Tales from Q School: Inside Golf's Fifth Major

by John Feinstein

  It wasn’t until he met Olin Browne, the longtime touring pro, during an outing at Bear Lakes (Matsuo’s home course), that he even started to think about giving pro golf another shot. “Olin and I hit it off right away,” he said. “We became friends, stayed in touch. In the fall of ’99, he called me and said, ‘Where are you going for first stage?’ I hadn’t even given it any thought. He said to me, ‘Is the dream still there—to play on the PGA Tour?’ I thought about it, and the answer was yes. On the other hand, I was making pretty good money doing what I was doing.”

  Matsuo decided to talk to his wife, Tammy, to see what she thought. Given that she was about to have their first child, her opinion was important. “She just said, ‘Go for it. You need to find out if this is in your system or out of your system.’ So I signed up and decided to give it one more shot.”

  That shot had now lasted six years. He got through first stage that year by birdieing the last two holes to make it on the number, then did the exact same thing to make it through second stage. He played well at Doral in the finals but came up two shots shy of making the PGA Tour. That left him fully exempt on the Nationwide. He didn’t play poorly there—his highest finish was a T–4 at Odessa—but the travel, especially with an infant either in tow or at home with her father missing her, was difficult. Still, he had shown enough potential that he wanted to keep trying.

  “The next few years were frustrating,” he said. “I just couldn’t get through second stage. It didn’t matter how I played. If I played well, I missed by one or two. If I played poorly, I missed by one or two.”

  The only good news was that he was making a decent living on mini-tours. Two years in a row, he was the leading money winner on the Gateway Tour in Florida. He even qualified for the 2003 U.S. Open, again giving him hope that he could play with the big boys. By 2005 he was thinking it was time to rethink—again. He turned thirty-six in June. He had worked hard to get himself into better shape than he had been ten years earlier.

  “Lake Jovita was huge for me,” Matsuo said. “That first time, in ’99, when I made it through second stage, I wasn’t even thinking about what a big deal it was. Now it had become the biggest deal. I was lucky that I built enough cushion the first three days that all I had to do the last day was stay out of harm’s way.”

  Often players who have struggled to get out of second stage find it difficult to peak again for finals. Matsuo appeared to be having that problem. “I don’t want to sit here and think I’ve already done my job just being here,” he said. “But I wouldn’t be human, I don’t think, if the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I just need to go out today and make as many birdies as I can and see where that puts me.”

  Ron Whittaker had arrived at Orange County National under very similar circumstances—only more so. “Hey, I was retired for about an hour, remember?” he said, thinking back to the day at second stage when he believed he had missed the cut by one shot. Whittaker had gone seven years without making it to the finals after spending 1996 on the PGA Tour. Having turned thirty-four in August, he had told his wife before starting Q School that if he couldn’t make it out of second stage this time, he needed to think about putting golf in the rearview mirror.

  Now, given a last-second reprieve at second stage, he appeared completely relaxed playing the finals for the first time since 1997. “I’ve still got my Ambien and Pepto-Bismol,” he joked.

  He had started slowly, shooting 71–73 the first two rounds, but a 67 on the third day had vaulted him from way back to on the number and given him a shot of adrenaline and confidence. “On the one hand, you can say I’m playing with house money here,” he said. “But the way I’m playing, the way I’m hitting the ball, the way I feel mentally, it would be foolish not to be going after the big tour card. I know I’m good enough. I was good enough ten years ago, and I’m a better player now than I was then.” He smiled. “Of course, back then I was just a kid, and my nerves were kind of numb. They definitely aren’t numb anymore. That last day in Houston, I felt sick the whole day because of what was at stake. I’m not feeling that way right now, but we’ll see how it goes Monday coming down the stretch if I’m in position to get back to the tour. That will be the test.”

  ONCE THE FROST BURNED OFF on Saturday, the temperature warmed quickly. The conditions were similar to those on Friday: hot, with less breeze than on any of the first four days. “They’re going to have to go low to keep up today,” Jon Brendle said as he watched the early groups head out on Panther Lake from his Rules Cart. “This is one of those days when a player has to think birdies.”

