You could see it from the parking lot: a swing that looked like it belonged in a Wednesday night beer league.
As I approach the range, I watch the imbalance, the lack of coordination and the one-handed finishes. Was I at the right place? Wasn’t this the site of the Monday qualifier for a Korn Ferry Tour event? Maybe the course is allowing public play after the final tournament tee time, I thought. I feel badly for whoever gets paired with that guy!
After I finish my warmup I arrive on the 1st tee of Sand Creek Station Golf Course in Newton, Kansas, and there he is. The golf gods have an unnerving sense of humor, don’t they?
Caleb appears to be in his late 30s with a stocky dad bod, an unkempt beard and a brown hat with crossing rifles on the logo. He has his driver in one hand and gives me a firm handshake with the other. The third member of our group is Theo Humphrey, who I’ve played with a handful of times and has two second-place finishes on the Korn Ferry Tour.
Humphrey has a boyish face and doesn’t skip arm days at the gym. The long-hitting Vanderbilt grad was known for having trouble pulling the trigger when he earned KFT status in 2020. He would back off shots regularly, berate himself often, and performed an uncomfortable and prolonged dance over the ball. It has been years since we played together, and I am curious to see if anything has changed.
Humphrey is first on the tee, and within 20 seconds, the ball is in the air. While the iron shot isn’t pretty – a clunky strike that flies straight down the fairway – I am pleasantly surprised by his efficient pre-shot routine. I hit a high 2-iron into the fairway and then it is Caleb’s turn. He makes a disjointed swing and wallops his driver, sending the ball into a group of trees left of the fairway. We’re off.
As we read our putts on the 1st green, Caleb says, “This is my first one of these things. If I do something wrong, tell me.”
I appreciate the candor and humility, and Humphrey and I agree to let him know. We all three-putt.
“Well, that wasn’t a good start!” Caleb blurts out as Humphrey taps in. Caleb is right, of course, but that’s not something you say after a playing partner misses a short one. Such a comment most likely will land you on everyone’s bad side. Humphrey, to my surprise and to his credit, seems to agree with Caleb without a hint of annoyance. This is not the Humphrey I remember.
Caleb flares his drive at the 2nd into a penalty area that lines the right side of the hole. He takes a drop and flares another one into the trees. He drops again and whacks one along the penalty line. He finds his original ball not far ahead, and yells to a rules official in the vicinity to ask if he should play it or go to his provisional ball.
“You didn’t need to play a provisional ball because this was clearly a penalty area,” the official calls out from 50 yards away.
Caleb picks up his original ball and keeps walking, leaving the rules official confused. “That was your original ball?” the official asks loudly.
“Yes, sir,” Caleb replies.
“You should play it then,” the rules official says. “Go put it back.”
Caleb abruptly retreats and places his ball back outside the penalty area in the rough. Given that a rules official had instructed him to do this and I knew it was going to be a long day, I’m not about to question the instructions. Caleb wastes no time and takes a swipe from the rough that, remarkably, flies over the trees in front of him and lands on the green some 180 yards away. Great shot!
We have a long wait on the tee on the next hole, a par-3, and Caleb begins to tell his story. In his mid-20s, he had been stationed in the infantry in Alaska. When his time in the military ended, he moved to Utah, started a video marketing company and later bought an eyelash business.
“I always wanted to own a women’s cosmetics company,” he says. “There are so many repeat customers!”
Caleb has two step-children, both teenagers, and is in Wichita with his wife while she visits friends. That’s how he got the idea to give the Monday Q a shot. He talks about a first marriage that ended in divorce during his time in the military – a dark period in his life – and how the experience changed him. He found his best friend in his second wife and is happy now. He took up golf three years ago and began getting serious about it a year ago. Even though I know he is going to struggle mightily for the rest of the day and is probably going to make my job harder, I already like Caleb.
Caleb makes a mess of the next few holes, feeding balls into penalty areas as if the native areas are ravenous. He plays quickly, and even with all of his ball searches, we are constantly waiting on the deathly slow group in front of us.
