The Secret to Golf - tommacaulay.com · The Secret to Golf Tom Macaulay 5 There was a pause as...

The Secret to Golf Tom Macaulay

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The Secret to Golf

Tom Macaulay

Copyright 2009 by Tom Macaulay. All rights reserved.


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Based on a True Story

“Blast it!” Les Richards shouted, throwing the letter onto the living room floor. “He spends all his time working those golf puzzles, Hon,” Monica Richards tried to console her husband. “I should never have taken him to the driving range when he was five. I should never have gotten him started playing golf. I only meant for golf to be an avenue for networking with business tycoons. Golf was meant to be a career enhancer, not a career in itself! Didn’t he learn anything from his Grandpa? Now look at this. C’s and D’s! One F! And he’s on probation. One year left and he’s on probation!” “You didn’t even go to the NCAA championship. Billy has a chance to win, you know,” Monica chastised. “I don’t want to hear it,” Les Richards responded angrily, placing his hands over his ears.” Billy Richards, the twenty-year-old son of Lestor and Monica Richards and the grandson of former professional golfer L. H. Richards, now deceased, was, for the time being anyway, a student at Rathford University where he’s studying Forensics and participating on the college golf team. His grandfather, the famous L. H. Richards, had been a journeyman professional golfer who struggled on the PGA Tour for twenty years before he finally won his first professional golf tournament. Then all of a sudden, at the age of fifty-four, L. H. Richards started winning a lot. He won seven tournaments when he was fifty-four, twelve when he was fifty-five, and an astounding nineteen tournaments at the age of fifty-six! Fourteen of those nineteen victories were consecutive, breaking the record held by Byron Nelson, who won eleven PGA tournaments in a row in 1945. Breaking Nelson’s record was an astounding achievement, especially when one considers that L. H. Richards was fifty-six years old when he accomplished the feat. There was no doubt that L. H. Richards had discovered something that set him apart from his fellow competitors. His physical skills certainly were not as robust as they once were. At fifty-something, L. H. didn’t hit the ball as far as the twenty-, thirty-, or forty-something L. H. Richards. His swing was a little different at fifty-six than it had been at forty-six. It’s conceivable that the different swing might account for some of the loss of distance. But the fifty-six-year-old swing sure was more accurate than the L. H. Richards swing of yore. In his fifties, L. H. Richards would often hit all seventy-two greens in a tournament in the regulation two strokes each, a remarkable feat when one considers that his competitors would hit only forty-eight of those same greens in regulation. That gave L. H. a twenty-four-stroke advantage when it came to the short game. On top of that, L. H. had become the best putter on


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the tour. After L. H. Richards combined his fabulous ball striking skills with awesome putting skills, it became a wonder that L. H. Richards would ever, could ever, lose a tournament. L. H. Richards’ swing was unique and extremely effective. Many of his fellow competitors tried to emulate the swing, but none attained the consistency that L. H. had. There was something that L. H. knew that he wasn’t telling. Something that L. H. Richards kept to himself that gave him a tremendous competitive advantage. That something was the Secret to Golf. L. H. Richards knew The Secret, but he steadfastly refused to reveal it. “It wouldn’t be fair to the kids who are working hard to improve their games,” L. H. had responded when pressured to reveal his secret. “Once the cat is out of the bag, everyone will be shooting in the 60’s,” he had insisted. “Even amateurs. Once The Secret is out, professional golf as we know it will cease to exist. Either that or the pros of the future will, of necessity, be shooting in the 50’s. Golf will lose its appeal.” No one really believed that L. H. had a secret. The talk shows attributed L. H. Richards’ astounding success to his belief – his trust – in this gimmick, whatever it was, not the gimmick, not “The Secret to Golf” itself. L. H. did not even reveal the secret to his son, for a number of reasons. Firstly, L. H. didn’t trust the younger Richards to keep the secret. The younger Richards didn’t play golf and didn’t want to play golf. Les Richards hated golf. To Les Richards, golf meant living out of trunks in hotel rooms in diverse cities, even diverse countries. Les Richards wanted no part of the nomadic existence of the touring professional golfer. As a child, Les Richards had no real friends. His acquaintances during his youth were the kids of other traveling PGA tour pros, most of whom were here-today-and-gone-tomorrow as their tour hangers-on fathers came and went on the PGA Tour. In Italy, a gang of youths had beaten him up when he, intending to return an errant soccer ball to the scugnizzi, accidentally kicked the ball over a fence and into an intolerant farmer’s yard. The second reason L. H. had not revealed the Secret to Golf to his son was that the elder Richards feared for the safety of his toddler grandson. He feared that kidnappers would grab Little Bill and hold him for ransom, perhaps even kill him. So, L. H. Richards kept the secret to himself. “If you tell just one person, it’s no longer a secret,” L. H. Richards had insisted. L. H. Richards died suddenly early into his fifty-seventh year. Foul play was suspected but never proven. Whatever secret L. H. Richards knew had apparently died with him. At least, that’s what everyone thought. Because while rummaging through the attic of the old house in which L. H. Richards spent his last days, the old house inherited by the Les Richards family upon L. H.’s death, seventeen-year-old Bill Richards stumbled onto a 315-page


