Guest Writer: Irish Eyes On The PGA Tour

I’ve always wanted to be a professional golfer. Summer sunrises in New Hampshire meant I was on my way to the golf course to work in the bag room where I cleaned clubs. As sunsets descended behind the putting green, I imagined myself surrounded by fans on the 72nd hole of a PGA Tour event. I was often the only person remaining at the golf course and as the sky’s orange faded to blue, I was free to live this fantasy to it’s epic conclusion – electric celebrations when the dramatic putts fell. This training led me to the Notre Dame golf team, an unconventional school choice at the time, for someone with a pro golf dream. But the stakes of competition were elevated and as my teammates often pointed out, we were filled with potential.

When you’re a notable golfer at a Division I program, it’s easy to imagine, or deceive yourself, into thinking the next logical step is the PGA Tour. I shot 63 in competitive play, and won our conference title. Our team narrowly missed qualifying for the National Championship three consecutive years and I never wondered why I wasn’t invited to the National Championship as an individual: I reasoned once the academic commitments of Notre Dame disappeared upon graduation (I was a film and television major), my golf game would improve to PGA Tour caliber. I mean, my skills couldn’t be that far away, right? 

Our team started as a group of golfers – fresh faced kids from around the country with the common mission to play competitive golf at a high level – and left Notre Dame as a band of misfit brothers. We found new commonalities growing up on campus, experiencing the many offerings of Notre Dame as we traveled, supported, discovered, consoled and celebrated together. At times, our team struggled with the balance of competition among close friends. It wasn’t easy to have dinner or drinks with a best friend after they’d beaten you for a spot on the traveling squad. Our underlying love for one another eventually expelled the temporary jealousy of defeat, and we were better for it. When my father passed away suddenly, my teammates helped carry me through the darkness. We arrived at Notre Dame with golf as our main commonality, but graduated with golf as just another thing we did together. 

After graduating, I remember sitting with sponsors and telling them making the Tour wasn’t going to happen overnight. It might take a few years. It’s laughable now to remember telling them incredulously, the process may take me to my 30th birthday. I thought I was being rational, perhaps even responsible. Chasing the highest level of golf as a profession isn’t cheap. It’s as much a financial commitment as a physical, emotional and spiritual investment. Many promising golf careers have ended with a penniless golfer and embittered sponsors. The riches showered on the PGA Tour’s FedEx Cup contenders are lavish. The pothole-covered, dirt road through the minor leagues, however, is riddled with exorbitantly expensive tolls. 

There were many tours to explore and more avenues at that time, to reach the PGA Tour. Those were the good ol’ days of pro golf, when one was able to reach the PGA Tour directly through Q-School (the Tour’s Qualifying Tournament). I made the mistake of reading John Feinstein’s book, Tales from Q-School: Inside Golf’s Fifth Major, before my first trip. The book as I remember it, documents the horrors, downfalls and golf tragedies of Q-School. What I had working for me before reading the book was pure naivete. The reality in the book left me disillusioned and intimidated by the monumental task that lay ahead. 

I traveled far and wide in hopes of finding another pathway to the Tour. Playing well in Asia could lead to invitations back home. The idea of traveling across the globe and battle-testing my game to the challenges abroad was appealing in every way. I was young, adaptable and optimistic. Having life experiences while competing around the world was romantic and I was eager. I set out on the pro golf journey like Willard up the river in Apocalypse Now – unsure of what to expect, how long and formidable the river, and what I’d do when I found my Colonel Kurtz. 

Years went by. Continents were crossed. Cuts were made, cuts were missed. I positioned myself in contention a couple times, only to be thwarted by my own inexperience, beliefs and preparation. Life experiences and stories accumulated, and I could improvise like a young Miles Davis, but that didn’t translate to better on-course performances as I’d anticipated. Sponsors became more difficult to find. Soon, I was a well-traveled golfer with exotic stories and diverse friends, but no closer to the PGA Tour. 

