Dress Code

[silver & black]

1 hour ago, palvord said:

I typically wear a polo shirt and shorts when I play golf. I find it comfortable and fits my needs.

I have worn jeans when the temperatures have been low. 

How other players dress does not impact my joy on the course. As long as they are respectful of others.

Ditto. Polo and shorts for me... at least in the warmer months. Jeans and a sweat shirt in the cooler months. Clean, of course. 

[silver & black]

57 minutes ago, SlowNLow said:

Agreed, the normal blue denim is too stiff, heavy, hot, etc.

In summer if it is hot, when I go to the local track in the late afternoon for a quick nine, I'll wear an thin, collar-less athletic shirt,  golf shorts, never with black socks.   Otherwise, it will be a golf shirt, tucked in with belt.   Simple and boring.   

The black socks thing, not for me.  Loved to watch the Fab Five, but their fashion statements still linger after all of these years.

LOL... I'm almost always in black ankle socks. I also will not wear any color of golf shoes other than black. 

[RickyBobby_PR]

9 minutes ago, silver & black said:

LOL... I'm almost always in black ankle socks. I also will not wear any color of golf shoes other than black. 

Black ankle socks were pretty much all that was seen in courses in the early to mid 2000s. For me I have a various amount colors thanks to stance and kentwool 

[SlowNLow]

1 minute ago, RickyBobby_PR said:

Black ankle socks were pretty much all that was seen in courses in the early to mid 2000s. For me I have a various amount colors thanks to stance and kentwool 

As long as we can distinguish between the ball and our feet we are good.

[silver & black]

I will just say one more thing.... maybe a few...lol

I think a lot of it is how you were raised. My father was a business man. I was raised to be a man... in all ways, not just the macho s***. I was taught how to dress for whatever the occasion might be. I was taught manners and to be courteous. I was taught not to look down on other people because you don't know what their situation might be. (My own situation has changed drastically in the last 6.5 years). I was taught to treat people with respect ... appearance has nothing to do with character. I had a mother and father that did their job in raising their two boys to be respectful, productive citizens,,, an treat people how they would like to be treated. One of us is a tradesman/Cabinetmaker (me). The other is a business man that travels the world. When we are together, you'd never know the difference.

I like to be presentable when I play golf. It can be done cheaply enough. There are nice looking pants/shorts and shirts for $20 and less. That's the route I go. I don't have the income to spend $70 on a polo shirt. I try to dress appropriate for golf. That is because of the way I was raised. 

This is a different time than 30 years ago. The younger generation doesn't have the same values we older people do. This a good thing and a bad thing...lol. Golf/courses will need to keep up with times if they want to viable in the future, IMO. Now ...where did I leave that damned, new fangled cell phone!?

 

 

 

 

[GolfSpy_BNG]

I wear cargo shorts with the strings hanging down, white belt, athletic moisture wicking shirt, flat billed hat, and ankle socks! If you don't like it guess what, IDGAF!
I wear what I want when the course doesn't have a dress code. If it does and I want to play it, I follow their rules. It isn't rocket science if I don't want to follow their code then I shouldn't expect to play there.

If you arent willing to follow the courses rules and codes then don't expect them to bow down to you just don't play there. That goes for all their rules and codes not just dress codes.

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[Mr. 82]

4 hours ago, Zen Snake said:

 

 

Edited April 24, 2020 by Mr. 82

[GolfSpy BOS]

22 minutes ago, blackngold_blood said:

...white belt...

Naturally.  The white belt takes down the handicap a few points. 

I read somewhere the one should not wear a white belt if their waist size exceeds their age, or their age exceeds 35.  It's funny the "rules" people apply to fashion.  

 

[tony@CIC]

Proper shirts/tops are required at our Club. It use to be collared shirts - but now with the new nike shirts those are ok.  No jeans during the season, However off season a number of guys will wear jeans since they're warmer than golf pants. Dress the part and you feel the part. 

[Mr. 82]

Wow! 

Edited April 24, 2020 by Mr. 82

[GolfSpy_BNG]

Wow!  I'm actually somewhat shocked by some of the feisty replies to this topic.  But the more I think about it, how people dress is sort of a reflection not only of someone's personality, but also of how they look at and act in life.  I also find it somewhat amusing that some of the responses where they mentioned they dressed like a slob came with the unnecessary "and if you don't like it IDGAF" sort of disclaimer.  Well, if you IDGAF, then why would you get so emotional about this subject?  Apparently you do GAF.
How someone dresses says a lot about the person honestly.  I grew up in a middle class household, and was raised on a golf course.  I was taught the proper etiquette of the game, which included how to dress properly on a golf course or at a country club.  For the record, while I have played private clubs quite a few times, I have never been a member of an exclusive private club (my current club is semi private, which means that joe schmoe off of the street can play anytime they want as long as they don't mind paying the $75 to tee it up).
Come to think of it, my Tuesday evening group, which is composed of mostly non-members, plays a private club 5 minutes from my house, and the biggest negative confrontation we have had over the years is actually based on proper attire on that golf course and at that club.  Guys were wearing jeans at this club, and I actually had to send out an email to the group (which comprises about 250 members) to remind them that there was a dress code at the course, and that they were expected to conform to the dress code, or don't play on Tuesday nights.  We had some rather strong responses to that email, and I am pretty sure it pissed off a few of the folks who got the email, who haven't been back since.  That's fine.
I'll also say that while some choose to believe that your behavior isn't modified by how you dress, I tend to disagree.  If I show up in a tuxedo somewhere, I can promise you my manners will be a bit more dignified.  And not that I am making this about religion, but I've been in churches where most of the men were wearing a suit and tie, and the ladies wearing dresses, and they acted much more respectful and dignified then some of the churches where people were wearing t-shirts and jeans (if that).
My general experience simply shows this.  If you dress formally, you will act mature and respectful.  If you dress like a slob, you're going to act like it.  Now there are always exceptions, and not everyone can be stereotyped, but in general this has been what I have witnessed and experienced throughout every arena in life.
And with regards to the golf course, I think there is a very good reason why PGA Tour pros still are required to wear pants, even on days where it is 90°+ outside.
And I will also say this - as dress codes have become more casual, almost to the point where there is less and less of a standard in public appearance, I do think that our manners and our attitudes in public have reflected the relaxed dress code.  Again, if you look like a slob, you'll probably be more inclined to act like it in public.  And it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see this when you simply walk through your local WalMart.
And honestly, it's not even a money thing.  I can find good quality golf apparel for less than $20 a shirt, and around the same price for a good pair of shorts or pants.  I can also tell you that some of these girls who wear these torn up jeans, that are made that way, probably paid a lot more for their jeans then I did for my golf clothes.
All this said, I'm actually not even arguing about a dress code.  But for me, I choose to dress nice on the golf course.  Polo shirt and golf shorts in the summer, and layers in the winter with a nice pair of golf pants.  Again, it isn't expensive to dress nice.  WalMart has plenty of options for you that are VERY affordable and are really nice.  I just think that if someone is getting heated trying to defend their cargo shorts and flip flops on the golf course there is probably something else going on in other areas of life that bring out such strong emotions on how they choose to dress.

My IDGAF comment is made because of comments like yours when these threads come up. Because I don't dress a certain way that pleases you I'm a slob. Get out of here with that crap. People can dress however they want if there isn't a dress code. As I said before if there is they can abide by it or not play there. I have no issues with places having a dress code at all. But calling people a slob when they don't dress a certain way is pathetic.

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[xOldBenKenobiX]

Honestly, I don't mind how other people are dressed.

I my self have several golf pants, shorts and polos, both long and short sleeved as well as vests and sweater to accommodate for colder conditions.

I prefer proper attire, just because it is comfortable, however I have played with people wearing jeans and made no difference for me.

