Major Casualties, Pt. 1
For pros and amateurs alike, the season is bookmarked by Majors.
I will never compete for a Green Jacket. But that locker room paint earned by winning an amateur championship of any kind would fill my cup in the same way.
A win is a win.
Last summer, I played in a U.S. Mid-Amateur Qualifier at Old Westbury Golf & Country Club. The USGA mandates a handicap of 2.4 or better for entry into their Mid-Am events. Truth be told, I’m barely good enough to play in them. Making the cut to qualify is a pipe-dream; In many ways I play to prove that I belong.
I played my practice round in mid-July. It was actually only my second time in Long Island, for any reason, let alone for golf. Getting a feel for any place is tough on such a short timeline. Tricky track, Westbury. I took my notes and marked down the spots to avoid at all costs. As one of the shorter hitters in the field of 120 players, I’d need to be meticulous if I was to make a run at this Major. I had to do my homework. 
The iconic water tower at Old Westbury. Image courtesy of Old Westbury Golf & Country Club.
Whether our respective majors are an annual 4-ball on vacation, an invitational at a ritzy club, or winning a flight in your club championship, they mean something to you because they’re on your radar when you’re beating balls in those cold, dark days in January. They are the rounds we think about all season. They are goals we set for ourselves. They are often how we define success for ourselves when the year’s over.
It’s hard to win. But it might be even harder to lose – at least when you’re looking in the rear view. Keeping track of my own Majors, I might win one a year. The key for me, the more I play, is to keep these wins and losses in perspective. Very rarely are these competitive rounds pitted against strangers. They’re with my dad or my friends from high school or college. They’re so far from life or death that to think of them as a Major is almost comical. Most Majors for amateurs are net events with more dots on the scorecard than we had on our cheeks in 8th grade. More than anything, they’re supposed to be fun.
August 13, 2024. 1:20 tee time. Heart rate above 110, I pounded the opening tee ball through the first fairway and managed a nice par to start. But I was tight. Nervous. Ask any good player how medal play affects your game and they’ll likely answer the same – it’s not the big swings that kill you. Nerves can arguably help when the ball’s on a tee. Tight lies and 6 foot putts are oftentimes the deciding factors for players in these moments. And for a player like me who doesn’t stripe it 300+, they’re where I need to gain shots.
Still alive but bleeding at 2 over, I stood above the hole on the 5th green with 25 feet downhill for par. Losing focus for a split second, I whacked it 5 feet past. My ears got hot. My grip, tight. Eager to clean it up and move on, I pushed the bogey putt, heel first, and missed the hole. Tapping in for double-bogey on a 155 yard par-3, I felt like the full field thought I should’ve stayed home.
It got away from me. I spiraled. I lost sight of my goals. I shot 84.
Striking the balance between playing to win and playing for pure leisure is easier said than done. Is it possible to truly lock in without losing sight of what we’re actually doing? It’s almost like that age-old swing tip about gripping the club like you were holding a baby bird. Too loose and it flies away. Too firm and you’ll squeeze it to death.
Finding that balance – the sweet spot – that’s the key in all things. The narrow path to victory is lined with moments where we threaded that needle. As the summer heats up and you look towards your next Major, I wish you luck in walking that familiar but fleeting thin line.
