Those that know me would be surprised to discover I was quite the recluse in my younger years. I was tall for my age until 5th grade, which made me a little bit better than my peers in sports. Being “good” made me popular. But once middle school arrived, I’d lost that advantage and I didn’t know how to cope with it. All through high school, I weight lifted before school, went to class, studied at lunch, and played afterschool sports. I had no social life, but I think this was most of the reason I fell in love with golf. I liked being alone with my thoughts and trying to solve a complicated game. Being a late bloomer, I am now making up for lost time as my life in golf has given me plenty of stories to tell. And I still find I’m my best self on the golf course–perhaps because it served as my best friend during those developmental years.

For the first time in decades, me and my sons were fortunate to spend time with our family and replant our New Jersey roots. Uncle Stu and Aunt Jan told a few stories about my Grandfather, William C. Sendell II. The way they tell it, if you had a pulse, you’d hear, “Hi, I’m Bill from Westfield,” and he was off to the races. My uncle said my Grandfather would talk to a doorknob, and I must admit the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

You know what else has been hiding in the library at lunch? My Odyssey Jailbird putter. Sure, it’s in the bag, but it hasn’t been very social on this golf trip. I’d compare it to when you upset your wife, but you don’t really know how you did it. Then you ask her what’s wrong and she says “nothing.” The bottom line is we haven’t been vibing, and I didn’t really know how to get us back to where we once were.

Metedeconk National is located between Trenton and the Jersey Shore. It was designed by Robert Trent Jones and opened in 1987. It is a pure golf experience spread out over 500 acres, featuring 27 holes, member cottages, and one of the finest practice facilities in America. I have known their pro, Brent, for many years. I spent some time in Sea Girt with my grandparents while Brent was at Manasquan Country Club. We stayed connected during my time at Pebble Beach, when he would compete in some of my Pro-Am events. Brent is my type of leader–the guy that everyone wants to work for. As the saying goes, “no one cares what you know until they know that you care.” Brent cares.

The club was not busy on this Sunday due to the weather. We started our warm up in light drizzle–enough to have the gear on–but by the time we reached the 2nd tee, it was off. Today, our caddie was John from Pennsylvania. We’ve really hit the jackpot again and again with our caddies this week, and John was three cherries. He is the father of three and also spends a lot of time in the Division III college sports world. My oldest son Brad played DIII hoops, so there was a natural connection there. When John gave Brad a tasty left edge read at the 2nd for birdie, the connection grew stronger.

I often say that I have played Spyglass Hill more than any person on earth and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. I played my first round in 1987 and I estimate I’ve logged over 3,000 rounds there. Robert Trent Jones, Sr. happens to be the designer of both Spyglass Hill and Metedeconk National. On the 5th hole, Jack said, “hey Dad, this is your type of course.” The fairways were tree lined on both sides and featured slight doglegs–many of them left to right. The bunkering and green complexes looked familiar. This gave me a degree of comfort as the round progressed. However, like Spyglass Hill, a missed shot smudged the scorecard. In typical Jones, Sr. fashion it was very easy to make bogey if you made a mistake. And although I made an early birdie at the third, I had offset that circle with four squares through 12 to stand at 3-over par for the day. I was on pace for Club Pro Par, which I commonly say is 78. But then the Jailbird and I locked eyes and acknowledged we were meant to be together.

For some reason, I remembered watching a Golf Channel special with Brad Faxon coaching Rory McIlroy to be “more athletic” with the putter. To release some of the technical stress in his stroke, Faxon had Rory practice putting with a 5-wood. The message here was we often try to be too perfect on the greens and lose the flow of the stroke. I thought of this as I stood over a 12-footer at the 13th and poured it in.

At the 14th, I had another 12-15 foot left to right slider, which is the toughest putt for a right hander. Dead center again. I barely missed a par putt at the 15th from 20 feet. At the 16th, I basically called a 25 footer, telling my boys I was “feeling it.” Then I hit it stiff at the 17th for another birdie. I had battled back to even par and when I striped my final drive on 18, I knew if I could find the green surface, the putt was going in.

I had a green light wedge for my final approach, which is usually a free throw for me. But I yanked it left and missed the green. I stabbed a one-handed chip to about 15 feet. Brad was closer, but I literally said, “go ahead, I want to see a birdie before I roll in this par putt.” I usually have a photographic memory when it comes to golf, but I was locked in. As I am sitting here now, I can’t remember if my son made the putt or not. What I did know was that I was going to make mine, which I did. Me and the Jailbird had officially rekindled our romance with an even par, 72.

Today, we drive down the coast to Galloway National, which I have heard is a very difficult test. I hope the putter stays hot!