 

[Jfontes]

I actually love golf clothes and think they are some of the most comfortable clothes there are!  I where golf clothes everywhere!  Golf pants to church or to a nice dinner.  I almost where golf shorts exclusively, i don't really even where any other kind of shorts.  My wife makes fun of me because of the amount of golf shirts I have.  I also like to match brands if at all possible.  My favorites are Adidas, Nike, and Under Armour.  I think if you look the part it makes you feel a little more confident!  As long as people where a golf shirt I don't really care what kind of shorts or pants that you wear.  I think if people would just give golf pants and shorts a try they would never go back!

[RickyBobby_PR]

46 minutes ago, blackngold_blood said:

My IDGAF comment is made because of comments like yours when these threads come up. Because I don't dress a certain way that pleases you I'm a slob. Get out of here with that crap. People can dress however they want if there isn't a dress code. As I said before if there is they can abide by it or not play there. I have no issues with places having a dress code at all. But calling people a slob when they don't dress a certain way is pathetic.

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Pretty simple imo. If it says no jeans don’t wear jeans. If it doesn’t say anything then do what you want. I was at a high end private club for a lesson last summer on a pretty hot day and while warming one of the other pros asked about my sun sleeves and I explained the concept to him. He asked why I don’t have anything in my legs then. I told him I would typically wear compression pants but forgot to check the clubs policy before leaving so left them at home. 

Like others in the thread I was taught how to dress. Also spent time in the military and there was rules and regulations for all kinds of things with on base and off base also having their own set of rules. Even had a mentor tell me dress for the job you want not the one you have. I was also taught to not judge anyone or Jude a book by its cover. I’m with you just because a person dresses a certain way doesn’t indicate what/who that person is. Sometimes it’s ok to let ones hair down. 
 

 

[GolfSpy_BNG]

Pretty simple imo. If it says no jeans don’t wear jeans. If it doesn’t say anything then do what you want. I was at a high end private club for a lesson last summer on a pretty hot day and while warming one of the other pros asked about my sun sleeves and I explained the concept to him. He asked why I don’t have anything in my legs then. I told him I would typically wear compression pants but forgot to check the clubs policy before leaving so left them at home. 
Like others in the thread I was taught how to dress. Also spent time in the military and there was rules and regulations for all kinds of things with on base and off base also having their own set of rules. Even had a mentor tell me dress for the job you want not the one you have. I was also taught to not judge anyone or Jude a book by its cover. I’m with you just because a person dresses a certain way doesn’t indicate what/who that person is. Sometimes it’s ok to let ones hair down. 
 
 

Exactly. I have no problem if a club wants to have a dress code and I will absolutely abide by it without any hassle. It is their course and their rules. I think of it as a local rule.
These threads come up far too often and always end up the same way, Locked!

Tolerance is one key to happiness.

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[TR1PTIK]

There was a time long ago when I would occasionally wear jeans and a tee shirt to the local muni, but I use to wear jeans pretty much anywhere regardless of temps back then. Now I wear what's most comfortable and appropriate for the occasion. On the course, that means golf shorts or pants and a comfortable polo that won't stick to me when I seat and allow plenty of movement. Of the few times I'm able to get my dad out to the course, he almost always wears jeans and a polo. He typically plays less than a handful of rounds in a year so the need for golf specific clothing simply isn't there. I'd imagine this is the case for a lot of the people you see dressed like this. They are either brand new to the game or simply don't play frequently enough to warrant purchasing additional clothing for golf. Of course, there are always a few outliers here and there...

[SlowNLow]

1 hour ago, B.Boston said:

Naturally.  The white belt takes down the handicap a few points. 

I read somewhere the one should not wear a white belt if their waist size exceeds their age, or their age exceeds 35.  It's funny the "rules" people apply to fashion.  

 

Yeah, for sure, no white belt,  white belt is good for guys who are fit.   Chubby guys have to bury the white belt in the backyard.

[GolfSpy_BNG]

Yeah, for sure, no white belt,  white belt is good for guys who are fit.   Chubby guys have to bury the white belt in the backyard.

I never understood this thinking. Why does the color of something design to keep your pants or shorts from falling down matter? Also why is it ok for someone fit but not someone slightly rounder? As someone who has added a few lbs, I realize that a belt is needed more often now than when I was fit. It can't be because it displays how big your belly is, because trust me, my black belt isn't hiding my gut any better than a white one.

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[SlowNLow]

1 minute ago, blackngold_blood said:

I never understood this thinking. Why does the color of something design to keep your pants or shorts from falling down matter? Also why is it ok for someone fit but not someone slightly rounder? As someone who has added a few lbs, I realize that a belt is needed more often now than when I was fit. It can't be because it displays how big your belly is, because trust me, my black belt isn't hiding my gut any better than a white one.

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It was a joke, sorry.   Do you honestly think I care what color belt you wear?   Especially with what is happening in the world these days?

[bens197]

Wow. Lots going on here.

Follow the course rules at the bare minimum. I think that’s a good standard. If you want to dress nicer that’s your prerogative.

[dlow206]

At my club, i follow the rules. At the public driving range (not on the course), I will wear sweatpants occasionally. 

[RickyBobby_PR]

15 minutes ago, blackngold_blood said:

I never understood this thinking. Why does the color of something design to keep your pants or shorts from falling down matter? Also why is it ok for someone fit but not someone slightly rounder? As someone who has added a few lbs, I realize that a belt is needed more often now than when I was fit. It can't be because it displays how big your belly is, because trust me, my black belt isn't hiding my gut any better than a white one.

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The white belt debate is all over the webs and social media. I don’t get it, but some people just need to find something to complain about. 

[GolfSpy_BNG]

It was a joke, sorry.   Do you honestly think I care what color belt you wear?   Especially with what is happening in the world these days?

Hopefully you didn't think I was trying to come at you with my reply. Your post is just the one I quoted. I was just posing the questions to anyone really not you specifically. Sorry for the misunderstanding.

I do remember a time though when it was taboo for a man to wear pink! Same ridiculous thing in my opinion.

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[StrokerAce]

Live and let live.... 

If you haven't read this story about Pat Perez, I *highly* recommend it.... speaks to the topic at hand.
https://www.theplayerstribune.com/en-us/articles/pat-perez-pga-tour-you-dont-know-me

 

Pat Perez

PGA TOUR

 

MAR 22 2017

In 1989 every dude at my junior high school wanted to get their hands on some Jordan IVs. And suddenly there was a pair right in front of me, at the bottom of a trash can — the same trash can where I had seen my buddy throw them out after math class a couple of hours earlier.

I took a closer look. The gray trim had faded. They were mud-splotched. The laces were frayed. Honestly, I’ve never seen shoes that looked so bad.

They looked like s***. But to me they looked like beautiful s*** … and I thought they still had some potential.

I checked to make sure nobody was looking, and then pulled them out of the garbage and quickly kicked off my shoes. I slipped those bad boys on and knelt down to lace them up as tight as I could.

I stood back up and looked down.

Nice — they fit!

I finally owned a pair of Jordan IVs. The white, cement-gray combo.

I didn’t care that the thin, clear plastic bubbles under both heels had popped. It didn’t matter, really. Because these were the shoes I had always wanted.

I don’t think I ever wore those Jordans to school. They looked so s****y, which is probably why my buddy had thrown them away in the first place. But I guess wearing them wasn’t the point. I guess being able to tell myself that I had my own pair of Jordan IVs was good enough. I mean, I had shoes — always did. I loved my Reeboks. But I really wanted this particular pair of Jordans … I wanted to have sweet kicks like my friends.

But the thing is, I wasn’t really like them.

 

Pat Perez

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you about finding Jordans in the trash — and why I think that it was an important moment in my life. Many think they know who I am, but the truth is, I’m so much different from how I’m portrayed by the media. Aren’t I the guy who’s irresponsible because I was kicked off the Arizona State team 20 years ago? Who’s a hot head because I flung my club across the fairway at Pebble Beach in the fourth PGA Tour event of my career? Who came under fire recently because people thought I had dissed Tiger Woods? Some of you may think that I’m a jerk. But what I am is a straight shooter. My whole career — my whole life — has been packed into three or four moments, when there’s really so much more to it. I just turned 41, and while I don’t feel like I need to win everybody over, I do think it’s necessary to set some things straight.