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manuscript hidden in a cedar chest. The manuscript was entitled The Secret to Golf by L. H. Richards. The Secret to Golf by L. H. Richards was a novel, a work of fiction, written by the famous golfer. In it, L. H. Richards claimed that he revealed the secret that had enabled him to win thirty-eight PGA Tour tournaments after the age of fifty-five. The novel didn’t sell, because the secret was not directly communicated as a step-by-step ‘how to’ guide, which was what publishers wanted. Instead, L. H. revealed the secret as a set of twelve very difficult-to-solve puzzles. Presumably, after the reader solves all twelve puzzles he will understand twelve steps comprising Richards’ Secret to Golf. Publishers insisted that the book was probably not profitable. As a work of fiction, the book was modestly entertaining, but it was obviously written by an amateur and was in need of some serious editing. And without the solutions to the puzzles the book had little value. The old manuscript thus lay in the attic, unpublished, for twenty years before the teen-age Bill Richards stumbled onto it. Bill Richards was very different than his father when it came to the game of golf. Bill Richards loved golf. Bill Richards wanted to play golf for a living. He desperately wanted to know the secret to golf discovered by his famous grandfather, and he worked incessantly trying to solve the twelve puzzles. Puzzle solving took precious time away from Bill Richards’ schoolwork and was a prime source of his father’s consternation. “Damn those puzzles!” Les Richards shouted. “You should never have allowed Billy into the attic.” “Don’t blame this on me,” Monica shouted back. “You should have cleaned that attic out yourself.” “A lot of time I have to do that!” A ringing telephone interrupted what promised to be an unwinable argument. Monica jumped for the telephone, mostly out of pity for whoever was on the other end. She knew from past experience that her husband was likely to take his current angst out on the innocent caller, especially if the caller were a telemarketer. “Hi, honey,” Monica said softly. It was her son, Billy. “Give me that,” Les insisted. Monica turned her back to her husband, shielding the phone and her son from her out-of-sorts spouse. “Probably not a good time, dear,” Monica said. “Your father’s not himself right now. We just saw your grades.”


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There was a pause as Monica leaned against a kitchen counter, holding the phone to her ear while looking at the floor. “Say that again, darlin’,” Monica said, her mouth drooping open. “Oh my gosh, Bill!” Monica said after a short pause. “Let me put your father on.” Les Richards was still scowling, but he was softening as Monica handed him the telephone. “This Bill?” he said into the phone. “We just got your grades…” Les was stopped in his tracks, obviously interrupted. “No kidding,” he said matter-of-factly. “OK then. Well. That’s good news. That’s great news,” he corrected. “Are you sure? Do you have it in writing? Congratulations! Congratu-jubilations! I think we need to sign it to, don’t we? Since we’re your parents and you’re not yet twenty-one?” After another few seconds of silence, Les continued, “Good deal! Nice going, son! Wow! Here’s your mother again.” Les Richards handed the phone back to his wife and walked back to the living room. He was smiling. No, he was beaming. After Monica hung up the phone, she returned to the living room. Les Richards rose from the sofa and wrapped his arms around his wife, planting his cheek against hers. “What do you know?” he said. “Can you believe it?” “Guess those grades don’t matter all that much now, do they?” “Eight stinking million dollars!” Les Richards beamed. “I can’t believe it. This is a shock. I won’t believe it until I believe it.” “He’s coming over with the contract right now,” Monica said. “Oh… by the way, he won the NCAA! Came in first!” Within the thirty days since Bill Richards had last talked with his father, young Bill had solved the last of L. H. Richards’ puzzles, had understood the secret to golf known by his famous grandfather, and, as a direct result, had won the NCAA Golf Championship and signed a deal with a publisher for a golf ‘how to’ manual. The deal included publishing the novel and the solutions to his famous grandfather’s puzzles for an irrevocable $8 million advance. Billy Richards also had multiple offers to sponsor his attempt to qualify for the PGA Tour. Now, though, Bill Richards would not need a sponsor. There


