Tales from Q School: Inside Golf's Fifth Major

by John Feinstein

  His parents moved to New York while he was in college because his father got a job teaching computer science at West Point. Wagner played a lot of golf in New York, winning the prestigious Metropolitan Open twice—first as an amateur, then in his first tournament as a pro in 2002. He rose steadily from that point on, finishing 120th in his first year on the Nationwide Tour in 2003, then 42nd, then 36th.

  Normally, a 36th-place finish would have consigned him to second stage, since only those who finish between 21st and 35th are exempt to the finals. But because of Jason Gore’s promotion, the 21st player on the list went straight to the PGA Tour, the 36th player straight to the finals.

  “I should probably write Jason a thank-you note,” Wagner joked. “He certainly made November a lot more pleasant for me. I think going back to second stage is really tough when you feel as if you’re right there, ready for the PGA Tour. You have to tell yourself that second stage is not beneath you. I’ve seen guys struggle with that.”

  Wagner was living Steve Stricker’s Groundhog Day existence during Q School week. Katie Winn, who had been his girlfriend since college, had volunteered to make the short drive from their home in Jupiter, Florida, to keep him company and lend support during the week. But Wagner had asked her not to come. “I just didn’t want any pressure to do anything—go to dinner, watch TV, not watch TV, talk,” Wagner said. “I don’t know if that’s the best approach or not, but right now it feels like the right one to me.

  “I remember the first year I was in the finals [2002], I was just so thrilled to be here, I never hit a good shot all week. I think I finished 130th, never had a chance. I sit home at night and see these Walker Cup kids [Johnson was only two years older than “kids” like John Holmes and Nick Thompson] talking about how they don’t feel any pressure and they’re having a good time here, and I think, ‘Wow, I’d love to feel that way.’

  “I feel like I’ve come a long way since that first year here. I’m a better player. I’m better prepared. I’m sleeping well. I feel comfortable.”

  He sighed. “I’m forty-eight hours from realizing a dream. That’s it—forty-eight hours.”

  At that moment, he certainly wasn’t alone.

  16

  Go Low or Bust

  THE ATMOSPHERE ON SUNDAY MORNING was officially tense. With two rounds left, just about everyone was feeling the jitters.

  Those who stood inside the number, even if they were well inside the number, knew there was still a lot of golf left before they could take a deep breath and start to celebrate. “There’s still half of a normal golf tournament left,” said Tom Byrum, sitting comfortably in a tie for third place. “You can’t afford to let up even a little bit.”

  Those outside the number, especially those a few shots or more outside, knew there were no more tomorrows; they needed to make a move today. The penultimate round of any golf tournament is known among the players as “moving day,” because if you don’t make a move then, there aren’t enough holes left with only one round to play.

  “Sitting here now, five shots outside the number with two rounds to play, I know I’ve got work to do,” Brian Henninger said. “But it’s work I know I’m capable of doing. If I’m still five shots out tonight, I’ll know I need something approaching a miracle to get my card back. I don’t want to feel that way.”

  On Saturday night, almost everyone in the field went to bed thinking there was still a chance. Realistically, anyone within 10 shots of the number still had a chance. “You can shoot 66–66 on these golf courses,” said Jason Buha, a former PGA Tour member who, thirty years old and about to become a father for the second time, was doing the “how long do I keep grinding?” dance. “I’m seven shots out. If I went 67–67, I’d take my chances at 11 [under]. I’m sure a lot of guys are thinking that way.”

  A lot of guys were thinking that way, because elite golfers always believe they’re one round away from finding something on the range or the putting green and going low. Buha fit into that category. He had an economics degree from Duke, and more and more, he found himself wondering if he was putting that degree to good use. He had made it to the big tour twice (2000 and 2003) but had failed to crack the top 150 on the money list either time. He’d had his worst year ever on the Nationwide in 2005, leading to discussions with his wife—and with himself—about his future.

  “After I had missed seven or eight cuts in a row, I was ready to quit—I mean really ready to quit,” he said. “I sat down with my wife [Ashley] and asked her what she thought. I said, ‘I know I can get a decent job, but if I want a good job, I probably need to go back and get an MBA.’