Around the time I was 14, I started to spend every summer day working at Torrey Pines Golf Course in La Jolla, California. At around 8 a.m., I’d climb on the bus in Cardiff with a used set of clubs that were too big for me, hoping to use them that day. But that rarely happened. Because when I got to the course, my primary job was to replace divots on the driving range and shag balls for the golfers. I made minimum wage, but I also cleaned the clubs of people who had played that day, hoping to make an extra $20 in tips. I’d head home at around 11 p.m. exhausted, my unused clubs clanking against one another as I trudged through the front door.

My parents raised me and my brother in a three-bedroom, 2,000-square foot home. My dad worked at IBM and my mom was in real estate, and they always tried to do their best for me: They took time out of their schedules to drive me around to local tournaments, and paid my entry fees instead of saving the money for something more important. They were great parents. We lived in a very expensive part of the country and I was playing an expensive game. That was just the reality for me and my family. So if I wanted to play golf, I knew I had to come up with some of the money for entry fees myself.

At every tournament, kids size up their opponents. My God, everyone must’ve thought that I was some sort of a******. I had clubs that were too big for me and was wearing high-top Reeboks instead of golf shoes. They must’ve been thinking, What is he doing here?

But when I would let that first drive fly, everyone knew why I was there.

Over time, I began to make a bit of a name for myself in the area by winning week after week. But no matter what, the morning after every tournament, I was back at Torrey wiping down carts or kissing ass to another foursome for some extra cash.

Sometimes, I’d see my friends roll up to Torrey in their brand new cars. Man, I always used to wish I was hanging with them instead of working. But every once in a while, instead of going to play Torrey, those guys would head to a private club they belonged to and invite me along.

Those were the best days.

I was a freshman in high school the first time I rolled up to La Quinta Country Club with my friend and his dad. This place was like nothing I had ever seen before: the pristine driving range, the impeccable clubhouse, the wood-paneled locker room. Not to mention the fact that the course was in perfect condition.

This wasn’t a golf course. Nah, this was heaven.

But for all the glamour, the thing that I remember the most was the food.

The halfway house had these amazing beef sliders. I ate one and mentioned to my friend’s dad how good it was.

 

Pat Perez

“Well, take another, Pat!”

I paused for a second.

“I can take another?”

“Oh, c’mon. Take as many as you’d like!”

Each individual slider was about $9, and my friend’s dad was paying for it all. Nine dollars would usually pay for two or three meals at Filiberto’s, my local joint. Cheap Mexican food was what I usually ate. All I could think was, Man, I’d need to clean a lot of golf clubs and repair a lot of divots to be able to afford this type of lifestyle.

When we got to the 10th tee, I found out that it’s pretty hard to swing properly with all that food in your stomach.

I think I bogeyed 10.

That night, when I collapsed on my bed after telling my parents about my day, I thought about how special it would be to spend every weekend at a place like La Quinta playing on beautiful fairways and greens and just laughing with my friends.

Who knew that one day that would be a reality?

---

The week of the Buick Invitational of California was the only time I would skip school.

Man, when that tournament would come to Torrey in February, it was the best thing on earth. Guys like me who worked on the course could make a bunch of extra money and get to caddy for an amateur in the pro-am on the Wednesday before the tournament began. Most of the time you and your amateur would get paired with some no-name pro. But sometimes you could get lucky.

When I was 16, I got lucky.

I was standing outside the caddy master’s hut waiting for my name to be called when I heard somebody say, “Hey Perez … go get that bag over there. You’re with Daly’s group and caddying for his amateur partner.”

Every other kid there was staring at me.

“John Daly? I’m with John Daly’s group?”

“Better hurry up,” the caddy master said, smiling. “You’re going on the North Course.”

You gotta understand … John Daly was Tiger Woods before Tiger Woods. A year earlier, Daly had won the PGA Championship at Crooked Stick with a big mullet, a pocket full of smokes and the longest swing on Tour.

 

He was my hero.

Nearly midway through the round, something completely crazy and unexpected happened. The amateur who I was caddying for mentioned that I was a decent player and said that I swung the club just like John.

Daly looked at me.

“Huh, no s***,” he said. “Here, take this.”

He handed me his driver. He handed me his f****** driver. The Cobra Ultramid with the red titanium shaft and the kevlar face. This thing was basically folklore, and now it was in my hands.

I looked up at him. He gave me a little nod.

“I want to see you hit it.”

Holy s***. Holy s***. Holy s***.

Somehow I managed to put the ball on a tee. I was trying to act all cool, but my heart was racing. As I started my backswing, the club felt like it weighed a million pounds. It was like I had never swung a golf club in my life.

Just don’t top it. Please, God, just don’t top it.

When I made contact with the ball, I knew right away where it was going:

Straight down the middle.

 

Pat Perez

And not just down the middle … far down the middle. I absolutely smashed it. With John Daly’s driver. Just completely smoked it. And as we walked down the fairway, we all realized something: I had hit it past John Daly. I had hit it past John Effing Daly!

Now, it should be noted … I was teeing off from the amateur tees. But, hey, I still flew one past Big John.

A few months later, in 1993, I entered the junior world championships. Maybe I was feeling confident from outdriving JD, but I’d like to think I was playing some consistently good golf.

In 1990, a kid from Orange County named Eldrick Woods had won the Boys 13–14 division. In ’91, the same kid won the Boys 15–17 division. Now I was going to get a chance to take on this phenom. Only problem was, I didn’t own a set of clubs.

Kind of an issue.

I had won all the qualifiers with a mismatched set of clubs that I had borrowed from about five different people. But for world juniors, my friend’s father let me use his Ping Berylliums.

And I won.

I beat the guy we now know as Tiger by eight shots with clubs that were meant for someone two or three inches taller than me. I’ll never forget the sound Tiger’s club made when it struck the ball, and how valiant of a competitor he was that week. I’ll also never forget winning the way I did.

Shortly after, my friend’s dad allowed me to keep those clubs.

Following my victory, Arizona State offered me a scholarship. I had always assumed that I wouldn’t be able to afford college. But suddenly, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Things were looking up.

Then I nearly died.

 

Pat Perez

One summer night in ’94, my friends and I were driving to the movies when a car ran a red light and nearly smoked us in the middle of an intersection. My friend swerved, narrowly missing the car, but sending us up onto the median and into a roadway sign. We busted through the sign and went tumbling down a 25-foot cliff, where we came to a stop on top of a parked van. I blacked out during the crash and don’t remember anything about it except for waking up, with glass everywhere, unable to move my legs. I had cracked my pelvis in three places.

I was bedridden for the next five months, and I remained on crutches until February 1995. After I was finally able to walk on my own again, I had to work hard on my game so that ASU wouldn’t rescind its offer. I wasn’t going to f*** up that opportunity.

In spite of the challenges, my game ended up coming together nicely. So much so that I kept my scholarship and qualified for the most prestigious amateur tournament in the world — the U.S. Amateur — all this just months after my near-death experience.

But when I told the Sun Devils the good news, they told me that, because the tournament conflicted with freshman orientation, I wouldn’t be able to play. I thought it was bulls***.

As much as it sucked, I rolled with it.

In 1996, my teammates and I won the NCAA championship. I’m proud to say that I was a part of that team, not only for what it did for the school, but for what it did for my psyche. Life was good — I was getting an education and playing golf.

But neither of those were going to last.

One summer day, just a few months after we had hoisted the trophy as collegiate champs, my coach called me.

He told me that he was pulling my scholarship.

He said that it was because there were a lot of other recruits coming into the program, but from my perspective, we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I didn’t really buy it — I still don’t.

Whatever the reason, with a simple phone call, everything I had worked for had been wiped away.

Bulls***.