  Brad Klapprott was thinking birdies as he warmed up on the range. He had started the tournament well, shooting 71–70 the first two days before losing a little bit of ground with a third-round 73. But he was feeling confident as he took out his driver to finish his preround routine, thinking he now had his bad round behind him and was ready to produce a round in the 60s.

  Klapprott was another thirtysomething player (thirty-six to be exact) for whom being in the finals was a big deal. He had spent one year (2002) on the Nationwide Tour but had spent most of his career making a living on mini-tours. His golf background was unusual. Growing up in the small town of Keokuk, Iowa, he had access to two 9-hole golf courses but no driving range. When he wanted to practice, he hit balls in the direction of barges sitting on the Mississippi River. He went to the University of Iowa, was all–Big Ten as a senior, and decided to pursue a pro career. Married to a family practice doctor and with two young children, he was hoping to put off any decisions by making it to the tour. Three shots from the cut line on Saturday morning, he believed this was the best chance he had ever had.

  All that changed in an instant on the driving range. As he bent over to pick up a tee, he felt a sharp pain in his back. It had happened before, a shooting pain that usually indicated he had pulled something. “The best thing for me when it happens is to get some heat on it and get some rest,” he said. “It usually goes away in a couple days.”

  Klapprott didn’t have a couple of days or a couple of hours. What he had was about ten minutes to get to the first tee at Panther Lake. “I knew I was in trouble right away,” he said. “All of a sudden, just standing up had become a challenge. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to swing the club the way I needed to in order to play well. It was an awful feeling.”

  Klapprott asked one of the volunteers on the range to radio for a rules official. Vaughn Moise, a veteran PGA Tour official, was dispatched to meet him as he headed for the tee. Klapprott told Moise what had happened. He wanted to know if he withdrew what kind of status he would have on the Nationwide Tour in 2006.

  Moise felt for Klapprott, but there was nothing encouraging he could tell him. All four players who had withdrawn thus far—Pat Bates, Tom Scherrer, Joe Daley, and Jim Carter—had some status based on past performance. Scherrer and Daley would be fully exempt because of what they had done on the Nationwide in 2005. Carter had a PGA Tour victory, and Bates had past champion status on the Nationwide. Klapprott had none of that. He would go to the bottom of the Nationwide conditional list if he withdrew at that moment.

  Once he heard that, Klapprott made a decision to try to play. He explained the situation to the other two players in his group, Fran Quinn and John Merrick. Both were sympathetic. Back problems plague a lot of golfers. To have an injury suddenly crop up midway through Q School finals was a nightmare no one wanted to contemplate.

  Klapprott was in obvious pain right from the start. On a lot of shots, his hand came off the club because he couldn’t grip it trying to follow through. Shots frequently flew low and short—the kind of shot you might expect from a 10 handicapper, not from someone with a shot at the PGA Tour. Every time Klapprott had to tee a ball up, he squatted to a crouching position. He did the same thing whenever he had to mark. Watching from his cart on the front nine, Brendle shook his head sadly.

  “This is tough to watch,” he said. “The poor guy basically has no chance. He can’t
swing the club, and he doesn’t want to quit. I feel for him.”

  When Klapprott finished the front nine, shooting 40, Brendle stopped him en route to the 10th tee—a long walk for anyone; especially long for someone who was hobbling. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  Klapprott’s face was a mask of pain. “I’ve asked my dad to go out to my car and get me a jacket,” he said. “I think it would help if I kept it warm.”

  “I’ll take him out there,” Brendle said. “I’m also going to go see our physio guy to see if there’s anything he can do for you.”

  Klapprott thanked him and headed for the 10th tee. Brendle returned a few minutes later with Scott Knolling, a physical therapist who worked in the exercise trailer that most of the players used. Knolling got to Klapprott right after he bogeyed the 10th hole.

  “There’s nothing I can do for him right now,” Knolling said after examining Klapprott’s back. “If he can finish the round, I might be able to help him for tomorrow with some ice and electrostim. Based on the way he’s walking, he’s not going to hurt himself by continuing to play. But he’s going to be in a lot of pain the rest of the way. He’s got guts, but I’m honestly not sure he can make it.”