The determined pursuit slowed to a grind. I worked various jobs when all the sponsorships dried up – some promotional videos here, some marketing consulting there, with swing lessons and caddying in between. After I had scraped together a small bankroll, I played anywhere the potential return was greater than the investment: mini-tour events in small-town America, endless summers in Canada, qualifiers on Malaysian Borneo, month-long tournament stretches in China. I met my wife, Sarah, on one of these excursions in Canada. Fortunately, Sarah decided to live out of a suitcase and join my vagabond lifestyle, carrying my golf bag to what seemed like the ends of the earth (the North Korean border may not be the ends of the earth, but venturing any further was likely as perilous).

If this were a film, we’d crossfade to a date near the present: my skin etched with lines from the sun and marked by the experiences of someone living and dying on the cutlines of pro golf. This version of me is more like Willard after he’s met Kurtz – wiser, unsure and with scars to show.

There is, however, some stability now. Despite living out of a suitcase for more than half the year, Sarah and I have a place to call home. I first reached golf’s highest level of the minor leagues, the Korn Ferry Tour, in 2018 (the last step before winning a PGA Tour card). As our Tour went on a months-long suspension last year, as COVID-19 seemed to accelerate the spinning of the earth, Sarah gave birth to baby Miles and changed everything. Learning to be a parent, as a global pandemic raged and the Tour returned from shutdown, required some improvisational notes I hadn’t learned to play. When I was on the road, I felt guilty about leaving Sarah alone with a baby, and when I was home, I felt guilty about the limited time I devoted to golf. The music seemed to be falling flat at home and on the road. 

As the recent Korn Ferry Tour regular season neared its conclusion, I attempted to qualify for the PGA Tour’s Barracuda Championship near Lake Tahoe and remarkably, played my way into a playoff for a spot in the event. I had qualified for 2 PGA Tour events previously, and in those starts, failed to impress, missing the cut in both. Here I was on the green of the playoff hole with a putt to qualify again. Behind me, with my golf bag on his shoulder, was Ryan French, a social media sensation, golf journalist and good friend. He’s a Michigan State grad but given the circumstances, I was willing to let that slide. I wasn’t sure I would ever reach the fairways of the PGA Tour again and I now carried with me the future hopes and security of a one-year old, and his quietly heroic Mama. When the putt fell on the playoff hole, I felt deep relief, a wave of exhausted happiness and more relief. I was going to get another shot.

Some really cool pics from @MichaelSmyth who followed Mark and me around at the Monday Q yesterday. I really appreciate him sending these to me. pic.twitter.com/VgxRhhTx9z

— Monday Q Info (@acaseofthegolf1) August 4, 2021

The congratulatory messages flooded in. A video of a call to my wife to share the news went viral, receiving a million views! My teammates from Notre Dame each texted, called and Facetimed to share words of encouragement. Some themselves had dreamt of playing professional golf. Some even tried briefly. For better or worse, but mostly for better, they capitalized on their education. Some still harbor their former dream and have lived it, to an extent, through my career. We’re all still close. You never forget those van rides, those qualifiers, the late night hotel room conversations and the shared Notre Dame experience. When golf led me to the depths of my bank account, or took me to the brink of success, the faithful Irish cast was always there for me.

The PGA Tour is a traveling spectacle – a new show in a new city every week. The player experience of coming from golf’s minor leagues is like being a street gladiator sent to the Colosseum to do battle. Everything is bigger, more vibrant, amplified and perfectly packaged. The clothes are sharper, the grass more tidy and the shots are crisper. The stakes are higher and yet, it’s still just golf. It has to be. 

In my practice round for the Barracuda Championship, I played with a FedEx Cup champion, a five-time PGA Tour winner, and an Olympian – not bad company. I have the Notre Dame logo stitched into my golf bag. The former FedEx Cup champion wanted to talk about the Irish. After a couple shots, I was accepted into the group. A launched 2-iron with a thunderous-sounding strike, carrying past the FedEx Cup champ’s 3-wood, was my initiation into the crew. When we finished, the group wished me luck and told me I was prepared. It was confidence-inspiring and I was ready. 

