

Key Takeaways

  • A New Physical Reality: Despite the 2021 amputation intended to end decades of chronic pain, Martin faces significant new physical challenges that have effectively ended his ability to play 18-hole rounds.
  • The Supreme Court Legacy: Martin’s 2001 victory remains a cornerstone of disability rights law, proving that professional sports organizations are subject to the Americans with Disabilities Act.
  • A Transition in Identity: After a lifetime of competing, Martin is navigating a "grieving process" as he shifts his focus entirely to his role as the head coach of the University of Oregon golf team.

As he approaches his 54th birthday, Martin’s focus has narrowed. He is no longer the plaintiff in a national debate; he is a coach, a father, and a man adjusting to a new physical baseline. The war he describes isn't against the PGA Tour or a legal system—it's the daily, quiet struggle of adapting to a body that has finally reached its limit.