Editor's note: John Maginnes , a 10-year TOUR veteran who now works as an analyst for the PGA TOUR Network on XM Satellite Radio , has been sharing his expertise on PGATOUR.com this year. Over the next eight days, he's going to try to put into perspective the overwhelming pressure players feel at the final stage of the PGA TOUR National Qualifying Tournament.

By John Maginnes
Special to PGATOUR.com

There is a place nestled among the orange groves in Central Florida called Grenelefe Resort, and in the early 1990s, Q-school was played there virtually every other year. The final stage began the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, just as it does today. The club, though, didn’t close the courses to the public until that Monday. So if you wanted to play a practice round on Saturday or Sunday you had to make a tee time like everyone else.

When I got to the course on the Sunday before the final stage began in 1994, I had not made a starting time. But I ran into an old friend, Charles Raulerson, and he asked me to join him and his wife, Liza. She was a good college golfer, and it seemed like a good way to spend the afternoon. It was all friendly and smiles on the first tee. We were soon joined by a fourth and a small wager was agreed upon.

Of course, Charles would make the ultimate sacrifice and partner with his wife, in the name of matrimonial harmony. The other pro, Charles and I would play the back tees while Liza would play from the men’s tees. This was a decided length advantage but we didn’t think much of it at the time. I think that we might have even offered her a couple of shots a side. After all, we were all professionals and she was a former college player who had spent the year caddying for her husband on the Nationwide Tour. How good could her game be?

I am reminded of a line in the old movie Guys and Dolls where Marlon Brando, aka Sky Masterson, says that you should never trust a guy who bets you that he can make the Jack of spades jump out of an uncut deck of cards and squirt cider in your ear. That is probably misquoted badly but you get the picture -- you’d better have your handkerchief ready. My partner and I had wet ears the rest of the day.

I don’t remember exactly what Liza shot that day but I am pretty certain that the score started with a 6. Suffice it to say, we got hammered badly. I remember riding in the cart with my partner on the back nine trying to figure out how we could press to get out of the hole that we had dug for ourselves. Surely she would crumble at some point, but that proved to be wishful thinking on our parts. If memory serves, she chipped in for eagle on the last hole and we were blanked across the board. If memory does not serve, well, just trust me….the result is a certainty.

The stakes of the bet were not high but the defeat was sound and the damage was done. I remember going back to the condo behind the range that I had rented with my future wife for the week. She was caddying for me but had the day off because we were allowed carts. I explained to her what had happened, and I posed to her this fateful question: “If I can not beat all the wives caddying here this week how in the hell am I supposed to beat all the players?” Her response was simple, and to the point. “Thank god, she’s not playing.”

That 18th hole would prove to be the site of one of my most vivid memories eight days later when a friend and I both had opportunities of a lifetime. For me it would prove to be the first of many, but for him it was his last chance. Since then he has gone on to do extraordinary things in the game of golf -- just not as a player. I will give you the whole story tomorrow.