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would be no splitting of the prize money or endorsement earnings if he made it. Les Richards could not control his emotions. He silently hugged his wife and kept his cheek pressed snugly against hers until his tears stopped. “I won’t believe it until I believe it,” he said, his voice shaking noticeably. “Yes, you said that,” Monica offered. * * * One hour later, Billy Richards entered through the front door of the Richards’ modest three-bedroom home in Rockledge, Florida. He knocked as he entered and greeted his parents with hugs, kisses, and smiles. “Here it is!” he proudly announced. “We’re on our way!” “You’re on your way,” his mother said. “You’re the one who did it.” “Well, Grandpa did it,” Bill acknowledged. “Thank you, Grandpa Richards!” “But you solved the puzzles. Nobody else solved those puzzles. How did you do it?” his mother prompted. “They were mostly vigenere puzzles,” Bill answered. “I brainstormed some key words and used a computer to do the iterations. Sometimes the computer would run all night. Then I’d read the solutions the computer came up with in the morning. That last puzzle was a bear. But finally, the computer spit out words that were in English, and the secret was out.” “So, tell me the answer,” his father said. “Tell me the secret to golf.” “Sorry, Dad, I can’t. The contract is null and void if I tell a single person before the book comes out.” “You tell one person and it’s no longer a secret,” Bill said, repeating his famous grandfather’s words. “I can’t even tell my family. For now, my lips are sealed.” “Let’s see the contract,” the elder Richards said. Bill handed the one-page contract to his father. After reading the simple language in the contract, Les Richards was satisfied. “Looks good to me,” he said. “Looks great to me! Congratu-stinking-lations!”


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After more hugs, the father asked, “So tell me how this all played out. When did you first meet this…” Les Richards took another glance at the contract to get the signer’s name… “Kessler Jones?” “I first noticed him while I was on the driving range, warming up for the final round of the NCAA. He was standing directly behind me, watching my swing. Then he sort of moved to the side and watched my swing from the front. It looked to me like he was trying to understand my method. Then he followed me during the round. He tried to make himself inconspicuous, but I knew he was there. It’s kinda hard not to notice your ‘gallery’ during a college golf tournament. Usually, there’s only you ‘n Mom.” “Yeah, well, we couldn’t make it this week.” “I know what you were doing, Dad. You didn’t want to make me nervous. You didn’t want to gallery for me during the NCAA because you didn’t want to make me more nervous than I usually am. But you needn’t have. Now that I know The Secret, I’m not nervous anymore. You could have been there, taken pictures, coughed, jangled your change, talked on the cell phone, even. It wouldn’t have bothered me.” “Well, it sure used to bother you. Your mother and I felt like we were the cause of your mishits in some of the tournaments we attended. The way you would glare at us!” “I am so sorry, Dad. That was my bad. That won’t happen again.” “So he was in your gallery, this Kessler Jones?” “He stopped after nine, then he was back again at fifteen. He followed us in from there. After I signed my scorecard, he came up to me and asked for my autograph.” “Your first autograph!” his mother beamed. “Yeah, well, I think it was more of just a way to introduce himself. He said he liked the way I played, thought I played strong down the stretch and then started pressing me for answers. He, like, asked for my swing thoughts and stuff.” “What did you tell him?” “I didn’t tell him anything. Then he said, ‘You’re L. H. Richards’ kid, aren’t you?’ And it sort of went on from there. I told him I was L. H. Richards’ grandson, and I told him about Grandpa’s book, about the puzzles, and he said he wanted publish it. He did question why Grandpa didn’t publish his story. I told him what you said. I told him that without the solutions to the


