It’s been well over a decade, but my three-putt on the first playoff hole of the Colorado State high school qualifying tournament still haunts me.
It was my senior year—my last chance to qualify for the state tournament. We set out for the tournament on an unseasonably cold day in late September. By the time we had driven the hour and a half to the golf course, it had started to snow, so the officials postponed the tournament one week. In the subsequent week, our team’s best player’s Spanish grade dropped into flunking territory, academically disqualifying him from competing. It was a major blow to our team’s chance of qualifying for the state tournament, but we thought we still had a chance.
In previous years, anyone who broke 80 had been almost certain to qualify. I made that my goal; I had only broken 80 in one other tournament. I played great, and shot a 77, which was my best-ever tournament round. The other players shot 76, 82, and 85. Since I knew the officials would throw out the highest score, I was ecstatic. I was certain that we would be good enough to qualify as a team.
Apparently the course played easy that day; our team score put us in a three-way tie for the two final state tournament spots. The officials ordered a playoff. On the first playoff hole, par 4, I hit my best drive of the day, right down the middle of the fairway, about 150 yards from the green. Some of my teammates struggled a bit. One of them hit his drive out of bounds, and the other two players were just off the fairway. I knocked my second shot onto the green, about 20 feet from the hole. I was feeling pretty good—especially because I was getting results even under pressure, with all the onlookers.
My teammates that were just off the fairway got bogeys, and we knew the other guy’s score wasn’t going to count. The pressure was on: I was the very last player to finish up the hole. A two-putt would be adequate for our team to take the last qualifying spot. I lagged my first putt to within about 3 ½ feet of the hole.
I hope that someday I’ll be able to forgive myself for missing that next putt.
After that hole, we played another for the final team spot. We all played poorly; I was still in shock from three-putting the first hole that ended my high school golf career.
Since then, a couple of drills have helped me drastically improve my putting, and my stroke has become reliable even in pressure situations. Try these to better your game:
The three-foot drill: For the first drill—which I later learned from our team’s best player—find a straight putt that is either slightly uphill or level Mark a spot three feet from the cup; stand there and knock in putts until you get 50 in a row. It may seem easy, but you’ll learn very quickly to have a straight-back-straight-through stroke with a good follow-through, or you’ll be standing on the putting green for a long time. This is an effective way to practice putting under pressure, as well. Imagine standing over those last few putts knowing that if you miss one, you’ll have to start over.
The ladder drill: Find another line to the hole that doesn’t break over the course of 6 feet, and lay down six marks, one at each foot measurement. (You can eyeball these lengths with your three-foot-long putter as a guide.) Starting at the one-foot mark, make each of the six putts successfully to complete the drill. It may seem simple to make a one-footer, but you’ll find that if you don’t concentrate, any sloppiness and bad mechanics will carry over to the longer putts.
I wish I had known about these drills long before the day that I blew my chance to go to the state tournament. Truth be told, I appreciate the memory. It reminds me that setbacks in life are growing experiences—and to take some time now and again to practice my putting.
