WINTER GARDEN, Fla. -- The paradox is comically clear, though the laugh track will dissipate as the week wears on.
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| Matt Every says it's 'cool' trying to take his college success to the next level. (Getty Images) |
They are rookies, wannabes, long shots and hopefuls -- any number of terms might fit. Mostly younger players who are so close to the big leagues they can feel it in their every fiber, reaching the final stage of PGA Tour Qualifying School, which began Wednesday, represents a major accomplishment in itself.
Then there's the other end of spectrum featuring the more established players, who find a trip through Q-school to be equal parts demoralizing, debilitating and depressing.
"Some guys are pissed at the way they played last year and don't want to be here," said mini-tour player Patrick Damron as he grabbed a bucket of range balls. "Some guys are excited as hell just to be here, because of what the future might hold. I guess it's kind of the beautiful thing about Q-school."
It might be the lone wondrous element, really. Simply put, the players participating in perhaps the cruelest week in golf can best be lumped into two broad groups: Those who are starting out and those who are starting over.
This week marks the third time in five years that the finals have been held at Orange County National Golf Center, located on the outskirts of Orlando. In 2005, noted sports author John Feinstein spent the week at OCN detailing the triumphs and train wrecks for a tome released this spring entitled Tales from Q School: Golf's Fifth Major.
Had it been accidentally stocked in the Barnes & Noble fiction section, it would have been all too apropos, since unless you happen to be Stephen King, some of the horrific Q-school fare catalogued over the years has defied the written word. Unpredictable, capricious, unfair and pitiless stand as the descriptive Grand Slam of Q-school lore.
From a field of 166 players, the top 25 and ties this week will earn a spot on the world's richest tour in 2008, while the rest will toil in virtual anonymity on the developmental Nationwide Tour. It's the difference between playing for roughly $5 million weekly vs. $500,000.
While the happy minority is giddy merely to be here and trading punches, the majority of the players have already sampled the comparative wares of the Nationwide or PGA Tour. Being demoted for failing to earn your keep is like eating humble pie. Let a Stanford grad explain it.
"It's almost as if you are working in a law firm, and if you don't bill enough hours, they make you go take the bar exam again," former tour regular Casey Martin told Feinstein. "And if you don't pass, you spend the next year working in the law firm -- as a janitor.
"It is like a final exam, because you can't rationalize or fool yourself or anyone else. If you aren't good enough, you can't say, 'But I'm getting better,' or 'I'll do better next week or the week after.'"
That's because there is no next week. For a player with big-league experience, a year on the Nationwide means a season with none of the accoutrements of stardom -- the free courtesy cars, six-figure endorsement deals, top-shelf courses, effusive galleries and five-star amenities common at even the most obscure PGA Tour stops. It's the difference between Boston and Boise.
So, in order to again seek the brass ring in golf's golden circuit, Q-school is a necessary evil, a means to an end. With an emphasis on mean.
Last year at the finals in California -- the tour annually alternates between Florida and California – veteran Alex Cejka was one of the happy survivors, reclaiming his card. While some were cracking beers, he was looking for antacids. Q-school presents several forms of upheaval. "I'm just glad it's over," Cejka said. "It's been a long month for me. I did Q-school in Europe two weeks ago and now did it here. Now I think I am going to go throw up."
Yeah, Q-school puts the severe in perseverance.
In a twisted way, it's the most compelling event of the year, if only fans took the time to familiarize themselves with the anxious angst. Storylines abound and this week's field includes former Ryder Cuppers, players with multiple PGA Tour victories (Robert Gamez, Steve Pate, Notah Begay, Duffy Waldorf) and a handful overcoming injury and other forms of adversity. Are they washed up or washed out? They get to answer the question with their clubs.
"You just try to go out, play solid golf, and let the rest take care of itself," said Gamez, who won the Texas Open in 2005, but was 132nd on the money list this season. "Try not to get too stressed about it."
Easy enough to say Tuesday, huh?
"I'm trying to look at it as vacation golf," said Ryan Palmer, who won at Disney World in 2004 but finished No. 144 in earnings this year. "I'm bringing a laid-back attitude and trying not to dwell on the pressure and negative things this tournament means to people."
Then there's that collection of recent college world-beaters with major upside, such as Colt Knost, Matt Every, Chris Kirk and Alejandro Canizares. Mostly, they are too young and naïve to understand they're supposed to be guzzling Pepto-Bismol. At the moment, ignorance is bliss. By week's end, it could be blistering.