 

Chris Coduto/Icon Sportswire

The worst part was that I couldn’t afford school without a scholarship. So I had to drop out and move back home to San Diego where I got a job as a salesman … at a Golf Mart.

It was f****** miserable.

So miserable, in fact, that I ended up quitting after only a month or two. My dad — who was always trying to help me — linked me up with Gary Adams (the founder of TaylorMade Golf), who was starting a new golf company called McHenry Metals. For a couple of months I was this guy’s glorified chauffeur. When I wasn’t taking him around town to breakfast, his acupuncture appointments or his doctor’s office, I was driving the company’s s****y-ass van two hours north to Long Beach, where I’d drop off shafts, clubheads and grips to be put together in the McHenry Metals offices. I did this five days a week for $4.75 an hour. I was living in a tiny apartment in San Diego, and what little money I made went straight to my $700 rent.

 

It was one of the hardest times in my life because I didn’t feel like I had a future.

But then something pretty incredible happened. I got a break. A big one. Sometimes in life you just need one person to believe in you — to help you get off your ass and fight. And that’s exactly what happened.

 

Robert Beck/SI/Getty Images

I was 20 years old when a family friend at Torrey called up my dad one day and told him that I was too good of a golfer to be doing what I was doing. He said that he would sponsor me by ponying up a couple of hundred bucks so I could play in some events.

I thanked our friend profusely — and then I went to work.

After eight months of barely playing golf, I won the first event I entered, a one-day tournament on the Golden State Tour. At the winner’s ceremony, the tournament director gave me a choice: I could either keep my amateur status, or I could take my winnings and turn professional.

I thought about it for a second.

“Well, how much is the check?”

“Five hundred bucks.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “F***! I’ll take the money!”

So the very next day, I played in another one-day tournament. As I was walking off the 18th green, an old buddy of mine who was at the course that day asked me what I had shot. When I told him, his eyes lit up.

“Dude, you won!”

I only wanted to know one thing.

“How much?”

“Two thousand dollars!”

I stood there in amazement, with my hand over my mouth.

I’ve made $2,500 in two days, which is like three months of working at the range and driving someone around for minimum wage. S***, I can keep doing this!

And so in 1997, I made the decision that would change my life forever: Golf was my future.

 

---

 

Canada is a great place, man.

I mean, I love the U.S., but Canada’s pretty darn cool.

After I turned professional, the same friend who had sponsored my return to the game suggested that I go to the Canadian tour to get some experience before I enrolled in Q school back in the States. So in the summer of ’98, I ended up visiting Vancouver and Quebec and Calgary and all these other amazing cities, drinking all different types of beers, eating different foods, meeting different people and learning about different cultures.

As a 22-year-old kid who had never been outside of the Southwestern United States, it was frickin’ cool.

 

Drew Steckel

But for all that I was learning about Canadian people and their customs, I found myself learning so much more about how to be a professional golfer. When you play golf on the Canadian tour, you’re either one of two things: young, inexperienced and trying to understand what it takes to be a professional; or older and making one last push to reach the PGA Tour. I was in the former category, but the guys I hung around with the most were in the latter. I learned a lot from those guys, especially about how to play on the weekend.

On May 29, 2000 — about three years after my brief stint at a Golf Mart — I received a call from the Buy.com Tour. They wanted me in Scranton, Pennsylvania, for the start of the Steamtown Classic on June 1. That night, I drove 21 hours from Vancouver down to San Diego so I could hop on a flight as soon as possible.

Even though I missed the cut in Scranton, there was a silver lining. The Buy.com Tour invited me to play again the following week, and if I performed well, I could keep my playing privileges. I put together a string of good rounds, and in my fourth tournament — the Wichita Open — I finished fourth and picked up $17,000.

Three weeks later, I entered the Ozarks Open in Springfield, Missouri. By the end of the week, after winning a three-man playoff, I was able to call myself a champion on a professional tour and picked up $76,500. Had I never set foot in Canada and watched how the veterans there handled the pressure on the weekends, I don’t think I would’ve ever come close to hoisting a trophy.

By winning, I had the chance to play in every Buy.com event for the rest of the season. In 2001, I finished first at Q school, which guaranteed that I would be a member of the PGA Tour in 2002. From the moment I received my Tour card and put it in my wallet, I made myself a promise:

I will never let this f****** thing go.

Sixteen years. Sixteen straight years on Tour. No matter what, nothing will ever take away from the fact that I have worked my ass off to keep my spot on the PGA Tour.

When I was a young man, I knew failure wasn’t an option. I’ve maintained that attitude to this day. I’m happy with my career, not because of my two PGA Tour victories, but because I’ve been able to support myself and my family. In a sport where nothing is guaranteed — everything from your playing privileges at the outset of each year to the amount of money you make each week — I’ve made it my No. 1 goal to remain on Tour, and I’ve succeeded.

 

Pat Perez

The media often condense my entire career into a couple of moments. That stuff used to infuriate me. But while I was sitting on my couch in Arizona last summer — with a cold one in one hand and my arm around my wife — I realized that I had to stop listening to all the outside noise and remember who I really was. My wife was the one who helped me come to that resolution. I owe her so much.

I guess if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’ll never give up. In just a week or so, I’ll be playing in the Masters. I’ve gone from a blue-collar Mexican-American kid to a PGA Tour pro playing at Augusta.

Rad.

Oh, and remember that course that my friend and his dad brought me to? La Quinta? The one where I couldn’t eat enough beef sliders? Well, in 2009, I won the Bob Hope Classic there. A PGA Tour event. I won nearly a million dollars.

What a difference 25 years makes, huh?

Who knows, after the Masters, maybe my wife and I will celebrate with a couple of $9 mini hamburgers. You know, just for old time’s sake.

 

 

[bens197]

Live and let live.... 
If you haven't read this story about Pat Perez, I *highly* recommend it.... speaks to the topic at hand.
https://www.theplayerstribune.com/en-us/articles/pat-perez-pga-tour-you-dont-know-me

 

Pat Perez PGA TOUR   MAR 22 2017

In 1989 every dude at my junior high school wanted to get their hands on some Jordan IVs. And suddenly there was a pair right in front of me, at the bottom of a trash can — the same trash can where I had seen my buddy throw them out after math class a couple of hours earlier.

I took a closer look. The gray trim had faded. They were mud-splotched. The laces were frayed. Honestly, I’ve never seen shoes that looked so bad.

They looked like s***. But to me they looked like beautiful s*** … and I thought they still had some potential.

I checked to make sure nobody was looking, and then pulled them out of the garbage and quickly kicked off my shoes. I slipped those bad boys on and knelt down to lace them up as tight as I could.

I stood back up and looked down.

Nice — they fit!

I finally owned a pair of Jordan IVs. The white, cement-gray combo.

I didn’t care that the thin, clear plastic bubbles under both heels had popped. It didn’t matter, really. Because these were the shoes I had always wanted.

I don’t think I ever wore those Jordans to school. They looked so s****y, which is probably why my buddy had thrown them away in the first place. But I guess wearing them wasn’t the point. I guess being able to tell myself that I had my own pair of Jordan IVs was good enough. I mean, I had shoes — always did. I loved my Reeboks. But I really wanted this particular pair of Jordans … I wanted to have sweet kicks like my friends.

But the thing is, I wasn’t really like them.

 

Pat Perez

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you about finding Jordans in the trash — and why I think that it was an important moment in my life. Many think they know who I am, but the truth is, I’m so much different from how I’m portrayed by the media. Aren’t I the guy who’s irresponsible because I was kicked off the Arizona State team 20 years ago? Who’s a hot head because I flung my club across the fairway at Pebble Beach in the fourth PGA Tour event of my career? Who came under fire recently because people thought I had dissed Tiger Woods? Some of you may think that I’m a jerk. But what I am is a straight shooter. My whole career — my whole life — has been packed into three or four moments, when there’s really so much more to it. I just turned 41, and while I don’t feel like I need to win everybody over, I do think it’s necessary to set some things straight.

