DAY 4: WORLD AMATEUR HANDICAP CHAMPIONSHIP

What an event! My second time playing the Golf.com World Amateur Handicap Championship (WAHC) was even better than the first, despite my crumbling like a stale cookie, my folding like a pathetic poker hand...but I'll get back to my personal disappointment later...

The bottom line is that It's hard to imagine anything more enjoyable for someone who loves golf, the beach, camaraderie, good food, free drinks, and four days of just total good times! 

You're on top of the leaderboad!

Ok, if you have a problem with 5 1/2-hour rounds, then maybe you won't be in heaven. I don't like 5 1/2-hour rounds, but when I add everything up, as long as circumstances permit, I'll be playing the WAHC every year until I can't play anymore.

Mike Thompson

Life is all about the experiences for me, and here's one experience that made me shake my head: On either the first or second day, I met Mike Thompson, who lives in Columbia, South Carolina, and was playing his first WAHC. On the third day we finally had a few moments on the putting green before tee off to get acquainted. 

We chat a bit about his military experiences, my military experiences, our love for the game, etc. It was a brief but pleasant interaction. I can say that Mike is one of the most pleasant individuals you'd want to meet in any venue. 

19th Hole entertainment

In any event, Steph and I stayed late at the 19th Hole for the first time...why not? I had shot myself in the foot and out of the tournament anyway, right?...Well, as we were walking to the car, we ran into Mike chatting with another competitor, Calvin Cross of Newington, Connecticut (although I didn't know that at the time). 

Calvin & Mike

We were recapping the WAHC experience, chatting about any number of things, and just as we were saying goodbye, Mike and Calvin started talking about "Hartford." That moment was like when I held my playing partner's club in my hand in the second round and recognized that something was odd...a subconscious, twilight zone kind of moment. 

I was still trying to determine if they were saying "Hartford" as in Hartford, Connecticut, or something else, when they mentioned "Weaver." Weaver? Weaver High School in Hartford, Connecticut? Are you kidding me? These were homies who had gone to the same high school I had gone to! To say I was blown away by that bit of serendipity would be an understatement.

With Calvin & Mike

So there we stood in the parking lot reminiscing about old times, some of the people we knew, neighborhoods that no longer existed, what was new back in the hood, etc. What a moment! I'm sure if Steph hadn't been with me we would have gone off for a few brews and more reminiscing. 

Craig Johnson, Steph & I

If you are wondering why I'm not talking golf yet, although the golf experience was outstanding, what made the event for me were the moments like the one above, like taking a late afternoon dip in the crisp, clean ocean with Steph; or like running into Chip Verrette (whom I had played with on the final day in 2011) at the end of the event, after my emails to him before the event had been returned. 

Getting ready for beach cornhole

Another of our highlight experiences was when Steph and I had the opportunity to play cornhole with Craig, Khristi and Caitlyn Johnson at the 19th Hole. One of the 19th Hole vendors (Craig's Custom Cornhole Boards), Craig built us a custom board with a photo we took of the setting sun on one of our Fort Myers Beach evening moments. I ordered it prior to getting to Myrtle, and Craig delivered at the 19th Hole...Perfect anniversary memento. 

The Final Day on Course

Myrtlewood Clubhouse

But what about the golf? On the final day, playing at Myrtlewood Golf Club- Palmetto, my foursome consisted of 54-hole leader and eventual flight co-winner, Ken Gahr; Mylon Metcalf, the Day 1 leader, who was two behind me in third; and Bill Clarke, one of my playing partners from Day 2, who was three strokes behind me in fourth. 

Flight Winner Ken Gahr and I

I sat in second place, just three strokes behind the leader, and the challenge in front of me was clear: play well enough to finish three strokes better (or more, cause ya never know who's coming from behind) than Ken, while keeping my nose in front of Mylon and Bill. 

Mylon and I rode together and we both started the round as though we hadn't played golf before. We started on Palmetto No.10, a short par 5 (484 yards), and I scraped a bogey together, while Mylon posted a double.

The only shot I remember from the hole was a chunky sand wedge from about 50 yards on my third shot. To their credit, Ken and BIll started with pars.


It was evident that I was not responding well to the moment, because on the second hole, a par-3 playing about 186 yards, I hit a short pop up with my 3-hybrid, a club that has been like money in the bank for me over the past several days. 

I hit a good sand wedge to 12 feet or so and two-putted for bogey. Okay, two bogeys to start. Not great, but heck, I can live with bogey golf given the way I've hit the ball so far. I'm sure I'll come around. 

Meanwhile, Bill posts another par, but Ken doubles the hole. At this point I haven't lost any ground to Ken, but Bill has already picked up two of the three shots I had on him going in. Mylon bogeyed the hole as well, and had fallen into fourth. So far, I'm not doing much that looks like golf...other than my practice swings. 

As we move to the third tee, a short (327 yards) dogleg right par-4, I'm trying to call upon all my years as a competitor in all sorts of sports and activities to help me settle down. I size up the hole, thinking there's no need for driver here, just a nice 200-yard 3-hybrid down the left side of the fairway, a pitching wedge to the green, one or two putts, and we're back on track...