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puzzles the book was only marginally profitable, since it was written by an amateur.” “Then he questioned why grandpa didn’t publish a straight ‘how to’ book. Certainly he had offers. I didn’t have an answer to his question. Do you?” “I do know why. First of all, he didn’t publish a straight ‘how to’ manual, because the new golf swing was so simple and easy to execute that it wouldn’t be long before everybody would be using Grandpa’s new swing method. With his information ‘out there,’ everybody would be using and teaching it, and Grandpa would not have gotten either the full credit or the monetary rewards he deserved for discovering and communicating the information, the Secret, to the public. He spent over thirty years, you know, trying different swings before he finally hit on the right formula. He ‘revealed’ the Secret via the difficult-to-solve puzzles. His thinking was that the longer the puzzles went unsolved, the more books he would sell and the greater the interest there would be to eventually reveal the solutions. The focus and publicity would all be on Grandpa to reveal the solutions and The Secret. With the entire golf world watching L. H. Richards reveal his Secret, L. H. Richards would receive all the credit, and a lot of money, for its discovery. He believed that that was a way to compensate him for all the work he did in figuring out how to swing a golf club.” The elder Richards continued, “He wrote the book before he started winning. He knew he had stumbled onto what he called ‘The Secret to Golf’. He knew that, armed with The Secret, even average golfers would start shooting rounds in the 60s. He wanted to publish the book to make enough money to finance another couple of years on Tour. He was running out of money, you know, and he was getting older. He wanted something for his retirement. He was concerned that if he published a ‘how to’ book that he wouldn’t make any money, maybe even lose money. But somebody reading the book would take off with the idea and make millions selling lessons, maybe even winning himself. So, he wrote the novel. He figured that he would make money from royalties from the novel and the follow-on book – the solutions to the puzzles, along accompanied by step-by-step instructions about how to play golf.” “But he still didn’t publish the novel. Couldn’t he find a publisher?” “I don’t know. All I know is he started winning, and suddenly he had all the money he needed. He no longer needed book royalties to retire on. So, he tucked the book away. Plus, he had no desire to help his competition. That’s something you might think about, as you start a professional golf career, if that’s what you want to do.” “Well, we have a publisher now,” Billy said.


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“Did you tell him how difficult the puzzles are to solve?” the elder Richards asked. “Oh, yeah. I told him it took me three years to solve the puzzles.” “And that didn’t bother him?” “No. Said he liked it more. Said he would offer a prize for the first person to solve the puzzles. Maybe $100,000 he said. Maybe $100,000 for every year that goes by without the puzzles being solved. Up to a limit, of course. Say, five years. Said that with the right marketing his publishing firm could expect to make a very nice profit. And I, er, we would get earn a lot in royalties. Enough to justify an $8 million irrevocable advance. I figure that in three years, if I do this right, I should make enough to retire on, and I could continue to golf if I wanted or do something else. “ “What about college?” the elder Richards asked. An uncomfortable silence was eventually broken by tentative chuckles after Billy and Monica realized the elder Richards was joking. “Don’t really need it now, do we?” Bill Richards said. “I figure that if I don’t want to participate in the ‘traveling circus’, as Grandpa called the pro golf tour, after five or six years I can retire from golf and do something else. The whole wide world is out there.” * * * Bill Richards was on his way. In the ensuing months he would be the medallist in every stage of what would be his only PGA Tour Qualifying School, and he would win seven tournaments his first year on ‘The Tour’. Club, ball, and clothing manufacturers would pay Bill a lot of money to endorse their products. He didn’t practice his swing much. He didn’t have to. After learning the secret to golf, he said that swinging a golf club was like riding a bicycle. “You just do four simple things and you hit solid shots,” he said. He did, however, work many hours on his putting. He surmised that after the puzzles were solved and after the secret was finally revealed that everyone would be pretty much hitting every fairway and every green. He said that at that point the only thing that would separate the winners from the losers would be the short game, especially putting. * * *


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Four years after signing the book deal, Les Richards was standing outside the ropes at the practice putting green in Dallas during the Byron Nelson Classic. “Haven’t found the putting secret yet, huh?” Les Richards asked. “Nope. Grandpa didn’t reveal the putting secret.” “I been reading the book,” the father responded. “Trying to solve the puzzles and win the $400,000.” “You’re not eligible to win it. Family members and friends aren’t eligible. Has it been four years already?” “Yep.” “Wow. Time flies.” “I have the putting secret. It was in your Grandpa’s book,” Les Richards stated matter-of-factly. “No way!” Bill countered. “Honest. It’s there.” “What page?” “Not tellin’ ya’. Read it again. You’ll find it.” Bill Richards finished fourth in the Byron Nelson. He would have won handily had he putted better. He knew that he would need to putt better if he were to continue to do well on the PGA Tour. Almost the minute the solutions to his grandfather’s puzzles are revealed his competitors will start to hit most greens in regulation and Bill Richards’ competitive advantage will be gone. To regain his competitive advantage, Bill Richards would need to putt better than the other pros. His father said that Grandpa Richards had revealed the secret to putting in the book. If he had, then Bill Richards had missed it. Bill was curious. Where in the book was the secret to putting revealed? How had he missed it? Bill was not sorry that he had made the book deal. He knew how frustrating golf was to the general public. And he knew that if the general public just knew one simple concept that golf would be easy – and fun – for everyone. What a different world it would be if golf were fun at last! And what a different pro golf career Bill Richards would have if only he could putt! Bill dug into his suitcase and pulled out the old book – The Secret to Golf by L. H. Richards. He opened the book to page 1 and started to read …


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The Secret to Golf

by L. H. Richards

Copyright 2018 by Bill Richards. All rights reserved.