  Klapprott ended up hitting a number of shots with one hand before the long day was over. He did make it, shooting 80, a miraculous round under the circumstances. “I had to hit shots out of the rough at the third and the seventh, and I tried to swing hard to get the ball moving,” he said. “The pain was so bad I almost quit then. After that, I swung one-handed whenever I thought I could.

  “I’m proud of myself for hanging in there and finishing. Fran and John were great. They tried to encourage me the whole day. This is very tough to take, but at least maybe I’ll have a chance tomorrow and Monday if I can get something done between now and the morning.”

  Klapprott’s chance to make the PGA Tour had disappeared the moment he felt the tug in his back. He had gone from 62nd, three shots out, to a tie for 146th, 14 shots from the cut line, which had moved to eight under par in the benign conditions. Realistically, all he could do the last two days was improve his position on the Nationwide.

  When he signed his card, Brendle was waiting to give him a ride straight to the exercise trailer, where Knolling was waiting. “Least I can do,” Brendle said. “He seems like a good guy. Never whined at all. And even if he was a terrible guy, I wouldn’t wish what happened on him. No one deserves that.”

  THOSE WHO WERE HEALTHY took full advantage of the warm, windless conditions. The low scores of the day were a pair of 64s turned in by Scott Hend, a two-year tour veteran trying to get his card back, and Nick Thompson, the Georgia Tech grad who was part of the Walker Cup contingent. Thompson’s round tied the Panther Lake course record, which was held by Ty Tryon, who had set the record during second stage in 2001 en route to making the tour at age seventeen.

  Thompson’s Walker Cup teammate John Holmes shot his fourth straight round in the 60s (67), putting him in a tie for third place with Tom Byrum. They were one shot behind Michael Allen and D. A. Points, who led the field at 16 under par through 72 holes.

  Holmes was beginning to get a lot of attention for his ability to hit the ball several miles off the tee. He wasn’t especially pleased by his newfound fame, making a face when he walked out of the scorer’s trailer Saturday and was told by a PGA Tour official that a number of media members wanted to talk to him. He agreed to talk to Rich Lerner of the Golf Channel, but only after Lerner had given his word that he would not tell him where he stood in the golf tournament. “I don’t want to know anything,” he told Lerner.

  That was fine with Lerner, although it occurred to him that Holmes might add up the fact that he was 15 under par and had reporters waiting to talk to him, and guess he was pretty high up on the leader board. If that didn’t work, being in the second-to-last group off at Crooked Cat the next day (the leaders would play Crooked Cat in the fifth round, Panther Lake in the sixth) might also have been something of a giveaway.

  Jeff Overton, the third Walker Cupper in contention, was one of the few players who lost ground, shooting a 74 that dropped him from three shots inside the number to two shots outside. The margin for error for everyone was rapidly shrinking as the days and holes dwindled.

  In all, 106 of the 160 remaining players broke par for the day, 67 of them breaking 70. “Guys were being aggressive,” said Brian Henninger, whose 67 jumped him into contention at three under par. “The conditions dictated it, and so did the day. If you were behind and you didn’t make a move today, chances are pretty good you don’t have a move in you.”

  A lot of players finished the day with renewed hope. David Sutherland also shot 67 and was at three under along with Henninger. Steve Stricker and Dan Forsman each shot 69 and were one shot farther back at two under. Bubba Dickerson, who had vowed after his opening-round 73 to play his way from outside the number to inside the number, did just that, shooting 66 to jump to eight under, which was right on the cut line at the end of the day. Grant Waite was tied with him after a 67. Bob Heintz, who had struggled in rounds two and three, found his game and produced a 68 that left him one shot outside the number at seven under. There were now only thirty-one players on the number or better.

  “Today it’s okay to be one shot out,” Waite said. “Even tomorrow it’s okay. Just not Monday.”

