Maginnes: This was one to remember

Inspiration and motivation are not the cornerstones of success. They are far too liquid for that and must keep regenerating to remain fresh. The passion that feeds motivation and creates inspiration is actually the cornerstone. Without passion the other two cease to exist. Our passions and what we do with them is what make us unique.

However, the battle to maintain your passion above fear and apprehension is the central conflict that is within us all. This plight has never been more tangible in my life than at the 1995 q-school. I had taken the lessons of my failure and applied them to my craft. When I entered the finals of q-school that year the only result that was acceptable was a top-30 finish and a PGA TOUR card.

John Maginnes has experienced the highs and lows of q-school. (Messerschmidt/WireImage)

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I had played in three finals in four years and each year I thought that I was ready to get my card. The logic is simple, if you play well you are on the TOUR the next year. Now, if you are a golfer (a reasonable assumption), then you know that logic and golf should never be used in the same sentence. But when I entered q-school in 1995 I felt entitled to a TOUR card. I had earned it. The problem was that there were 180 other players who felt the same way.

The finals were at Bear Lakes in West Palm Beach, Fla. My motivation and inspiration that week came from a collection of experiences, both recent and distant. Just a few weeks earlier, Allen Doyle had beaten me in a playoff at the Nationwide Tour Championship. I had won the first event of the season but was unable to maintain my position in the top 10 on the money list. I wanted to prove that I belonged on the PGA TOUR. The recent trip to South America showed me what lies in wait for a player who doesn't maintain his motivation. Not to mention, this was the first Thanksgiving that I had ever been away from home. Our first Thanksgiving dinner as a married couple was an overpriced buffet at the Embassy Suites on PGA Boulevard. Guilt can be a great motivator.

History will show that I earned my card by two shots with a final-round 67. I still believe that to be the best round of golf that I ever played. I was paired with Taylor Smith in the final round. If the name rings a bell it is because he was the guy who was disqualified at the Walt Disney World/Oldsmobile Classic the following year when it was determined that the grips on his long putter were too close together. Had that not happened, he would have, at the very least, been in a playoff with Tiger Woods who earned his second PGA TOUR title that week. But I am getting way ahead of myself.

Taylor was the perfect person to be paired with in that final round. We knew that we needed to shoot 68 to crack the top 30. There was a third in our group, of course, but for the life of me I cannot remember who it was. Whoever it was, he did not have a very good day. Taylor and I had the day of our lives. I can recall every shot that I hit that day. I can close my eyes and remember the emotions that ran through me coming down the stretch.

We had started on the back nine. Taylor and I both birdied the par-5 sixth hole to get to 5-under par for the day and 13 under for the marathon. As we walked off the seventh tee, our 16th hole, after successfully hitting the fairway, Taylor asked me if I was nervous. The previous year I had played in my first U.S Open. For the first six holes I experienced a level of nervousness that I never knew possible. I could not control the motion of my arm. As it subsided, though, I managed to play decently and even made the cut on Friday.

That was mere butterflies compared to how I felt as we left the seventh tee. Taylor and I talked, trying to relax each other as we headed for our balls. Unfortunately for me, though, the conversation didn't have the desired effect and I bogeyed the hole. No. 8 is a gorgeous little par 3. The hole location on this day was in the back left-hand corner of the green. I can close my eyes and remember the impact on the 8-iron that I pulled badly into the greenside bunker, short-siding myself in the process. The bunker shot was one of those that under normal circumstances you may get up and down 40 percent of the time. Under the crush of q-school pressure that percentage shrinks considerably. I splashed out of the bunker and as the ball approached the hole, going much too fast, it glanced off the pin and stopped 4 feet by. If it had not hit the pin it would have been at least 20 feet away. After holing a very nervous par putt I was faced with the long, difficult par-4 ninth. A par on the 108th hole and I would fulfill a dream.

The ninth hole is a straightaway par 4 with bunkering along both sides of the fairway. A lake fronts the long, narrow green guarded by a bunker in front and one behind. The hole was cut on the extreme left portion of the green about 15 feet from the back bunker. My drive found the right side of the fairway. There were nervous seconds as it skirted the right fairway bunker. I was left with 205 yards to the hole with the wind off the left and slightly in. I was standing there with my wife, who was caddying for me, surveying the shot. I told her that I was going to start a 4-iron at the left fringe and hit my normal fade. I said to her that I thought that it would carry 195 and end up 200, just below the hole. She said that she liked it. I looked at her before pulling the club, something that I never did, and asked, "Am I thinking clearly?" Her reply was just what I needed to hear. "You have never been clearer," she said.

The swing that I put on the 4-iron was perfection. The ball started at the left fringe and gently faded toward the hole as if my will was somehow connected to its dimpled soul. It landed 25 feet below the hole and came to rest 15 feet away. Taylor walked past as I took my putter from Dena. He whispered in his south Georgia drawl, "That is the best shot you ever hit in your life." I knew, even then, that I would remember that moment for the rest of my life.

For good measure, and despite my efforts to leave the putt short, I rolled that little turkey right in the heart. The impact of the moment did not hit me until after I pulled the ball out of the hole. I walked back to the front of the green where Dena had tears leaking out from underneath her sunglasses. I was a PGA TOUR player.

I would be nice to end right here. I would love to tell you that I never again returned to q-school. I would love to tell you that my passion and motivation were enough to make up for gaps in talent. But what would be the fun in that?