Around the time I was 14, I started to spend every summer day working at Torrey Pines Golf Course in La Jolla, California. At around 8 a.m., I’d climb on the bus in Cardiff with a used set of clubs that were too big for me, hoping to use them that day. But that rarely happened. Because when I got to the course, my primary job was to replace divots on the driving range and shag balls for the golfers. I made minimum wage, but I also cleaned the clubs of people who had played that day, hoping to make an extra $20 in tips. I’d head home at around 11 p.m. exhausted, my unused clubs clanking against one another as I trudged through the front door.

My parents raised me and my brother in a three-bedroom, 2,000-square foot home. My dad worked at IBM and my mom was in real estate, and they always tried to do their best for me: They took time out of their schedules to drive me around to local tournaments, and paid my entry fees instead of saving the money for something more important. They were great parents. We lived in a very expensive part of the country and I was playing an expensive game. That was just the reality for me and my family. So if I wanted to play golf, I knew I had to come up with some of the money for entry fees myself.

At every tournament, kids size up their opponents. My God, everyone must’ve thought that I was some sort of a******. I had clubs that were too big for me and was wearing high-top Reeboks instead of golf shoes. They must’ve been thinking, What is he doing here?

But when I would let that first drive fly, everyone knew why I was there.

Over time, I began to make a bit of a name for myself in the area by winning week after week. But no matter what, the morning after every tournament, I was back at Torrey wiping down carts or kissing ass to another foursome for some extra cash.

Sometimes, I’d see my friends roll up to Torrey in their brand new cars. Man, I always used to wish I was hanging with them instead of working. But every once in a while, instead of going to play Torrey, those guys would head to a private club they belonged to and invite me along.

Those were the best days.

I was a freshman in high school the first time I rolled up to La Quinta Country Club with my friend and his dad. This place was like nothing I had ever seen before: the pristine driving range, the impeccable clubhouse, the wood-paneled locker room. Not to mention the fact that the course was in perfect condition.

This wasn’t a golf course. Nah, this was heaven.

But for all the glamour, the thing that I remember the most was the food.

The halfway house had these amazing beef sliders. I ate one and mentioned to my friend’s dad how good it was.

 

Pat Perez

“Well, take another, Pat!”

I paused for a second.

“I can take another?”

“Oh, c’mon. Take as many as you’d like!”

Each individual slider was about $9, and my friend’s dad was paying for it all. Nine dollars would usually pay for two or three meals at Filiberto’s, my local joint. Cheap Mexican food was what I usually ate. All I could think was, Man, I’d need to clean a lot of golf clubs and repair a lot of divots to be able to afford this type of lifestyle.

When we got to the 10th tee, I found out that it’s pretty hard to swing properly with all that food in your stomach.

I think I bogeyed 10.

That night, when I collapsed on my bed after telling my parents about my day, I thought about how special it would be to spend every weekend at a place like La Quinta playing on beautiful fairways and greens and just laughing with my friends.

Who knew that one day that would be a reality?

---

The week of the Buick Invitational of California was the only time I would skip school.

Man, when that tournament would come to Torrey in February, it was the best thing on earth. Guys like me who worked on the course could make a bunch of extra money and get to caddy for an amateur in the pro-am on the Wednesday before the tournament began. Most of the time you and your amateur would get paired with some no-name pro. But sometimes you could get lucky.

When I was 16, I got lucky.

I was standing outside the caddy master’s hut waiting for my name to be called when I heard somebody say, “Hey Perez … go get that bag over there. You’re with Daly’s group and caddying for his amateur partner.”

Every other kid there was staring at me.

“John Daly? I’m with John Daly’s group?”

“Better hurry up,” the caddy master said, smiling. “You’re going on the North Course.”

You gotta understand … John Daly was Tiger Woods before Tiger Woods. A year earlier, Daly had won the PGA Championship at Crooked Stick with a big mullet, a pocket full of smokes and the longest swing on Tour.

 

He was my hero.

Nearly midway through the round, something completely crazy and unexpected happened. The amateur who I was caddying for mentioned that I was a decent player and said that I swung the club just like John.

Daly looked at me.

“Huh, no s***,” he said. “Here, take this.”

He handed me his driver. He handed me his f****** driver. The Cobra Ultramid with the red titanium shaft and the kevlar face. This thing was basically folklore, and now it was in my hands.

I looked up at him. He gave me a little nod.

“I want to see you hit it.”

Holy s***. Holy s***. Holy s***.

Somehow I managed to put the ball on a tee. I was trying to act all cool, but my heart was racing. As I started my backswing, the club felt like it weighed a million pounds. It was like I had never swung a golf club in my life.

Just don’t top it. Please, God, just don’t top it.

When I made contact with the ball, I knew right away where it was going:

Straight down the middle.

 

Pat Perez

And not just down the middle … far down the middle. I absolutely smashed it. With John Daly’s driver. Just completely smoked it. And as we walked down the fairway, we all realized something: I had hit it past John Daly. I had hit it past John Effing Daly!

Now, it should be noted … I was teeing off from the amateur tees. But, hey, I still flew one past Big John.

A few months later, in 1993, I entered the junior world championships. Maybe I was feeling confident from outdriving JD, but I’d like to think I was playing some consistently good golf.

In 1990, a kid from Orange County named Eldrick Woods had won the Boys 13–14 division. In ’91, the same kid won the Boys 15–17 division. Now I was going to get a chance to take on this phenom. Only problem was, I didn’t own a set of clubs.

Kind of an issue.

I had won all the qualifiers with a mismatched set of clubs that I had borrowed from about five different people. But for world juniors, my friend’s father let me use his Ping Berylliums.

And I won.

I beat the guy we now know as Tiger by eight shots with clubs that were meant for someone two or three inches taller than me. I’ll never forget the sound Tiger’s club made when it struck the ball, and how valiant of a competitor he was that week. I’ll also never forget winning the way I did.

Shortly after, my friend’s dad allowed me to keep those clubs.

Following my victory, Arizona State offered me a scholarship. I had always assumed that I wouldn’t be able to afford college. But suddenly, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Things were looking up.

Then I nearly died.

 

Pat Perez

One summer night in ’94, my friends and I were driving to the movies when a car ran a red light and nearly smoked us in the middle of an intersection. My friend swerved, narrowly missing the car, but sending us up onto the median and into a roadway sign. We busted through the sign and went tumbling down a 25-foot cliff, where we came to a stop on top of a parked van. I blacked out during the crash and don’t remember anything about it except for waking up, with glass everywhere, unable to move my legs. I had cracked my pelvis in three places.

I was bedridden for the next five months, and I remained on crutches until February 1995. After I was finally able to walk on my own again, I had to work hard on my game so that ASU wouldn’t rescind its offer. I wasn’t going to f*** up that opportunity.

In spite of the challenges, my game ended up coming together nicely. So much so that I kept my scholarship and qualified for the most prestigious amateur tournament in the world — the U.S. Amateur — all this just months after my near-death experience.

But when I told the Sun Devils the good news, they told me that, because the tournament conflicted with freshman orientation, I wouldn’t be able to play. I thought it was bulls***.

As much as it sucked, I rolled with it.

In 1996, my teammates and I won the NCAA championship. I’m proud to say that I was a part of that team, not only for what it did for the school, but for what it did for my psyche. Life was good — I was getting an education and playing golf.

But neither of those were going to last.

One summer day, just a few months after we had hoisted the trophy as collegiate champs, my coach called me.

He told me that he was pulling my scholarship.

He said that it was because there were a lot of other recruits coming into the program, but from my perspective, we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I didn’t really buy it — I still don’t.

Whatever the reason, with a simple phone call, everything I had worked for had been wiped away.

Bulls***.

 

Chris Coduto/Icon Sportswire

The worst part was that I couldn’t afford school without a scholarship. So I had to drop out and move back home to San Diego where I got a job as a salesman … at a Golf Mart.

It was f****** miserable.