  “She told me I needed to stop thinking like that; it wasn’t time for that yet. She said I needed to be nicer to myself, to stop beating myself up—which I tend to do—and said, ‘Jason, if you quit now, you’ll have the itch again within six months.’

  “She was right. I still love doing this. I tried to ease up on myself and went back to some old things that had worked. I went to second stage [in McKinney, Texas] and played good golf on a hard golf course. It was a great confidence boost.

  “The funny thing about Q School is, you can walk on the range the first day and know exactly who the first-timers are. Ignorance is bliss. They’re all just jacked to be here. The other thing I can do is walk on the range and tell you exactly what day of Q School it is. First day, everyone’s got their head up, ready to say hello; most guys are smiling. By the fifth day, everyone’s got their head down. If you see a buddy, someone you’re close to, you might get a hello. But that’s it. There’s no one around here talking about going to the movies tonight. We’re all well beyond that.”

  Or, as Hiroshi Matsuo put it, “By the fifth day, even the funny guys aren’t funny anymore.”

  THE LEAST AMUSED PERSON on the grounds early that fifth morning was Bill Glasson. Not that Glasson was a hold-your-sides guy to begin with. He was a tough, forty-five-year-old, twenty-two-year tour veteran who had won seven times and been through surgery almost as often. He had been on and off the tour because of injuries for most of the past ten years, dating to surgery in 1996 to repair a detached muscle in his right forearm.

  Glasson would frequently refuse requests to go into the interview room when he was contending in a tournament, but he would willingly talk to anyone who approached him in the locker room or outside the scorer’s tent. “He doesn’t mind talking,” said Wes Seeley, a former tour media official. “He just doesn’t like talking in the setting that we offer.”

  Which was fine with most writers, who preferred the informality of the locker room anyway. Glasson first made it through Q School in 1984, then returned twenty years later. In 2005 he’d had to go back to second stage. He never complained.

  On Sunday morning, he was sitting comfortably in a tie for eighth place at 12 under par and had a 9:50 start time on the 10th tee at Crooked Cat. He arrived on the tee in plenty of time, except for one problem: he was on the wrong golf course. He had misread the schedule and thought he was playing Panther Lake. As soon as he saw three players on the tee and realized that none of them were B. J. Staten or Robert Garrigus, the players he was paired with, he knew he had a problem.

  He raced across the property to the 10th tee at Crooked Cat, arriving a few seconds after his name had been called by the starter. Under the rules, that meant he had arrived late for his tee time. Which meant that when he teed his ball up, he was hitting three, docked two shots for being late. Glasson made no excuses for the screw-up and was able to take it in good humor later in the day. “I would call it a rookie mistake,” he said, “except for the fact that that would be an insult to all rookies.”

  A rookie might have let the two-shot penalty ruin his day. Glasson kept his cool, dealt with the double bogey he made on the 10th, and then calmly shot 70, which allowed him to remain in a tie for eighth place when the day was over.

  Things were a little more heated in the group that teed off at number 10 on Crooked Cat at 8:30. Johnson Wagner was p
aired with Briny Baird and Matt Hansen. Wagner was right on the cut line; Baird and Hansen were one shot outside at seven under. Perhaps hoping to lighten the atmosphere a bit, Wagner jokingly remarked as the group walked off the third green that he still owed Jason Gore a thank-you note for getting him into the finals without having to go to second stage.

  Baird was not amused by the remark. “I’ve got Jason Gore to thank for my being here, too,” he said.

  “I walked right into it,” Wagner said later. “I didn’t realize.”

  What he didn’t realize was that Baird had finished 126th on the PGA Tour money list—exactly one spot and $2,545 (one more birdie or one less bogey)—shy of the coveted 125th spot, which would have sent him back to the tour with fully exempt status in 2006. The reason Baird was 126th and not 125th was Jason Gore, who, after his promotion to the PGA Tour in August, had continued his hot play, winning a tournament and finishing the year with $871,545—good for 94th on the money list. Someone had to be knocked out of the top 125 because of Gore, and it was Baird, a thirty-three-year-old tour veteran who hadn’t won on tour but had finished 22nd on the money list in 2003 with more than $2.2 million.

