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By John Maginnes
PGATOUR.com Contributor

There is no secret formula for success in professional golf. Just like any endeavor, you must be well prepared. Preparation breeds confidence. The ability to balance hard work and adequate rest are paramount in giving yourself the best advantage.

John Maginnes (WireImage)

With none of that in mind, I entered U.S. Open Qualifying a month ago. For $150, I had the chance, once again, to test my skills against the best players in the world.

Why not give it a shot?

From a preparation standpoint, I am playing once a week whether my game needs it or not. My skills have diminished considerably since 2005, when I couldn't beat anyone on the PGA TOUR.

Leading into the local qualifier at Pinewild in Pinehurst, N.C., on Monday, I worked nine consecutive weeks on the road with the PGA TOUR Network on XM. Believe it or not, we don't have a lot of time for golf on the road. As a matter of fact, we almost never play.

I say almost because I played last Friday in Atlanta for the first time ever before a broadcast. The show didn't air until noon, and I sneaked off early that morning.

I left Atlanta after Zach Johnson won the AT&T Classic in a playoff, which means that I got a later start than anticipated.

Knowing that proper rest and a good meal the night before an early tee time are essential, I hoped in my car around 7:45 p.m. for the five-hour drive to North Carolina.

My nourishment came in the form of a corndog from the Fly J truck stop on I-85. OK, I had two. I washed down the nitrates on a stick with a Diet Mountain Dew.

I checked into the Pine Crest Inn a little after midnight. The lone reason that I chose Pinehurst for the qualifier was to spend a night on the front porch of Donald Ross' old inn, telling lies with old friends, but that would have to wait until after the inevitable fiasco that awaited at 8:18 a.m. Monday morning.

When my cell phone alarm went off at 6:45 the next morning, I couldn't believe that morning had arrived already. I awoke in a tee shirt from the 1989 Bahama Mama party that the Kappa Sigma house threw the spring of my junior year at East Carolina. Why is this significant? I will get to that in a minute.

Pinewild is one of Pinehurst's many courses. I had gotten through the qualifier there years before on the Magnolia Course. Of course, this year the qualifier was on the Holly Course, which I had never seen.

As I pulled into the parking lot around 7:30, I was struck by a couple of things. The first one was that I was in the wrong place. From the looks of the kids on the driving range and the parking lot, I thought that I had pulled up to an AJGA event.

Little did I know.

I found Rocky Brooks in the pro shop. Rocky is the affable head professional at Sedgefield Country Club in Greensboro. Sam Snead won six of his eight Greensboro tournaments at the Donald Ross layout that hosted the tournament for many years. I was hoping that somehow Rocky and I would be able to channel Slammin' Sam for the next six hours.

We went to the range, where I hit twenty balls in preparation. I got out of the ball-hitting business a couple of years ago, but I thought after the long drive the night before, I might ought to pop a few vertebrae before we went to the first tee.

Besides, I felt pretty sure that they weren't selling mulligans for the qualifier.

David Sanchez (WireImage)

On the tee, I introduced myself to my two playing partners for the morning. One of them was David Sanchez, a young Nationwide Tour player who lives in Pinehurst. Although we hadn't heard of me, I had heard a lot about him.

The third member of our group was Drew Page. Remember that T-shirt that I slept in the night before? It is two years older than Drew. Drew is a tall lean, ultra-talented high school junior with a long, flowing golf swing.

As I stood on the first tee, I had two goals. The first was to get the tee shot airborne, the second was to come within ten shots of qualifying so I didn't get one of those letters from the USGA telling me that I was unfit to try again the next year.

I managed the first goal well enough, but that certainly didn't ensure the second one. After a good drive, I was doing everything possible not to chunk the 8-iron that I had into the elevated first green.

Much to mine and Rocky's surprise, the ball rose into the air and headed directly toward the flag. We saw it land short of the flag and bound toward the hole.

I made the long walk up to the green only to find my ball eight feet behind the hole. I had been worried that I wouldn't make a birdie all day, and here I was with a good opportunity right out of the gate.

To say that I hit a bad putt would be a disservice to bad putters everywhere. I missed the hole low and short by nearly 18 inches. Why I was nervous? I have no idea. I have years of experience on TOUR.

I have been through Q-school as many times as anyone over the past two decades, and I have not only played in four U.S. Open tournaments, but have made the cut in three of them.

But on this Monday morning, I was just a guy with a real job trying to become one of the few U.S. Open interlopers that find their way onto the range with the big boys each year.

Despite the epileptic seizure of a stroke on the first green, I somehow managed to make a couple of early birdies.

When I reached the par five sixth, I was two-under. After a layup to wedge distance, I took a rather large chunk out of the sandhills with my approach. My short game has had even less attention than my horoscope lately, and getting the ball up and down from below the green just wasn't in the stars.

Two holes later, I hit a 6-iron on a par-3 that nearly cost me a rather large bar tab. I tapped in for birdie and turned in two-under. The fact that the hole is only 164 yards and probably would have been and 8 or 9-iron for the best players in the world didn't discourage me.

I realized to my astonishment that if I wasn't careful, I would have to walk 36 holes in regional qualifying a couple of weeks later.

With the birdie that I made on the par four 15th, I was three-under with three to go. The course wasn't hard, and I was beginning to calculate what it might take to get one of the nine spots for the regionals.

I took care of any concerns or speculation on the 16th hole. The dogleg-right par four plays over a water hazard that fronts the green and wraps around to the right-hand side creating a peninsula of putting surface.

Of course, this is exactly where the officials decided to put the flag for the qualifier.

Standing over the 5-iron that I had left into the green, I could feel the shot. I could see the ball starting 30 feet left of the hole and fading halfway to the hole. This would take the water out of play and create a birdie opportunity.

That is what was going through my mind. Unfortunately, mind and body were not in communication, because the shot that I hit and the one in my minds eye were completely unrelated.

The sound of a Titleist bouncing off of a bulkhead back into the hazard is similar to a fork running down a chalkboard.

It echoes.

I somehow managed to make a bogey on 16 by getting it up and down from 90 yards. Still in good spirits on the next tee Rocky, asked me what the heck I was thinking on the second shot.

I told him, "Now you know why I had a real job."

His response?

"Well, if you could drive it more than 210 off the tee, we wouldn't have had 5-iron in back there in the first place."

We laughed, although there was a slight twinge of sadness.

I have not contacted Dr. Freud or his great grandson, Dr. Phil, to help me analyze the insanity that drove me to attempting the qualifier in the first place. I can rationalize that I really wanted my kids to see me play in a tournament so that they will know what Daddy used to do.

The truth is, that for a moment on Monday, I was young and thin and had all my hair. For a moment I was pain-free and happy. The 70 that I shot was only two shots from advancing.

The irony of the day is that when I got back to the Pinecrest to shower and take my rightful place on the shaded old porch among friends, I checked my email.

In my inbox was a message from the USGA announcing that my media credential for the U.S. Open had been approved.

See you at Oakmont.