So miserable, in fact, that I ended up quitting after only a month or two. My dad — who was always trying to help me — linked me up with Gary Adams (the founder of TaylorMade Golf), who was starting a new golf company called McHenry Metals. For a couple of months I was this guy’s glorified chauffeur. When I wasn’t taking him around town to breakfast, his acupuncture appointments or his doctor’s office, I was driving the company’s s****y-ass van two hours north to Long Beach, where I’d drop off shafts, clubheads and grips to be put together in the McHenry Metals offices. I did this five days a week for $4.75 an hour. I was living in a tiny apartment in San Diego, and what little money I made went straight to my $700 rent.

 

It was one of the hardest times in my life because I didn’t feel like I had a future.

But then something pretty incredible happened. I got a break. A big one. Sometimes in life you just need one person to believe in you — to help you get off your ass and fight. And that’s exactly what happened.

 

Robert Beck/SI/Getty Images

I was 20 years old when a family friend at Torrey called up my dad one day and told him that I was too good of a golfer to be doing what I was doing. He said that he would sponsor me by ponying up a couple of hundred bucks so I could play in some events.

I thanked our friend profusely — and then I went to work.

After eight months of barely playing golf, I won the first event I entered, a one-day tournament on the Golden State Tour. At the winner’s ceremony, the tournament director gave me a choice: I could either keep my amateur status, or I could take my winnings and turn professional.

I thought about it for a second.

“Well, how much is the check?”

“Five hundred bucks.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “F***! I’ll take the money!”

So the very next day, I played in another one-day tournament. As I was walking off the 18th green, an old buddy of mine who was at the course that day asked me what I had shot. When I told him, his eyes lit up.

“Dude, you won!”

I only wanted to know one thing.

“How much?”

“Two thousand dollars!”

I stood there in amazement, with my hand over my mouth.

I’ve made $2,500 in two days, which is like three months of working at the range and driving someone around for minimum wage. S***, I can keep doing this!

And so in 1997, I made the decision that would change my life forever: Golf was my future.

 

---

 

Canada is a great place, man.

I mean, I love the U.S., but Canada’s pretty darn cool.

After I turned professional, the same friend who had sponsored my return to the game suggested that I go to the Canadian tour to get some experience before I enrolled in Q school back in the States. So in the summer of ’98, I ended up visiting Vancouver and Quebec and Calgary and all these other amazing cities, drinking all different types of beers, eating different foods, meeting different people and learning about different cultures.

As a 22-year-old kid who had never been outside of the Southwestern United States, it was frickin’ cool.

 

Drew Steckel

But for all that I was learning about Canadian people and their customs, I found myself learning so much more about how to be a professional golfer. When you play golf on the Canadian tour, you’re either one of two things: young, inexperienced and trying to understand what it takes to be a professional; or older and making one last push to reach the PGA Tour. I was in the former category, but the guys I hung around with the most were in the latter. I learned a lot from those guys, especially about how to play on the weekend.

On May 29, 2000 — about three years after my brief stint at a Golf Mart — I received a call from the Buy.com Tour. They wanted me in Scranton, Pennsylvania, for the start of the Steamtown Classic on June 1. That night, I drove 21 hours from Vancouver down to San Diego so I could hop on a flight as soon as possible.

Even though I missed the cut in Scranton, there was a silver lining. The Buy.com Tour invited me to play again the following week, and if I performed well, I could keep my playing privileges. I put together a string of good rounds, and in my fourth tournament — the Wichita Open — I finished fourth and picked up $17,000.

Three weeks later, I entered the Ozarks Open in Springfield, Missouri. By the end of the week, after winning a three-man playoff, I was able to call myself a champion on a professional tour and picked up $76,500. Had I never set foot in Canada and watched how the veterans there handled the pressure on the weekends, I don’t think I would’ve ever come close to hoisting a trophy.

By winning, I had the chance to play in every Buy.com event for the rest of the season. In 2001, I finished first at Q school, which guaranteed that I would be a member of the PGA Tour in 2002. From the moment I received my Tour card and put it in my wallet, I made myself a promise:

I will never let this f****** thing go.

Sixteen years. Sixteen straight years on Tour. No matter what, nothing will ever take away from the fact that I have worked my ass off to keep my spot on the PGA Tour.

When I was a young man, I knew failure wasn’t an option. I’ve maintained that attitude to this day. I’m happy with my career, not because of my two PGA Tour victories, but because I’ve been able to support myself and my family. In a sport where nothing is guaranteed — everything from your playing privileges at the outset of each year to the amount of money you make each week — I’ve made it my No. 1 goal to remain on Tour, and I’ve succeeded.

 

Pat Perez

The media often condense my entire career into a couple of moments. That stuff used to infuriate me. But while I was sitting on my couch in Arizona last summer — with a cold one in one hand and my arm around my wife — I realized that I had to stop listening to all the outside noise and remember who I really was. My wife was the one who helped me come to that resolution. I owe her so much.

I guess if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’ll never give up. In just a week or so, I’ll be playing in the Masters. I’ve gone from a blue-collar Mexican-American kid to a PGA Tour pro playing at Augusta.

Rad.

Oh, and remember that course that my friend and his dad brought me to? La Quinta? The one where I couldn’t eat enough beef sliders? Well, in 2009, I won the Bob Hope Classic there. A PGA Tour event. I won nearly a million dollars.

What a difference 25 years makes, huh?

Who knows, after the Masters, maybe my wife and I will celebrate with a couple of $9 mini hamburgers. You know, just for old time’s sake.

 

  Pat Perez PGA TOUR  

   

ABOUTATHLETE APPLICATIONCAREERSPRIVACYTERMSCOOKIE POLICY

 

 

 

Goosebumps. I loved that. Thanks for sharing. .

[StrokerAce]

3 minutes ago, bens197 said:

Goosebumps. I loved that. Thanks for sharing. .

Remember reading it a couple years ago and it's stayed with me ever since; I really resonated with his story....

[bens197]

Just now, GolfSpy Stroker said:

Remember reading it a couple years ago and it's stayed with me ever since; I really resonated with his story....

Honestly, the same. Not as poor and not nearly as much talent but a lot was relatable. 

[Berg Ryman]

Man that Perez story got me. I'll never forget when Syracuse.com used to have forums as there was a post on the HS Boys golf forum about some of the best players in Section 3 and I was in there because I was coming off an all-league season. A kid who was a country club kid from Cortland posted a response, quoting my name saying "that obese kid with the stupid Yellow driver? Hahaha."

I've never been closer to being kicked off a team then when we were playing Cortland again that season, and it's why threads like this get me super upset. It shows that no matter how talented you are, or how hard you try to fit in or do the right thing, to some people you're never more than the clothes on your fact or the body you're in. It's disgraceful, but it's baked into golf culture and there's not a damn thing we're ever going to probably do about it.

Oh, btw, you see that dude in the untucked shirt with the jean shorts? Yeah, that's me, celebrating my first Club Championship win as a member of the Battle Island Golf League, comfy and proud as hell.

[GolfSpy_SHARK]

15 minutes ago, Berg Ryman said:

Man that Perez story got me. I'll never forget when Syracuse.com used to have forums as there was a post on the HS Boys golf forum about some of the best players in Section 3 and I was in there because I was coming off an all-league season. A kid who was a country club kid from Cortland posted a response, quoting my name saying "that obese kid with the stupid Yellow driver? Hahaha."

I've never been closer to being kicked off a team then when we were playing Cortland again that season, and it's why threads like this get me super upset. It shows that no matter how talented you are, or how hard you try to fit in or do the right thing, to some people you're never more than the clothes on your fact or the body you're in. It's disgraceful, but it's baked into golf culture and there's not a damn thing we're ever going to probably do about it.

Oh, btw, you see that dude in the untucked shirt with the jean shorts? Yeah, that's me, celebrating my first Club Championship win as a member of the Battle Island Golf League, comfy and proud as hell.