  Now, thanks to Gore, he found himself struggling at Q School and paired with someone who was as delighted by Gore’s success as he was distressed by it.

  “If they’re going to stretch the Nationwide list when something like that happens, they should stretch the PGA Tour list, too,” Baird commented. “They shouldn’t let you guys [numbers 20 to 35 on the Nationwide list] straight into the finals anyway.”

  “That’s really not fair to say,” Wagner said.

  Baird said nothing in response. The next time the two men spoke was when they shook hands—briefly—at round’s end. Wagner had shot 69; Baird 71. Wagner was still right on the number, which had gone to 11 under with the conditions again almost perfect for scoring. Baird was now three shots outside the number.

  Wagner wasn’t upset with Baird; he understood his frustration. “I just wish I’d known,” he said. “I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

  There really wasn’t a lot of talking going on around the two golf courses. By now, there were actual galleries—perhaps a couple of hundred people following certain groups. Q School is covered daily in the Orlando Sentinel, and since the Golf Channel is located in Orlando and the city is a haven for golfers escaping the cold weather, people were well aware that it was going on, that it was free, and that few places on the golf courses were roped.

  Jay Haas politely signed autographs most of the day as he walked with Bill’s group. Not surprisingly, Bill Haas was getting a lot of Golf Channel time, as was John Holmes, who was emerging as the star of the tournament, playing better each day. He shot 66 on Sunday, his fifth straight round in the 60s and the fourth straight day he had gone one shot lower than the day before. That left him tied for first place at 21 under par with D. A. Points, the only other player in the field who had been in the 60s every day. Michael Allen fell out of the lead with a 70 but was still sitting very comfortably in third place at 18 under par, seven shots inside the number.

  By the end of the day Sunday, there were 30 players at 11 under-par or better, with another 44 within six shots of the number. Of those 30, probably only 5 were almost certain to stay in the top 30: Holmes and Points, at 21 under; Allen at 18 under; and Alex Cejka and Nick Thompson at 17 under.

  “Can’t think that way,” said Thompson, who had come a long way since shooting 75 in the first round at the TPC Tampa Bay in October. “You can’t go out there and play safe or protect. That’s when you get into trouble. Someone is going to do that tomorrow—I just hope it isn’t me.”

  Ron Whittaker was one more night of Ambien and Pepto-Bismol away from making it back to the tour after shooting 70. He was tied for 10th with, among others, Bubba Dickerson and Joe Alfieri at 13 under par.

  The best round of the day might have been the 67 turned in by Bill Haas. He had finally gotten turned around the previous day with a 69, but he knew that he needed a very good round on Sunday to be in solid position going into the final day. No one had a bigger gallery than Haas, in part because of his last name, in part because people had seen him play on the tour, and in part because his dad was in his gallery.

  “This is one of those times when you find out a little bit about yourself,” he said. “I’ve played with some pressure on me before, and some of the time it’s gone well, some of the time it hasn’t gone so well. Today, it went well.”

  Jay Haas hadn’t had the chance to watch his son play in important situations that often because he was frequently playing himself on those days. Bill enjoyed having him there, mostly because he felt that there was at least one person watching who understood exactly how he was feeling as the round went on. He knew he wasn’t going to hear any cheering from his dad—or any moans or groans either.

  “The great thing about Dad is, he’s there to talk when I want to talk, but he isn’t going to be waiting for me when I come off 18 with a shot-by-shot critique or with swing tips,” Bill said. “He’s been through everything I’ve ever been through and lots more. So if I ask for help, he’s there with it. But he isn’t going to hammer me with it.”

  Right from the start on Sunday, Haas looked more confident than he had all week. He was finding fairways consistently and firing at flags. Before the day was over, he had six birdies and just one bogey. “I knew with the conditions the way they were that going one or two under wasn’t going to do me much good,” he said. “I was three under on Saturday, and I went from two shots outside the number to two shots outside the number. I was running in place. I knew if I started the last day a couple shots outside, I would still have a good chance. But I didn’t want to do that. I was hoping to get some cushion.”