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Never give up.

There is a saying: “Given enough time, the impossible becomes the inevitable.” The future for one generation is the past to another. What will happen for one has happened to another. If you can perceive it, it will happen, and, to those in the future, it has happened and is real. I know, because I lived it. Because I perceived it and it happened for me.

Never give up.

Whatever you dream, you can find a way to make it real. If anyone can do it, you can do it. There is a fun way to play great golf, if you only know how. Just follow my treasure map, step by simple step. It’s easy and it’s fun. Think of it: Golf will be fun! You can do it. I know you can. Believe in yourself, because I believe in you. My simple golf method works! The answer is in this book. Solve the puzzles. Discover the Secret to Golf. Have fun playing golf for the rest of your life! That is the legacy I seek.

-- L. H. Richards


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Chapter 1

Spring was officially three weeks away, and much of the country’s hillsides were still blanketed with snow. The traveling circus that was the World Professional Golf Tour, pitching its tents and draping its television cables along the Earth’s sun belts, was already into its fourth tournament of the year. It was Sunday, March 4th, and it was the final round of the Honda Golf Classic in Coral Gables, Florida. WPGA Tour rookie Rico Geargias was leading the tournament by two strokes with just two holes to play. At eighteen under par, Rico hadn’t made a bogey in seventy holes. All he had to do for his first tournament win was to par the final two holes. Nobody on the course had a chance to catch him. Ed Root, the leading money winner on the tour the last two seasons was already in the clubhouse at sixteen under. Watching the final two holes on the flat screen in the players’ locker room were fellow competitors Winston Cattlemyre, Atom Clay, Garvin Nady, and Paul Kepler. “Betcha $5,000 he doesn’t win,” Winston Cattlemyre said. “Betcha $5,000 he bogies the last two holes.” “I’ll take that bet!” Nady said. “Shake on it.” “You’re on!” Cattlemyre said, firmly grasping Nady’s hand. “Anybody else? What about you, Atom? You want in?” “No thanks,” said Atom Clay. “I don’t have the money. But if I did, I’d jump on that bet. Rico’s got it this week. He hasn’t had a bogey all week, and now you’re saying he’s going to make two? No way!” “The kid’s swing ain’t sound,” Cattlemyre argued. “Can’t hold up when it has to.” “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Atom said, shaking his head. The players watched as Rico Geargias birdied the seventeenth hole to go three up, with but one to play. “There you go, Winston,” Nady gloated. “No bogey. You owe me five grand.” “The bet ain’t over,” Cattlemyre argued. “He’s still got to play number eighteen.”


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“The bet was that Rico would bogey the last two holes. He just made birdie. Last time I looked, birdie ain’t bogey. You lose the bet, no matter what Rico does on eighteen.” “Alright, tell ya’ what,” Cattlemyre said, “I owe you $5,000. Now I’ll bet you $10,000 he double bogeys or worse on the final hole.” “No,” Nady responded. “I’ll just take my $5,000.” “How about $10,000 he makes triple bogey or worse?” Cattlemyre shot back. “Betcha $10,000 he triple bogeys the last hole.” “I’ll take that bet,” Kepler announced. “You’re on!” Cattlemyre said, and the two men shook on it. “OK, me, too,” Nady relented. “No way Rico’ll make triple. No way.” “Anybody else wanna bet?” Cattlemyre spouted aloud. “They’re at the post, guys. They’re on the final tee. Place your bets before Rico tees off!” No one else took the bet. The professional golfers in the room understood the pressures of winning that first pro tournament. The rewards of winning are extremely high. After you get past the prize money -- over one million dollars to the winner – there’s the two-year exemption from qualifying and the endorsement money that soon follows. Most of the top players made most of their money by wearing their sponsors’ lines of clothing or using their specified equipment. If a guy could just erase the thoughts of the monetary rewards for winning, he might just have a chance. With a three-shot lead and just one hole to play, this rookie, this Rico Geargias, had a great opportunity. But to win, he had to somehow manage to scrape the ball along the final fairway and get the damn thing into the cup in fewer than seven shots. The players in the locker room moaned as Rico’s tee shot barely got off the tee, traveling down the middle of the fairway, but stopping in its on pitch mark less than two hundred yards away, a very short drive under today’s professional golf standards. “Jeez!” Nady griped. “He skied it. Skied it!” A television close-up of Rico’s grip showed that Geargias’ hands were shaking. “Double the bet, Garvy?” Cattlemyre asked. A nervous Garvin Nady shook his head ‘no’.


