I am going to lead off this post by announcing I’m a big believer in fate. I think it’s possible to hear the universe speaking to you. Sometimes it’s a thought and sometimes it’s an action. You may never understand how or why it happened because the instructions often go against your normal instincts. But when it happens, you’ll know it because there are too many planets lining up for it to be random. This is one of those stories.

I went through my rebellious phase in my senior year in college. I played beach volleyball during the day and went clubbing at night. But the clubbing did not involve golf clubs. I think most young people go through a period where they think they know everything and their parents know nothing. I did listen to my dad once during that timeframe. We were having job fairs on campus and I asked him if I should buy a sport coat. He asked if I wanted to work in a sports coat. The answer was NO and after I graduated from college in 1990, I began to gravitate back towards golf as I tried to establish a career path.

My game returned quickly and soon I was playing in amateur events around California. I worked at Seascape Golf Course and held my handicap there, which gave me eligibility to play in the 1991 Northern California Public Links Championship. As an extra bonus, the tournament was annually held at Spyglass Hill, widely considered one of the greatest and hardest courses in the world. This Spyglass Hill was a different beast than the current version for many reasons. First, the equipment we were using in those days was not like today. TaylorMade had introduced their first metal woods just a few years prior. I actually had a laminated Orlimar 4-wood in my bag along with a 2-iron. The ball of choice was the Titleist Tour balata, which lasted three holes if you were lucky. It was really hard to control the spin which meant it was hard to control your iron distances and any curves were magnified. This combination of gear meant you’d be hitting lots of mid and long irons into the par fours. Second, Spyglass Hill had not improved their drainage because that didn’t happen until 1996-97 when I was a young assistant. So there were huge trees, zero roll, thick rough, and often mud on your ball. Third, there was ice plant lurking on the opening 5 hole sequence. Once, I missed an approach on the 4th hole by 20 feet and made a 10 because of ice plant. And knowing the penalty for hitting it into the succulents made hitting the fairways and greens that much more difficult.

My opening round started badly. I was very nervous on the first tee and the opening tee shot at Spyglass Hill required you to split a narrow chute of trees that were much thicker 35 years ago. It was also 600 yards long. I made an opening double bogey. Then, I bogeyed 2-3-4 to stand at 5 over par after 4 holes. My Dad, who was caddying for me, was always the ultimate optimist and he kept giving me encouragement to hang tough. While it annoyed me at the time, I credit him for teaching me to recalibrate my goals during a round after a bad start. Although he was never a golfer, he was an athlete and a coach. The “next play” mindset settled me down and I parred the next five holes to turn in 41. I played a solid back nine but bogeyed the tough 13th and 16th to finish with a first round 79. Not what I had in mind, but 74 was leading. And before you say this must have been the handicap flight, Casey Boyns, the two-time California State Amateur Champion, was in the field. He shot 77.

I’d been hanging around Seascape with a girl named Stephanie, who had taken a recent interest in golf. We weren’t dating, but I wanted to. She was just learning the game, and I made the very uncharacteristic move of inviting her to watch me play the 2nd round. To this day, I can’t explain my decision because I was struggling at the time with athletic performance anxiety. Why add to the pressure by inviting my crush? But there she was, watching me warm up on the range at Spyglass Hill with my dad on the bag. And I was really laying the sod over my warm up iron shots, which only made me more nervous. Then a second surprise happened that I still can’t explain. A swing thought to pivot my right hip through impact popped into my head and I started flushing it. I didn’t miss a shot for the rest of the warm up. I stepped on to the tee, heard my name announced, and just put myself into a bubble. Fire the right hip. That was it.

I birdied the 2nd and the 4th and stood at 2 under par through 7 holes. I three putted the 8th for bogey but made a nice par at 9 to shoot 35 on the front. After a birdie on 10 and a big drive on the par 5 11th, I only had 210 yards left. But back then, there was a lake on the 11th hole and I dunked it. I took the penalty drop and hit a wedge to a foot for a saving par. Then I blocked a 5-iron on the par 3 12th that somehow weaved through a tree and bounced onto the green about 35 feet away. I canned it to reach 3 under for the day. At that point, I started seeing a lot of NCGA officials following us. We called them “blue coats” because they all wore blue blazers and looked very official. I just ignored them and kept firing the right hip. Another fairway, another green, another easy par. That’s how I played holes 13-16.

As I walked off #16, a blue coat asked me if I wanted to know where I stood. I said no. Before my approach into #17, I looked at my dad and told him his shoe was untied. He said it had been untied since the 6th hole and he hadn’t tied it out of superstition. After another solid par, I blocked my tee shot on #18 into the right fairway bunker, which no longer exists today. I had 175 yards over a steep lip and I just nonchalantly sliced a 6 iron around the trees just short of the green. Back then, I didn’t have the chipping yips and I hit a saucy spinner to about 6 feet. I hit a great putt but it peeled off at the end and lipped out. I tapped in for a final round 70. I’d hit 16 greens in regulation and I barely remembered it.

I signed my card and was told I was leading by 2 shots, with the last group on the 18th tee. That’s when I started to wake up. The final margin was three. I received a beautiful gold medal and if you are ever in the NCGA Trophy Room at Poppy Hills, you will see my name inscribed on the Public Links trophy as the 1991 Champion.

As for Stephanie, she eventually became my wife and gave me twenty years and two wonderful sons. She also became a scratch player and mini-tour professional, which is the benefit of marrying a golf pro. If I’d shot 85, which I was perfectly capable of doing, I might not have gotten that first date. I also might not have Brad and Jack, who are the two best things in my life.

“Fire the right hip” never worked again after that day.

Fate. Pay attention when the universe speaks to you!