The biggest lesson came from Mother Nature

Editor's note: John Maginnes, a 10-year PGA TOUR veteran who now works as an analyst for the PGA TOUR Network on XM Satellite Radio, writes a weekly column for PGATOUR.com. He now tries to try to put into perspective the overwhelming pressure players feel at the PGA TOUR National Qualifying Tournament.

John Maginnes (WireImage)

MORE Q-SCHOOL TALES

In 2003, Maginnes was set to quit for a TV gig -- until typical Q-School fate intervened.  • Complete column,  click here

The announcement that Wednesday morning didn't bode well. "Play is suspended for today. We will try to resume at 8 a.m. tomorrow." A PGA TOUR rules official made the same announcement on Thursday and Friday morning, too. We were at the second stage of q-school in 1994 at the Hombre Golf Club in Panama City Beach, Fla., for a scheduled 72-hole qualifier. Play was supposed to run from Tuesday through Friday, but the weather had other plans.

Late Tuesday night, after the first round, the rain had moved into the Florida Panhandle. The forecast suggested that the rain would end by midday. When we all arrived Wednesday morning, we were told that tee times had been moved back three hours to start at 11 a.m. Most of the players, like me, decided to hang around the clubhouse and wait it out. I use the word "clubhouse" in the loosest terms. Basically the clubhouse at the Hombre is a single large room. On one side is the pro shop and on the other is the snack bar. The room is separated by the square lunch counter with a large griddle in the middle. If you are ever there, I heartily recommend the birdie burger with bacon.

So we waited and ate and read magazines. Some time around 10:30 a.m. it was determined that the golf course had taken on too much water and play was canceled for the day. If the weather cleared, the driving range, which sits across a small pond behind the clubhouse, would open for practice. That never happened. As a matter of fact, when we showed up at the golf course on Thursday morning, the bridge that accesses the range was underwater. At this point, it had been raining for well over 24 hours and there were no signs of it letting up.

You may be wondering why a guy who attended 12 q-schools is choosing to write about one that almost didn't occur. If you are waiting for the inevitable anecdote about triumph or collapse, you won't find it here. The reason that I remember this particular event was because it was perhaps the single best learning experience of my entire playing career. As players, we train to play. As players trying to make it to the PGA TOUR, we try to have our games peak in the fall to give ourselves an advantage at q-school. I was coming off the best golf of my young career as the second stage began. I had racked up a handful of top-10s to end the season on the Nationwide Tour and couldn't wait for q-school to start.

And then the rains came. I had played fairly well on Tuesday. But the next three days of not playing were perhaps the hardest days that I ever had at any q-school. The emotions that a player feels the night before a big event are like the anticipation of Christmas Eve for a 7-year old and the dread of walking in to take the SAT for a high school student. You sleep little the night before. I would lose about five pounds the week of the second stage and closer to 10 the week of the finals. For those of you who know me, you know that the percentages here don't have much aesthetic effect.

As a young man, as I was in 1994, I would allow myself no beer or wine at q-school. Later on in my career, I would allow myself two drinks with dinner. On the first day of the delay, I was on edge. My wife and I went to a movie and dinner and tried to go to bed early, but, of course, I couldn't sleep. The second day, after they canceled play I was in a far worse state. If we had played the next day, who knows what would have happened. I played the golf course over and over in my head. I was literally working myself into a tizzy. For a man who weighs over 200 pounds, a tizzy can be quite an unattractive site. Remember, this was long before any of us pretended to be athletes and took out our frustrations in the gym.

On the third day everything changed. It became apparent that we may only get one more round to determine who would go to the finals. At this point, I had to re-focus. No player in the field had been able to hit a golf ball for three days. I knew that there had to be an advantage for the player who handled the situation the best. The emotions, anticipation and sleepless nights were not mine alone. Every player in the field was dealing with the same thing.

When play finally resumed on Saturday, the golf course was probably unplayable. There was a lake on the ninth fairway that hadn't existed a few days before. I am not talking about a puddle. I mean, it was a lake that covered several acres -- complete with ducks. I played some of my best golf of the year that weekend. I edged out Mike Weir for medalist honors. Mike went on to get his card at the finals. I had a close call there but came up just short. However, the lessons of not playing were far more valuable than the anything that I could have learned on the golf course that week.

Golf analysts talk a lot about the importance of patience. We often use the word patience, though, when we should use the word prudence. Hitting at the middle of the green on a difficult hole requires prudence. Sitting in the clubhouse watching rain while you are chomping at the bit to go prove yourself requires patience. Although I didn't get my card that year, I carried the lessons from that q-school throughout my career. In many respects, q-school is not so much about golf as it is about finding out who you are and what you are made of -- on and off the golf course.