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Rico’s next swing, an iron shot from two hundred forty yards, excavated a clump of dirt behind the ball. In golfer’s lingo, he had hit it ‘fat’. The ball advanced seventy yards closer to the hole, but the dirt clod divot went ten yards. “C’mon, Rico!” Nady shouted at the TV. “Close the deal!” “He can still get there,” Kepler assured Nady. “A five iron to the green and one-putt for par, two-putt for bogey, three-putt to double. We still have it. Come on, Rico! You the man!” The two men betting on Geargias watched in disbelief as Rico pulled a three wood from his golf bag. “No! What are you doing, Rico?!” Nady shouted at the televised image of an obviously nervous Rico Geargias. “You catch that three-wood, you’ll hit it seventy yards over the green!” Nady buried his face in his hands. “I can’t watch,” he said. “Nothing good can come of this shot! Nothing! He’s either going to hit it offline or he’s going to blast it seventy yards over the green!” “That’d put it in the crowd behind the green,” Winston agreed. “Hit the five iron, Rico! Hit the damn five iron!” As Geargias addressed the ball with his three-wood, Nady turned away. “This is going to be ugly,” he said. Nady was right. Geargias, subconsciously aware that if he were to catch the three-wood solidly he would indeed blast it well past the pin, lazily swung the fairway wood and contacted the ball on the toe of club, with little power. The ball sailed offline, to the right. It landed short of the pond adjacent to the green, took two big bounces then disappeared into the water. “In the hazard in three, out in four,” Cattlemyre announced. “He’s got to get it up and down from there; otherwise, I win. And he doesn’t have much green to work with.” “Don’t be so smug, Winston,” Kepler said. “He can hole it from there for a bogey. He’s one of the best wedge players on tour!” “Care to increase your bet, Paul?” Cattlemyre asked. “Want to up the ante?” Kepler didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His ears, glowing bright red, spoke for him.


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It got quiet as Rico got ready for his next shot. “He’s playing too fast,” Nady said. “Slow down, Rico! Take your time! Pace it off! Caddy, yank that club out of Rico’s hands!” Nady had no sooner stopped talking when Rico swung at the ball. What followed next was unbelievable. In an attempt to hit a high, soft flop shot, one that would stop quickly when, as in this case, there is very little green to work with, Rico Geargias’s open-faced sand wedge went completely under the ball. The ball just hopped up and came down in very nearly the same spot from which it started. A collective moan was heard from the astonished spectators witnessing this disaster at the eighteenth green. “That’s five,” Cattlemyre counted. Rico swung again, quickly. Abandoning the idea of a flop shot, Rico attempted a straightforward wedge, but he bladed the ball, which shot across the green little more than knee-high, stopping only because it came to rest in a sand bunker. Playing ‘way too fast, Rico quickly got the ball out of the bunker, and three putts later picked his ball out of the cup for a ten. Rico not only lost the tournament, he was lucky to finish in the top ten. He had finished in a tie for sixth place. His first professional golf tournament win would have to come another day. As he walked off the final green, a television reporter confronted Rico and asked, “Tell us, Rico, what happened on that last hole?” “I don’t know,” Rico answered. “I don’t know what happened. I’ll have to think about this. On the tee I had a three shot lead, and it was like this wave of something came over me. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t think straight, my hands were shaking, my brain felt light, and just one disaster after another happened. I didn’t think it would ever end.” Kepler looked at Winston Cattlemyre. “Guess I owe you some money,” he said. “Pay me later, Garv. Pay me when you win your first tournament. I’m not worried about it. It was a sucker bet.” “What do you mean ‘sucker bet’?” Nady asked. “Geargias’s swing is not sound,” Cattlemyre explained. “When a ‘must do’ situation arises, the player without a sound swing always fails. Always fails. That’s why it was a sucker bet. Let me tell you, gentlemen, there’s a secret to golf, and if you don’t know the secret, you’re not going to succeed in a must-do situation. Ask anybody who’s been on the verge of a