The week was filled with events and a groundswell of social media support. With my social media influencer caddie drumming up likes and shares daily, Ryan and I became the people’s choice. The crowd chanted our names and Ryan’s Twitter alias became a rallying cry (“Monday Q Info!”). The week was so eventful that articles were written about our daily adventures. Before I teed off on Thursday, I received word that the Golf Channel would be covering my play during the round. 

After shaking off some early nervousness, the ball started flying where I was intending and the putts began falling. I spent much of my first round in the top 10 and after a little adversity halfway through the 2nd round, I rallied with 3 birdies on the 11th, 12th and 15th, virtually locking up my first cut made on the PGA Tour. With the Dixie wildfire raging less than 100 miles away, thick ash rained down throughout the day, blurring out the sun. It was a hazy, ominous-looking day, and one last obstacle to overcome before making my first cut on the PGA Tour. 

I sat in the locker room after the round, which had been built just for this event, and studied the names of the players on the lockers surrounding mine. The TV next to the lockers had Golf Channel coverage of the event. My sponsor, Srixon, placed dozens of brand new golf balls, gloves and hats in my locker. The overwhelming smell of fire and a hard-fought round was in the air. It had taken 15 years to get to this moment. A wave of quiet joy surged through my body and I knew I wasn’t done. 

Both weekend days brought slow starts before I regained the form on-display earlier in the week. A late flurry of impressive shots Saturday kept me from losing much ground. On the PGA Tour, a top 10 finish automatically exempts a player into the following tournament and I had an outside chance to achieve that on Sunday. After birdies at the 1st and 2nd holes Sunday, I felt like I was on a collision course with a life-altering week – a top 10 carried life-changing potential. I played a tee shot on the 5th hole faster than normal and hit the ball off line, just on the inside a cluster of 100-foot tall pines. It’s very rare for a ball to be lost on the PGA Tour. There are spotters, volunteers, and gallery members watching closely enough to find most errant shots. With the ash and haze from the wildfire still in the air, my ball however, was ill-fated. The lost ball and the triple bogey that accompanied it was devastating to my momentum and the chances of finishing in the top 10. 

A late Sunday eagle was just enough to keep my weekend performance respectable and as I walked up the 72nd fairway towards the green, surrounded by excited, cheering fans, the moment hit me. Ryan and I thanked each other for a week we’d remember forever. I had a 20-foot putt for birdie on the final hole. The grandstands around the green were packed and suddenly became quiet. I crouched down to read the putt and took an extra breath. The memory of a kid in small-town New Hampshire in the putting green’s fading light, flooded in. I was meditatively calm with the hole as my singular, determined focus. The putt was struck perfectly but momentarily looked as if it wouldn’t reach the hole. The crowd beckoned the ball to roll a little further. As if the will of the crowd was carrying it, the ball continued rotating just far enough to fall over the front edge of the hole. The fist pump was cathartic, the crowd was electric. One of my best friends looked on with delight, clapping like Fortune at the end of Rudy, as Rudy was hoisted in the air by his teammates. I hadn’t won the tournament, or even contended, but the moment capped off the biggest personal victory of my career.

One week later, I failed to advance to the Finals on the Korn Ferry Tour and lost my Tour status at the highest level of golf’s minor league. This is the golf equivalent of losing your job. Such is life in pro golf – one week you’re playing for more money than you’ve made in your entire life and the next, you’re wondering if you’ll ever get another shot. The end of pro golf careers are more like the conclusion of Apocalypse Now than Rudy – almost no one gets carried off the field triumphantly – the crowd watches you float away after enough swings have been taken. 

This fall, I went back to Q-School to win back my job. How much longer can I remain resilient enough to do this job? How much longer will the demands of trying to be a better parent to a sprouting toddler and a better husband to a resolutely supportive wife, allow me to continue scraping and clawing through the golf ranks? I don’t know. I do know that I love this job in all its uncertainty and I’ve been exceptionally lucky to chase my dream.

My teammates at Notre Dame liked to say we were filled with potential. All these years later, I carry with me that Notre Dame ethos, that the best is still ahead. 

Follow Mark’s journey on Twitter @markbaldwin1 and listen to the two-part podcast about his PGA Tour experience on the Any Given Monday podcast, available on Apple and Spotify.