  He didn’t get any cushion, but he did get right to the number, which jumped to 11 under by day’s end as low scores continued to pile up. One reason for the scores was the conditions, but another reason was that a lot of players were taking the same approach as Haas: the time to be cautious had passed. Most players start out repeating the Q School mantra: “Don’t make a big number.” By day five, if you are outside the cut line, you can no longer be cautious.

  Haas’s 67 jumped him into a nine-way tie for 22nd place. Among those at 11 under were Johnson Wagner, B. J. Staten, and Peter Tomasulo. The last two had played disappointingly, with Tomasulo shooting 72 and Staten 74 on a day when Crooked Cat played to an average score of 70.5 and a total of forty-nine players in the field broke 70. Staten readily admitted that nerves had come into play during the day.

  “I certainly know exactly what’s at stake right now,” he said. “I looked at where I was after yesterday’s round [seventh], and it was almost hard to comprehend. I would hope this will bring me back to earth a little, remind me that, okay, I have to go out there and really grind tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “I guess it’s fair to say I can’t stand prosperity. Every time I seem to have a cushion, I go backward. Well, now I don’t have a cushion. I’m right on the number. Maybe that’s just what I need.”

  Tomasulo had never had a cushion. He had been steady all week—the first four days, he had been no higher than 70 and no lower than 68—so he still felt comfortable being where he was. “In an ideal world, we’d all like to be where John Holmes is,” he said. “But it isn’t that simple, I guess. No one ever said Q School is supposed to be easy.”

  A number of players moved into contention with low rounds on Sunday, notably Marco Dawson, who had been on and off the tour for close to twenty years. Dawson was forty-two and had come back to play in 2005 after back surgery. He had started 76–73 the first two rounds, but his 64 on Sunday jumped him from a tie for 80th to a tie for 31st. It wasn’t that surprising to see some of the veteran players getting in gear on Sunday. All of them understood how to come from behind, and none of them had much interest in making sure they secured full-time Nationwide privileges for 2006.

  “It isn’t as if you’re prote
cting anything out here,” Dan Forsman said after a 67 moved him to seven under par and a tie for 48th place, four shots from the cut line. “I’m here to try to get my job back—period.”

  Larry Mize felt the same way. After a decent start (72–69), he had faded a little the next two rounds with 74–70. On Sunday he pieced together a 69 to get into contention at six under par. Mize was one of the players in the field who was regularly drawing a gallery that went beyond friends and family. He was easily the most recognizable name in the field because of his status as a Masters champion. Some people who had made the drive out to watch the “kids” play were shocked to see Mize on the course.

  “One guy yelled at me, ‘Hey, Larry, you don’t deserve to have to go through this,’” Mize said, laughing. “I said, ‘Unfortunately, I do deserve it.’ I guess he didn’t know I had to play my way through second stage just to get here. Heck, I earned it.”

  Mize had grown accustomed to playing in qualifiers. His Masters victory had given him a ten-year exemption on tour and five-year exemptions into the other three majors. But beginning in the late ’90s, he’d been forced to play qualifiers for both the U.S. Open and the British Open. When he showed up in 1997 and 1998 to play British Open qualifiers, his presence stunned the British fans, who were not accustomed to seeing American stars show up to play if they weren’t exempt. In fact, some American players skipped the British Open even if they were exempt.

  Mize failed to qualify for Troon in 1997 but did qualify for Birkdale in 1998. His willingness to try so charmed the British fans that he became a crowd favorite.

  “When I first had to start qualifying for majors again it was tough,” he said. “I remember one year during U.S. Open qualifying, I was in a play-off for the last couple of spots, and I hit my tee shot into a bunker. I got down in the bunker and looked up, and there were all these people standing right there peering down at me from a few feet away. That took some getting used to. I hadn’t played a lot of golf for a long time without ropes between the fans and me. But after a while, I didn’t mind it. For the most part, people have been very supportive.”