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significant win, they’ll tell you, if they tell the truth. They don’t know what they’re doing. I’m talkin’ of some names that would surprise you and some names of guys you never heard of who couldn’t get to the dance. I’m talking Sam Snead, Phil Mickelson, and Aaron Barber. Even Ed Root and Tiger Woods.” “B.S., Winston,” Nady admonished. “You’re saying Ed Root and Tiger Woods don’t know what they’re doing?” “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They don’t know exactly what to do to hit the great shot when the game is on the line.” “That’s so much B.S., Winston,” Nady said again. “Root’s won how many tournaments? And Woods – he’s won more majors than anybody. You’re saying he doesn’t know what he’s doing? And who’s Aaron Barber anyway?” “Exactly my point,” Cattlemyre countered. “Who is Aaron Barber? Not exactly a household name, but he can play with the best of them. Except when he has to. Just like everybody. Except one guy.” “Who is the one guy, Winston? You?” Nady made Kepler, Clay, and a few others chuckle. “Let me tell you about Aaron Barber,” Cattlemyre said. “Aaron Barber played the tour. In fact he made over half million in prize money on the tour. But he never won. Never claimed a championship. He had the talent, could play with anybody. But he couldn’t do it when he had to. There was this Nationwide Tour event in 2006 – the Livermore Valley Wine Country Championship. Aaron Barber tied the course record with a 65.” “So there you are,” Nady argued, “65! I’d like to shoot 65!” “He tied the course record at 65,” Cattlemyre countered. “He bogied the final hole. All he had to do was par the final hole to hold the record outright, and he couldn’t do it.” “You’re talkin’ gnat’s eyelashes here, Winston. It was just a simple bogey. Anybody can make a bogey at any time on any hole,” Nady offered. “Yeah, well, that same year Barber was four shots out of the lead going into the final round of the first stage of PGA Tour qualifying tournament,” Cattlemyre rebutted. Nady interrupted. “Q-School, Winston. We’ve all been there.” “Yeah, well, as I was going to say, this Barber was four shots out of the lead going into the final round, when he played the last three holes in


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double-bogey, quadruple-bogey, quadruple-bogey and failed to advance to the second stage by one stoke. One stroke! I have to believe that if he absolutely knew what he was doing he could have managed to play those last three holes in better than ten over par.” “Q School is full of horror stories,” Nady agreed. “But you mentioned some other names … Sam Snead, Phil Mickelson, Ed Root, and Tiger Woods?! C’mon, Winston!” “Snead made an 8 on the last hole in the 1939 U. S. Open,” Cattlemyre responded. “Snead would never win the Open.” “And Mickelson made that stupid double-bogey at Winged Foot,” Nady offered. “Everybody remembers that.” “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Kepler argued. “Then why did he go running to that golf coach afterward?” Cattlemyre asked. Nobody responded to Cattlemyre’s question. Most stared at the floor in silence, pondering answers. “And Woods?” Kepler asked. “In 2002, Woods won the first two majors. He won the Masters and the U.S. Open,” Cattlemyre began. “Nobody has ever won all four of the majors in a single year. Nobody has ever won the Masters, the U.S. Open, the British Open, and the PGA Championship in the same one year. But in the year 2002, Tiger Woods had a chance to do it. He won the Masters and the U.S. Open. And he started out the British Open that year two strokes out of the lead going into the third round. He shot 70-68 and was two strokes back of a couple of guys like Ernie Els and Padraig Harrington.” “And my old buddy, Duffy Waldorf,” Nady interrupted. “He shot 67-69 to be tied for the lead with Els and Harrington.” “I guess,” Cattlemyre said. “I’d have to look it up. So anyway, Woods … he needs to win this tournament if he’s going to have a chance to win the four majors in one year. And the third round is key. What do they call it … ‘moving day’?” “Why do they call it ‘moving day’?” Kepler asked. “Has to do with players just try to make the cut after the first two rounds, to assure that they win some money. If they don’t make the cut, they don’t get paid. So a lot of us’ll play conservatively on the first two days, don’t take any major risks on the first two days, to make sure we’re in the


