One penalty stroke. One playoff. One match away from Tiger Woods.

The 1996 U.S. Amateur at Pumpkin Ridge turned into the wildest rollercoaster of my career: rules drama, near collapse, and a playoff for survival.

I walked off the 18th green hearing one line: “You’re Tiger meat.”

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It’s the first round of stroke play at the 1996 U.S. Amateur at Pumpkin Ridge, and I’m lining up a putt for par on the 17th hole on the Witch Hollow course.

As I am crouching down to put my ball in front of my ball marker, it slips from my hand and falls towards my coin on the ground.

In what seemed like slow motion, but also felt like a nanosecond, it landed flush on my quarter, which then flipped into the air, turned over, and returned to the same spot it had been.

My mind raced as my ball rolled away…

Oh fuck!

The summer of 1996 was a whirlwind of golf for me, in what turned out to be the best stretch of golf I would ever play.

It was the summer before my senior year at Colorado State University, and I had won the CGA State Match Play tournament, had a solid showing in the Colorado Open, and finished second in the Pacific Coast Amateur at Poppy Hills.

I felt good about my game heading into the US AM. Tiger was the big story, having won three US Junior Ams & two US AMs in a row heading into this week, and we all talked about how we’d love our shot at interrupting history.

Honestly, I just wanted to get into match play and see what I could do.

That was my thing.

I had already won a 64-match play event that summer, right?

Back on 17, I’m frozen in fear.

WTF just happened?

Will I be penalized for this? I had no clue. 

There happened to be a rules official on the hole, as I had asked for a ruling on my lie before chipping onto the green.

He didn’t have a clue either, as he radioed in, they decided we should finish as it was getting dark, and we’d sort it out before I signed my card. 

I made the putt, finished my round, and shot 74, not an ideal start if I want to make the match play.

I met with the rules officials, and they decided I was “not in the act of replacing my ball” and assessed me a 1 shot penalty. Wait, I was crouching down to put my ball in front of my ball marker.

If I wasn’t replacing my ball, what was I doing?

No one had an answer to that question, and the head of the USGA refused to speak to me. There may have been loud, bad words as I made my way to turn in my scorecard. 

My 74 turned into a 75… it was a punch to the gut. 

Damn, making the match play seemed light-years away. I put myself behind the 8-ball heading to the second day on the Witch Hollow course, which was a more difficult challenge. 

After a long night of what-ifs, I grinded out a 69 on Witch Hollow, which may have been one of the best rounds of golf I played that whole summer.

We were the second group that day, and the lady in the scorers’ tent made me feel good about myself, assuring me, ‘You’re well below the cut line right now, you’ll be fine.’

I spent the entire afternoon watching the scores come in, and the cut started creeping, getting closer and closer, until I was right on the number and found myself in a playoff.

Okay, I can do this; that isn’t that bad. I made it through a playoff at the local qualifier. 

10 guys for 8 spots as we headed to #12 on Witch Hollow, a 143-yard par 3. They drew names to determine which of the three groups would play the hole.

I was in the second group and I watched the first three guys make 3, 4 & 6. Sweet, all I have to do is make a par. What do I do? I hit the green and three-putted. 

Three guys for two spots as we head to #13, and I butchered it.

I hit it in a fairway bunker, but it was still in the grass, and I had to baseball swing at it, and it went into another bunker by the green.

I blast it out to about 30 feet, and it is looking grim. One guy hit is stiff, the other guy has 20 feet downhill for a birdie.

I miss my putt, tap in for bogey, and the penalty stroke comes to mind like a lightning bolt to the skull. I shouldn’t even be here.

How is this happening?

As I watched in a state of numbness, replaying the day and how I had fought so hard to get to the match, only to fall one spot short. The guy with the 20-footer ran it 5 feet past the hole, and OMG, he missed it. 

Two guys are competing for one spot as we head to #14, with one of us going home and the other earning the medalist & #1 seed tomorrow.

I hit the fairway and knocked a 5-iron on the green in two, and my opponent attempted to reach the green from the rough, but he hit it in the water short of the green.

By the time I hit my putt for eagle, the other guy had tapped in for 6. I two-putted, and holy shit, I was in the match play after riding the most amazing rollercoaster of a day. 

There was a decent number of people watching the playoff, and as we walked back to the clubhouse, someone yelled out, ‘You’re Tiger meat!!’

Once at the clubhouse, I made the phone call home to my family and friends, “I have good news & bad news.”

The good news is, I made the match play.

The bad news is, my match tomorrow is against a guy named Eldrick…

Read Pt. on Sept. 17.

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