Okay, pull it together and make this

I took my practice swing, stood over the teed ball, and began what I envisioned as a smooth swing. Somewhere on the downswing, "Spaz Modic," a well known golf demon that preys on golfers near the lead in tournaments, invaded my body, and I  pulled the ball out of bounds left. Okay, so stuff happens. 

I did my best on-the-fly exorcism to get rid of Spaz in preparation for my third shot: "Spaz be gone!" All righty then...Just tee it up again, rehearse that smooth swing, and stroke this one down the fairway.

Still possessed it seems

Obviously, Spaz had not been properly exorcised, because my new, favorite club continued its rebellion, and I hit the ground about five feet behind the teed ball...all right, so maybe it was more like two inches, but nevertheless, the call for for my historical (and I mean wayyyy historical) competitive toughness went unanswered, and I had popped the ball up short again! 

In all, it took me eight, that's right, eight shots to get the ball in the hole! It took all of my mental and emotional fortitude to successfully complete the exorcism. I parred four of the next five holes, and bogeyed the other. Seems like I had managed to pull it together. 

We came to the ninth hole of the day, a 357-yard, pretty straight ahead par-4, and I just needed one more par to post a 43 on our first nine, which, considering the quadruple bogey on my card, would not be too bad. 

"Oh C'mon" says Ken

A par would keep me within three shots of Ken, and within two of Bill, who was just plus two after the first eight. I was not out of it yet! Mylon had pretty much shot himself out of contention at that point with 10 over after the first eight.

We can call the hole, our ninth, Palmetto No.18, "Return of The Spaz," because I don't remember a single shot from this hole. All I remember is that I posted a seven on a hole where none of my co-competitors did worse than bogey. With my 46 on the first nine, I was now six shots back of Ken, who posted a 43, and four shots behind Bill, who posted a 39.

As Richard Pryor might have said, "It don't look good for da kid!"...But hey, just keep playing and ya never know. I started the second nine with two bogeys, which gained me one stroke on Ken, but lost me two more to Bill, who was still playing solid golf, shooting even par on the previous eight holes. I parred our twelfth hole, before shanking a 7-iron into the water on the next to post double. 

Here we go with the exorcisms again! "C'mon man! Finish strong." The following four holes I post: birdie, par, par, par, and I'm hitting second off the tee, given Mylon's birdie on the last hole. There's water down the right side, out of bounds to the left, but I've been hitting the driver pretty well, and just a little fade down the left side ought to get the job down. 

The job did not get done. I all but whiffed, barely hitting the ball with rear of the hosel, and watched it dribble into the rough maybe 30 yards in front of the tee box...Spaz drifted up from my body cackling all the way. I can only imagine how Steph felt, sitting there in her cart...

Regardless of one's degree of disgust, the game must go on, right? I'm thinking, "I'm not out of the hole yet. Just get this thing in the fairway, then hit your best shot of the tournament, and par the hole." I pull out my favorite club again, and hit a pretty decent shot to about 150 yards out in the middle of the fairway. 

"Okay pal, you have to smooth this 7-iron close to the hole. There just isn't any other option." There's a bunker left, a bunker right, and water short right. I take dead aim, and the ball starts right on line. It was a good stroke. I look up, and the ball is faaaading now, right into the sand on the right. "Just perfect *&%#!"

Well, I still haven't had my bunker lesson yet, but I've hit good bunker shots before, and now would be the time to do so again. Not! I chunk it and watch it trickle right back into the sand. I'm lying four in the sand, hit a pretty good sand shot to about eight feet, but as has been the theme of the day, when it mattered most, I didn't perform. I two-putted to close the day and the tournament with a triple bogey 7, and posted a 42 for the final nine holes. 

I have had to struggle to stay away from all the the "ifs" attached to my fourth-place finish, but I have succeeded for the most part. To say I was disappointed in my performance would be like saying Augusta National is a pretty decent track. Sure, I was only shooting for top ten coming into the event, but when opportunity knocks, you had better be ready to open the door or she'll go next door. When opportunity knocked for me this past week, I must have been in the bathroom taking a...nevermind, you get my drift. 

Jeff Finlen- Co-Flight Winner

Ken hung on to the flight lead with an 86, and getting one stroke more than Ken and I on this course, Jeff Finlen came back from eight strokes back of the lead to tie for the flight lead. Funny, they have Jeff listed as 14.5 getting one stroke more than Ken and me, and he shoots 81, 79 the final two days. In 2012, his course handicaps were 12 and 13. Go figure. Bill's 83 vaulted him two strokes past me into third. Mylon managed to match my 42 on the second nine, and finished in a tie for seventh. 

To sum it all up, although the event was a tremendous experience, I wasn't thrilled about my failure to finish. Fortunately I have some past successes to remind me that I was a good finisher at one point, and to give me hope that I can be again. 

Thanks Steph for all your loving support and hundreds of photographs! Thanks Sean for the chipping lesson; without it my scores would surely have been worse. And, of course thanks to you for reading this stuff and sharing the experience. I can't wait for next year! "Golf is a game that is played on a 5-inch course- the distance between your ears" (Bobby Jones)...T. A.