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money. Then, in the third round –after we’ve made the cut and have been guaranteed some money, we abandon the conservative approach, take some risks and try to move up the leader board. It’s called ‘moving day’ because a lot of players move up or down the leader board depending on how successful their risk-taking was.” “OK, so, anyway, Winston, what about Tiger?” Kepler asked. “He’s two shots out of the lead in the British Open, and so what happened?” “So he needs to win the British Open to continue his quest for the Grand Slam in the same year – winning the Masters, the U.S. Open, the British Open, and the PGA Championship.” “So ‘moving day’ is the day he needs to move up the leader board and set up the victory dance on Sunday,” Nady filled in. “Right,” Winston continued. “So you would have to think that if Woods really knew what he was doing he would move up the leader board, right?” “OK,” Nady responded. “I agree with that. So what’d Tiger shoot that day?” “81!” Cattlemyre exclaimed. “Eighty stinking one!” “No way!” Nady responded. “Look it up!” Cattlemyre said. “Finished in a tie for 28th.” “Wow,” Nady mused. “Waldorf beat him. And he shot 77 the third round.” “I’m telling ya,” Cattlemyre concluded. “They don’t know what they’re doing.” “Wait a minute,” Kepler countered, “sounds like there was wind or rain or something that day … if guys are shooting 77 and 81. The weather’s not the greatest over there, you know.” “Well, four guys shot in the 60’s,” Cattlemyre countered. “But none of them was trying to win four majors in the same year. There was only one player with that kind of pressure on him, and that was Tiger Woods.” “So who is this mysterious guy who is the one and only guy who knows exactly how to play golf, and why haven’t we heard of him?”


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“You’re talkin’ Ed Root. “ Paul Kepler suggested. “He’s won fifty tournaments, fifteen of ‘em majors. He’s the one that must know the secret to golf.” “It isn’t Ed Root,” Cattlemyre said. “Ed Root doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know the secret to golf. Ever notice when he hits a bad shot, how he slams his club on the ground, grits his teeth, and winces in frustration? The guy that knows the secret to golf doesn’t do that, because he understands that errors are simply a part of being human. The guy who knows the secret to golf accepts the error as simple human frailty and continues on with his game. He extricates himself from whatever trouble the errant shot put him in and tries to make up for it with a great shot on the next one. And a great shot is a definite possibility for the guy who knows, I mean really KNOWS how to correctly swing a golf club. It isn’t Ed Root. Put Ed Root in a ‘must-do’ situation, and he fails, betcha money. He really hasn’t been in a must-do situation. Not from day one. He got that million-dollar endorsement deal when he was still an amateur. Most of you guys had to somehow beg, borrow, or steal the $4,000 entry fee into the qualifying school. Remember how much pressure there was in your first qualifying school? If you failed, you were out your life savings. Ed Root, $4,000 to him was like twenty bucks to you ‘n me. That’s not pressure. Then he got that $20 million from the equipment company and another $40 million from those other guys and where’s the pressure? Winning one million dollars in a tournament is one sixtieth of his annual salary! One million to you ‘n me is two, three, four times our annual earnings. Can’t even call them salaries.” “I’ll tell you where the pressure is for Ed Root,” Winston continued. “The pressure for Ed Root is in winning the four majors all in one year, like it is for Tiger. Remember three years ago? After winning three majors in the same year, Root was leading by a couple of shots going into the fourth and final round of the fourth major. Remember how they were saying that if Root could hold onto his lead in the fourth round of the fourth major, he’d be the only player to have won all four major tournaments in the same year?” “Yeah, I remember,” Nady said. “He didn’t make it.” “He shot forty on the back nine,” Cattlemyre said. “Remember? Ed Root shooting a forty?! He was disgusted with himself, do you remember?” “I remember that,” Kepler said. “He did shoot forty. He didn’t hold up under what was pressure for him. For him, winning an ordinary tournament isn’t real pressure. My gosh, like you said, he’s won fifty tournaments. Winning majors are important to him, though.” “Borderline, because he’s won so many of those,” Cattlemyre responded. “But four majors in a row in the same year -- that’s Ed Root’s must-do,


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tell-tale situation. And when the situation came up, Ed Root couldn’t close the deal. He couldn’t make it happen. And he never will. Unless he knows the secret to golf -- and there is, gentlemen, a secret to golf. If you don’t know the secret to golf, you won’t succeed under must-do situations. If you know the secret to golf, your hands don’t get shaky and clammy, your mind don’t get light, and your mind don’t race. Like what happened to Rico here today. No, you just take your time, go about your business, and play solid shot after solid shot. You guys’ll need to discover the secret to golf, if you want to enjoy winning golf tournaments. Otherwise, your wins, if there are any, will be pure hell.”

The Secret to Golf - tommacaulay.com · The Secret to Golf Tom Macaulay 5 There was a pause as...

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