  Tommy Tolles, who had scraped through the first two rounds in one over par, shot a second straight 69 to get to within striking distance at five under. “Boy, am I glad this is six rounds and not four,” he said, grinning.

  Bill Haas, with his dad following—and being followed constantly by the Golf Channel cameras—shot 69. It was a decent round, but he didn’t gain a lot of ground on a day when thirty-nine of the top fifty-one players shot 69 or better. Still, Haas was only two shots outside the number.

  “I’m doing fine,” Jay Haas reported when asked repeatedly how he felt. “What matters is how Bill’s doing.”

  Bill insisted that he felt fine, too, his confidence returning after two tough days.

  Mac Fritz of Titleist continued to look a little pale.

  Ron Whittaker continued his confident play, shooting a 66 one day after his 67, jumping him into a tie for 10th place at 11 under par. “Oh, God, do I wish it was Monday,” he said, a big smile on his face as he relaxed on a cart after a postround practice session. He was tied with, among others, Peter Tomasulo, who had played his best round of the week, shooting a 68 that did nothing to sway his belief that he would be going home to Long Beach with his PGA Tour card. Tomasulo’s buddy from Long Beach, John Merrick, hadn’t let Brad Klapprott’s struggles affect his game, shooting a 69 to move to seven under.

  B. J. Staten was no doubt wishing the same thing as Whittaker after a 65 jumped him into seventh place at 13 under. “I have never felt so good on a golf course as I do right now,” he said as he ate lunch after his round. “I’m actually looking forward to the next two days.”

  Some players who had needed a big move failed to get it. Hiroshi Matsuo shot 71—a respectable round, but not close to what he needed. He moved from a tie for 111th to a tie for 104th. “Where have you heard this before?” he said, forcing a smile. “I hit it great but couldn’t make anything.”

  Perhaps from Steve Wheatcroft, who posted a second straight 72 and was two shots back of Matsuo. Bob May, after his second-round 69, couldn’t get anything going, shooting a second straight 73. He admitted to feeling weary, having walked 72 holes in four days after not having walked anywhere near that much in almost three years.

  Word of Brad Klapprott’s injury spread quickly among the players. Just as players in team sports don’t like to talk about players who have been cut, golfers don’t like to discuss players who are injured. “It’s almost as if talking about it means it can happen to you,” said David Sutherland, who knew plenty about injuries. “The problem is, whether you talk about it or not, it can happen to anyone, anytime.”

  A lot of t
he players had no idea who Klapprott was, especially those who had been on the PGA Tour in recent years. But they all felt for him.

  “There is no worse nightmare than getting hurt during Q School,” Grant Waite said. “Any other week of the year, you get hurt, you say, ‘Okay, as long as it isn’t serious, I’ve got next week. Or the week after.’ You get hurt at Q School, it’s, ‘Well, I’ve got next year.’ Next year feels like a lifetime away. Especially now, when you’re so close you can almost touch it.”

  ONE PLAYER WHO FELT CLOSE ENOUGH to touch it was Johnson Wagner. He was in the finals for the fourth straight year, but for the first time, he felt as if he belonged—not only in the finals but also on the PGA Tour.

  “I know I’m ready for it now,” he said after shooting 68 on Saturday to get to eight under par, right on the number. “I’ve become good friends with Bob Heintz, and he keeps telling me that my game is good enough for the tour. Now it’s up to me to give myself that chance.”

  Wagner hadn’t started out to be a golfer. He was considerably bigger than most golfers, 6 feet 3 and a solid 230 pounds. He had an easy smile and a friendly manner that made his size easy to forget. His first love, growing up in Nashville, had been hockey. He was the starting goalie and captain of his high school hockey team as both a junior and a senior, and if he’d had a chance to go to college as a hockey player, he probably would have done so.

  But he was meant—or so it seemed—to be a golfer. His grandfather, M. T. Wagner, was a member of the U.S. Golf Association’s executive board, and from the beginning, Johnson could hit a golf ball a long way. He went to Virginia Tech on a partial golf scholarship, figuring he’d play golf or pro football. “I had the size for football,” he said, laughing. “But I liked golf better. No one hits you.”