John Daly is a perfect example of F*#$ everyone else lol and what they say/think

[GolfSpy BOS]

1 hour ago, GolfSpy Stroker said:

Live and let live.... 

If you haven't read this story about Pat Perez, I *highly* recommend it.... speaks to the topic at hand.
https://www.theplayerstribune.com/en-us/articles/pat-perez-pga-tour-you-dont-know-me

 

Pat Perez

PGA TOUR

 

MAR 22 2017

In 1989 every dude at my junior high school wanted to get their hands on some Jordan IVs. And suddenly there was a pair right in front of me, at the bottom of a trash can — the same trash can where I had seen my buddy throw them out after math class a couple of hours earlier.

I took a closer look. The gray trim had faded. They were mud-splotched. The laces were frayed. Honestly, I’ve never seen shoes that looked so bad.

They looked like s***. But to me they looked like beautiful s*** … and I thought they still had some potential.

I checked to make sure nobody was looking, and then pulled them out of the garbage and quickly kicked off my shoes. I slipped those bad boys on and knelt down to lace them up as tight as I could.

I stood back up and looked down.

Nice — they fit!

I finally owned a pair of Jordan IVs. The white, cement-gray combo.

I didn’t care that the thin, clear plastic bubbles under both heels had popped. It didn’t matter, really. Because these were the shoes I had always wanted.

I don’t think I ever wore those Jordans to school. They looked so s****y, which is probably why my buddy had thrown them away in the first place. But I guess wearing them wasn’t the point. I guess being able to tell myself that I had my own pair of Jordan IVs was good enough. I mean, I had shoes — always did. I loved my Reeboks. But I really wanted this particular pair of Jordans … I wanted to have sweet kicks like my friends.

But the thing is, I wasn’t really like them.

 

Pat Perez

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you about finding Jordans in the trash — and why I think that it was an important moment in my life. Many think they know who I am, but the truth is, I’m so much different from how I’m portrayed by the media. Aren’t I the guy who’s irresponsible because I was kicked off the Arizona State team 20 years ago? Who’s a hot head because I flung my club across the fairway at Pebble Beach in the fourth PGA Tour event of my career? Who came under fire recently because people thought I had dissed Tiger Woods? Some of you may think that I’m a jerk. But what I am is a straight shooter. My whole career — my whole life — has been packed into three or four moments, when there’s really so much more to it. I just turned 41, and while I don’t feel like I need to win everybody over, I do think it’s necessary to set some things straight.

Around the time I was 14, I started to spend every summer day working at Torrey Pines Golf Course in La Jolla, California. At around 8 a.m., I’d climb on the bus in Cardiff with a used set of clubs that were too big for me, hoping to use them that day. But that rarely happened. Because when I got to the course, my primary job was to replace divots on the driving range and shag balls for the golfers. I made minimum wage, but I also cleaned the clubs of people who had played that day, hoping to make an extra $20 in tips. I’d head home at around 11 p.m. exhausted, my unused clubs clanking against one another as I trudged through the front door.

My parents raised me and my brother in a three-bedroom, 2,000-square foot home. My dad worked at IBM and my mom was in real estate, and they always tried to do their best for me: They took time out of their schedules to drive me around to local tournaments, and paid my entry fees instead of saving the money for something more important. They were great parents. We lived in a very expensive part of the country and I was playing an expensive game. That was just the reality for me and my family. So if I wanted to play golf, I knew I had to come up with some of the money for entry fees myself.

At every tournament, kids size up their opponents. My God, everyone must’ve thought that I was some sort of a******. I had clubs that were too big for me and was wearing high-top Reeboks instead of golf shoes. They must’ve been thinking, What is he doing here?

But when I would let that first drive fly, everyone knew why I was there.

Over time, I began to make a bit of a name for myself in the area by winning week after week. But no matter what, the morning after every tournament, I was back at Torrey wiping down carts or kissing ass to another foursome for some extra cash.

Sometimes, I’d see my friends roll up to Torrey in their brand new cars. Man, I always used to wish I was hanging with them instead of working. But every once in a while, instead of going to play Torrey, those guys would head to a private club they belonged to and invite me along.

Those were the best days.

I was a freshman in high school the first time I rolled up to La Quinta Country Club with my friend and his dad. This place was like nothing I had ever seen before: the pristine driving range, the impeccable clubhouse, the wood-paneled locker room. Not to mention the fact that the course was in perfect condition.

This wasn’t a golf course. Nah, this was heaven.

But for all the glamour, the thing that I remember the most was the food.

The halfway house had these amazing beef sliders. I ate one and mentioned to my friend’s dad how good it was.

 

Pat Perez

“Well, take another, Pat!”

I paused for a second.

“I can take another?”

“Oh, c’mon. Take as many as you’d like!”

Each individual slider was about $9, and my friend’s dad was paying for it all. Nine dollars would usually pay for two or three meals at Filiberto’s, my local joint. Cheap Mexican food was what I usually ate. All I could think was, Man, I’d need to clean a lot of golf clubs and repair a lot of divots to be able to afford this type of lifestyle.

When we got to the 10th tee, I found out that it’s pretty hard to swing properly with all that food in your stomach.

I think I bogeyed 10.

That night, when I collapsed on my bed after telling my parents about my day, I thought about how special it would be to spend every weekend at a place like La Quinta playing on beautiful fairways and greens and just laughing with my friends.

Who knew that one day that would be a reality?

---

The week of the Buick Invitational of California was the only time I would skip school.

Man, when that tournament would come to Torrey in February, it was the best thing on earth. Guys like me who worked on the course could make a bunch of extra money and get to caddy for an amateur in the pro-am on the Wednesday before the tournament began. Most of the time you and your amateur would get paired with some no-name pro. But sometimes you could get lucky.

When I was 16, I got lucky.

I was standing outside the caddy master’s hut waiting for my name to be called when I heard somebody say, “Hey Perez … go get that bag over there. You’re with Daly’s group and caddying for his amateur partner.”

Every other kid there was staring at me.

“John Daly? I’m with John Daly’s group?”

“Better hurry up,” the caddy master said, smiling. “You’re going on the North Course.”

You gotta understand … John Daly was Tiger Woods before Tiger Woods. A year earlier, Daly had won the PGA Championship at Crooked Stick with a big mullet, a pocket full of smokes and the longest swing on Tour.

 

He was my hero.

Nearly midway through the round, something completely crazy and unexpected happened. The amateur who I was caddying for mentioned that I was a decent player and said that I swung the club just like John.

Daly looked at me.

“Huh, no s***,” he said. “Here, take this.”

He handed me his driver. He handed me his f****** driver. The Cobra Ultramid with the red titanium shaft and the kevlar face. This thing was basically folklore, and now it was in my hands.

I looked up at him. He gave me a little nod.

“I want to see you hit it.”

Holy s***. Holy s***. Holy s***.

Somehow I managed to put the ball on a tee. I was trying to act all cool, but my heart was racing. As I started my backswing, the club felt like it weighed a million pounds. It was like I had never swung a golf club in my life.

Just don’t top it. Please, God, just don’t top it.

When I made contact with the ball, I knew right away where it was going:

Straight down the middle.

 

Pat Perez

And not just down the middle … far down the middle. I absolutely smashed it. With John Daly’s driver. Just completely smoked it. And as we walked down the fairway, we all realized something: I had hit it past John Daly. I had hit it past John Effing Daly!

Now, it should be noted … I was teeing off from the amateur tees. But, hey, I still flew one past Big John.

A few months later, in 1993, I entered the junior world championships. Maybe I was feeling confident from outdriving JD, but I’d like to think I was playing some consistently good golf.

In 1990, a kid from Orange County named Eldrick Woods had won the Boys 13–14 division. In ’91, the same kid won the Boys 15–17 division. Now I was going to get a chance to take on this phenom. Only problem was, I didn’t own a set of clubs.

Kind of an issue.

I had won all the qualifiers with a mismatched set of clubs that I had borrowed from about five different people. But for world juniors, my friend’s father let me use his Ping Berylliums.