"It's all pretty cool, actually," said Every, named the top NCAA player of 2006 at University of Florida.
Similarly, Seung-su Han, a junior on the golf team at UNLV, is the first amateur ever to make it to Q-school finals. You could almost tell by the ever-present grin on his face.
"I have nothing to lose," said Han, who has the luxury of deciding after the event whether he will turn pro or return for the spring semester.
Few will enjoy that luxury. After the sixth round is completed Monday night, in a scene that is repeated at Q-school every year, hundreds will gather around the massive hand-lettered leaderboard, watching as the pair of faux scissors that represents the cutline is moved about. Tears and beers will commonplace.
Some guys self-medicate far earlier.
A few years back, an Orlando-based player who shall remain nameless was flirting with the cutline as he made the turn on the last day. The pressure was so suffocating, he could barely breathe. But at least he could inhale.
In a tale that has become part of Q-school lore, he adjourned to his car in the parking lot, rolled himself a fatty and took a few deep breaths. Red eyes and red numbers followed as he smoked the back nine, too, comfortably earning his card. At Q-school, coping and doping can overlap. Comfortably numb is the ideal, waking state.
When the finals were first staged at OCN in 2003, it didn't take long for the magnitude of the week to become evident. Bobby Gage, a longtime Nationwide Tour player, was carted off the course by paramedics and hospitalized after having a heart episode ... in the very first round.
Thankfully, Gage survived, but crash carts of the psychological sort have been used many times over the years.
At the 1999 finals, Jaxon Brigman survived a nervous final round and earned his card on the number, as they say. Until a tour official approached him a few minutes later and asked about his score, anyway. Brigman had mistakenly signed for score that was one shot higher than his actual final-round total. He missed his card by a stroke.
In 2000, veteran Pat Bates was whaling away with his driver in the second round when his ball inexplicably fell off the tee on his downswing. He fanned it completely, waited for a ruling, then made a double-bogey and ultimately missed his card by two shots. Bates, who eventually played on the PGA Tour, is back in the field this week.
Bates' misadventure got scant attention given what happened to hard-luck Joe Daley the same week. In the fourth round in 2000, he knocked in a four-footer that disappeared into the hole, then was somehow spit out of the ground by the plastic cup, which had been improperly installed. He missed his card by a shot two days later. Daley quite rightly threw his hat to the ground in shock when the ball jumped out of the hole like a gopher. "It was the damnedest thing I had ever seen," Daley said.
Sometimes, the game's cruelty astounds. In 2001, Roland Thatcher needed a par on the final hole when he launched his approach shot over the green and onto a paved cart path, whereupon it ricocheted onto the clubhouse roof at Bear Lakes Country Club. They found his ball, but he triple-bogeyed the hole and missed his card by three. Thatcher, who handled the disaster with considerable aplomb, will play on the PGA Tour in 2008 after finishing second on the Nationwide in earnings this year.
Two years ago in Orlando, rookie pro Peter Tomasulo was one shot inside the magic number in the sixth round when his ball on the 10th hole came to rest squarely on top of a divot. What could have been an easy birdie hole turned into a bogey, and he never regained his momentum. Former PGA Tour winner Grant Waite, after starting the final day comfortably in seventh place, four-putted the 10th hole. Badly shaken, he shot 42 on the back nine to miss reclaiming his card by a shot. Enjoy tales of redemption? Both are back in the field at OCN this week.
While the memories that linger longest in the minds of most Q-school aficionados are generated by the pitiless plotlines, the six-day survival test has produced some eye-opening surprises in recent years, like 17-year-old Ty Tryon earning his card in 2001 or the emergence of Sean O'Hair in 2004 from under his father's dictatorial thumb.
Indeed, the past two Q-school medalists, J.B. Holmes and George McNeill, have won events in their rookie seasons on tour. Somewhere, among this week's rookies, retreads, never-weres and coulda-beens are some quality actors awaiting the next weird twist in the script.
Included in the throng at the 2005 finals at Orange County National were Brett Wetterich, who earned a spot on the Ryder Cup team 10 months later, and Steve Stricker, who earned the PGA Tour's comeback player of the year award in 2006.
Palmer, 31, had improved every season of his pro career before he struggled this year, missing the entire FedEx Cup playoff series. As he stood on the range Tuesday, surrounded by past tour winners in similar straits, like Gamez and Ian Leggatt, he tried to keep his perspective.
"I guess this makes you realize how fast it can all go away," Palmer said.
