Three Wheel LIfe
From sophomore to senior year of high school, my dad and I took annual trips to Columbus, Indiana for the AJGA event at Otter Creek. Little did I know that this event would eventually mean much more to me than a Fourth of July weekend spent in the middle of a flyover state.
As a sophomore in high school, AJGAs were a massive deal to me. As some of the best tournaments in the country, it was pretty hard to get into them for a player like myself who didn’t have a ton of ranking points (finishing 12th in local Illinois events won’t do you any good). However, I lucked out and had enough points to barely get into my first tournament in the summer of 2017. This event was my first taste of how many good players wanted to play in college, something I wasn’t really exposed to in the state of Illinois. Kids from all over the country played in these AJGA events, with college coaches following along closely, scouting their next potential star recruit.
My dad and I showed up to that first Otter Creek event with no expectations, but we had lots of curiosity. I was filled with nerves of course, experiencing something new and not feeling like I totally belonged once I stepped out of the car onto that blacktop parking lot. During the first day of practice, and as I geared up to play in the biggest event of my career up until that point, it just felt like kids were more prepared than I was.
These kids had methodical drills on the putting green set up, stretching consumed a lot of the locker room and practice tee. And every single bag was on three wheels.
If I remember correctly, I missed the cut that year. Nonetheless, the most important thing to come out of my experience down in Columbus, Indiana was the realization that a push-cart could make a difference.
I saw more push-carts down at Otter Creek that week than I have to this day. My dad pointed it out to me. Having been a former baseball player and overall decent athlete, I looked at push-carts as “soft”. Now, I was beginning to see it as an advantage in amateur golf.
My dad and I picked up a push-cart the next day. His reasoning was simple: “Hey, these kids are better than you at the moment. They are all using push-carts. We’re getting you a push-cart.” That was that.
Fast forward seven years later and I still have the same push-cart. The white paint is chipping, the front wheel is slowly falling apart, and the straps aren’t as strong as they once were. I still get made fun of for being “soft”, and unlike those days at Otter Creek, I am one of the few players who doesn’t carry my bag during collegiate tournaments. It has thousands of miles on it, has seen some of the most beautiful places in the country, and has been more than just a transporter of golf clubs.
The cart has seen great shots, decent ones, as well as some pretty horrible ones. It has seen laughter and tears, high and lows, all in the pursuit of control. It was along for the ride on my front-nine 29 at Purdue’s Kampen course, there to witness my qualification for the U.S. Amateur, and aiding me when I shot a course record 62. It was also right there for a gut-wrenching blown lead during the final round of the MAC championship and beside me for my final round 80 at the Illinois Junior. Yet a month later, it carried me all week to a win at the Chick Evans.
From the Bahamas to Hawaii, Seattle to Sea Island, the walks it has been a part of are some of the prettiest in the world.
It has witnessed some bad, it has witnessed some good, showing me that this journey I am on is not, and will not be, as direct as we want it to be.