And I won.

I beat the guy we now know as Tiger by eight shots with clubs that were meant for someone two or three inches taller than me. I’ll never forget the sound Tiger’s club made when it struck the ball, and how valiant of a competitor he was that week. I’ll also never forget winning the way I did.

Shortly after, my friend’s dad allowed me to keep those clubs.

Following my victory, Arizona State offered me a scholarship. I had always assumed that I wouldn’t be able to afford college. But suddenly, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Things were looking up.

Then I nearly died.

 

Pat Perez

One summer night in ’94, my friends and I were driving to the movies when a car ran a red light and nearly smoked us in the middle of an intersection. My friend swerved, narrowly missing the car, but sending us up onto the median and into a roadway sign. We busted through the sign and went tumbling down a 25-foot cliff, where we came to a stop on top of a parked van. I blacked out during the crash and don’t remember anything about it except for waking up, with glass everywhere, unable to move my legs. I had cracked my pelvis in three places.

I was bedridden for the next five months, and I remained on crutches until February 1995. After I was finally able to walk on my own again, I had to work hard on my game so that ASU wouldn’t rescind its offer. I wasn’t going to f*** up that opportunity.

In spite of the challenges, my game ended up coming together nicely. So much so that I kept my scholarship and qualified for the most prestigious amateur tournament in the world — the U.S. Amateur — all this just months after my near-death experience.

But when I told the Sun Devils the good news, they told me that, because the tournament conflicted with freshman orientation, I wouldn’t be able to play. I thought it was bulls***.

As much as it sucked, I rolled with it.

In 1996, my teammates and I won the NCAA championship. I’m proud to say that I was a part of that team, not only for what it did for the school, but for what it did for my psyche. Life was good — I was getting an education and playing golf.

But neither of those were going to last.

One summer day, just a few months after we had hoisted the trophy as collegiate champs, my coach called me.

He told me that he was pulling my scholarship.

He said that it was because there were a lot of other recruits coming into the program, but from my perspective, we didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I didn’t really buy it — I still don’t.

Whatever the reason, with a simple phone call, everything I had worked for had been wiped away.

Bulls***.

 

Chris Coduto/Icon Sportswire

The worst part was that I couldn’t afford school without a scholarship. So I had to drop out and move back home to San Diego where I got a job as a salesman … at a Golf Mart.

It was f****** miserable.

So miserable, in fact, that I ended up quitting after only a month or two. My dad — who was always trying to help me — linked me up with Gary Adams (the founder of TaylorMade Golf), who was starting a new golf company called McHenry Metals. For a couple of months I was this guy’s glorified chauffeur. When I wasn’t taking him around town to breakfast, his acupuncture appointments or his doctor’s office, I was driving the company’s s****y-ass van two hours north to Long Beach, where I’d drop off shafts, clubheads and grips to be put together in the McHenry Metals offices. I did this five days a week for $4.75 an hour. I was living in a tiny apartment in San Diego, and what little money I made went straight to my $700 rent.

 

It was one of the hardest times in my life because I didn’t feel like I had a future.

But then something pretty incredible happened. I got a break. A big one. Sometimes in life you just need one person to believe in you — to help you get off your ass and fight. And that’s exactly what happened.

 

Robert Beck/SI/Getty Images

I was 20 years old when a family friend at Torrey called up my dad one day and told him that I was too good of a golfer to be doing what I was doing. He said that he would sponsor me by ponying up a couple of hundred bucks so I could play in some events.

I thanked our friend profusely — and then I went to work.

After eight months of barely playing golf, I won the first event I entered, a one-day tournament on the Golden State Tour. At the winner’s ceremony, the tournament director gave me a choice: I could either keep my amateur status, or I could take my winnings and turn professional.

I thought about it for a second.

“Well, how much is the check?”

“Five hundred bucks.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “F***! I’ll take the money!”

So the very next day, I played in another one-day tournament. As I was walking off the 18th green, an old buddy of mine who was at the course that day asked me what I had shot. When I told him, his eyes lit up.

“Dude, you won!”

I only wanted to know one thing.

“How much?”

“Two thousand dollars!”

I stood there in amazement, with my hand over my mouth.

I’ve made $2,500 in two days, which is like three months of working at the range and driving someone around for minimum wage. S***, I can keep doing this!

And so in 1997, I made the decision that would change my life forever: Golf was my future.

 

---

 

Canada is a great place, man.

I mean, I love the U.S., but Canada’s pretty darn cool.

After I turned professional, the same friend who had sponsored my return to the game suggested that I go to the Canadian tour to get some experience before I enrolled in Q school back in the States. So in the summer of ’98, I ended up visiting Vancouver and Quebec and Calgary and all these other amazing cities, drinking all different types of beers, eating different foods, meeting different people and learning about different cultures.

As a 22-year-old kid who had never been outside of the Southwestern United States, it was frickin’ cool.

 

Drew Steckel

But for all that I was learning about Canadian people and their customs, I found myself learning so much more about how to be a professional golfer. When you play golf on the Canadian tour, you’re either one of two things: young, inexperienced and trying to understand what it takes to be a professional; or older and making one last push to reach the PGA Tour. I was in the former category, but the guys I hung around with the most were in the latter. I learned a lot from those guys, especially about how to play on the weekend.

On May 29, 2000 — about three years after my brief stint at a Golf Mart — I received a call from the Buy.com Tour. They wanted me in Scranton, Pennsylvania, for the start of the Steamtown Classic on June 1. That night, I drove 21 hours from Vancouver down to San Diego so I could hop on a flight as soon as possible.

Even though I missed the cut in Scranton, there was a silver lining. The Buy.com Tour invited me to play again the following week, and if I performed well, I could keep my playing privileges. I put together a string of good rounds, and in my fourth tournament — the Wichita Open — I finished fourth and picked up $17,000.

Three weeks later, I entered the Ozarks Open in Springfield, Missouri. By the end of the week, after winning a three-man playoff, I was able to call myself a champion on a professional tour and picked up $76,500. Had I never set foot in Canada and watched how the veterans there handled the pressure on the weekends, I don’t think I would’ve ever come close to hoisting a trophy.

By winning, I had the chance to play in every Buy.com event for the rest of the season. In 2001, I finished first at Q school, which guaranteed that I would be a member of the PGA Tour in 2002. From the moment I received my Tour card and put it in my wallet, I made myself a promise:

I will never let this f****** thing go.

Sixteen years. Sixteen straight years on Tour. No matter what, nothing will ever take away from the fact that I have worked my ass off to keep my spot on the PGA Tour.

When I was a young man, I knew failure wasn’t an option. I’ve maintained that attitude to this day. I’m happy with my career, not because of my two PGA Tour victories, but because I’ve been able to support myself and my family. In a sport where nothing is guaranteed — everything from your playing privileges at the outset of each year to the amount of money you make each week — I’ve made it my No. 1 goal to remain on Tour, and I’ve succeeded.

 

Pat Perez

The media often condense my entire career into a couple of moments. That stuff used to infuriate me. But while I was sitting on my couch in Arizona last summer — with a cold one in one hand and my arm around my wife — I realized that I had to stop listening to all the outside noise and remember who I really was. My wife was the one who helped me come to that resolution. I owe her so much.

I guess if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’ll never give up. In just a week or so, I’ll be playing in the Masters. I’ve gone from a blue-collar Mexican-American kid to a PGA Tour pro playing at Augusta.

Rad.

Oh, and remember that course that my friend and his dad brought me to? La Quinta? The one where I couldn’t eat enough beef sliders? Well, in 2009, I won the Bob Hope Classic there. A PGA Tour event. I won nearly a million dollars.

What a difference 25 years makes, huh?

Who knows, after the Masters, maybe my wife and I will celebrate with a couple of $9 mini hamburgers. You know, just for old time’s sake.

 

 

great read!  I knew he had an interesting backstory but didn't realize it was that interesting.