Humphrey makes a few early bogeys yet shows little sign of frustration. He plays quickly when it’s his turn. After another long wait on the 7th tee, we look at the time – it has taken two hours to play six holes.
Humphrey is 3 over par when we finish the 7th and mentions the possibility of finding an early flight home. Unless he birdies in, he has no mathematical chance to qualify. He is considering a WD at the turn – totally acceptable etiquette in a Monday qualifier. I wonder if Caleb might be considering the same. As if he has been reading my mind, Caleb shuts down any such thoughts.
“I’ll never quit no matter how I play,” he says. “I’ve never quit a round before. I’m playing for fun now.”
Considering how much we are waiting on the group in front of us, shedding players from our group would only lead to more waiting. Humphrey birdies 8 and 9 to turn in 1 over par – matching my score – and Caleb breaks 50 by a shot. Humphrey finds a couple of rules officials and tells them about the stalled pace of play. He reports back that the officials are surprised by the news.
After a triple bogey on 10 and an out-of-bounds drive on 11, Caleb pulls his provisional ball way left into the trees.
“Guys, if I can’t find that one, I’ll just drop up there,” Caleb announces.
Humphrey and I both laughed uncomfortably. “Sure, man, we’ll be complicit in this violation,” I say.
“I know that’s not the way you play, but I’m not going to qualify,” Caleb says. He finds his provisional, punches his fourth shot over the green and asks us how many aces we have. He has never had one, although he’s hoping today is the day. I have to admire the guy’s unshakable optimism.
Caleb pulls his tee shot 50 yards left into the native grass on 12 but doesn’t hit a provisional.
“Caleb, what did you think you were going to shoot today before we teed off?” I ask.
“I thought I could shoot even, or maybe one or two better,” he replies.
“Have you ever looked at scores for a Monday qualifier?” I ask.
“Yes. It usually takes negative six or negative seven,” he says.
Both Humphrey and I are amused by the phrasing.
“Have you ever played a state am qualifier?” I ask.
“Yes, but you go from that to this and it’s just different,” Caleb says. “I can shoot 6 under at my home course and turn around and shoot 10 over the next day.”
“Have you ever shot 6 under?” I inquire skeptically.
“Yes, I shot 6 under in my club championship,” he says.
“Did you win?” I ask.
“Yes, I’ve won before.”
“Do you think you should play more of those types of events before you come out here?” I ask suggestively.
“I was going to sign up for Q school last year, but thought $500 for these one-day qualifiers was a better idea,” Caleb says. “I’ll sign up for more of these and do better next time.”
Caleb may have been naive, inexperienced and disillusioned, but he was also sincere. He just hadn’t witnessed enough competitive golf to understand what he was up against.
He finds three balls in the native grass and hits one of them back to the fairway.
“I’m glad you found it,” I say to him as he reaches the fairway.
“Well, yeah, the problem is I never marked the ball so I think it was mine, but I’m not sure,” he says. Standing on a drain in the fairway for his next shot, he asks, “I have to hit this, right?”
“No, you can take relief,” I say.
Caleb casually taps the ball away from the drain with the back of his club. Humphrey laughs and we both shrug.
The group in front of us has finally picked up the pace, and Humphrey and I are finding a rhythm. Humphrey is booked on a 7 p.m. flight back to Dallas, but he’s still cutting it close. If we have to wait again for any length of time, he decides, he’s going to call it a day. Humphrey doesn’t want to miss the flight, of course, but he’s playing better and we’re having a good conversation.
I ask if it has been difficult to change his anxiety-sieged routine.
“It’s been hard,” he says. “It’s been a process. I was always uncomfortable hitting shots and felt more pressure because of it. So there was the pressure of playing good golf and the pressure that my routine caused.”
Humphrey says he didn’t realize it was OK to be uncomfortable in his early years on tour, that it was an uneasy feeling shared by many others. When he wasn’t able to establish a routine early in a tournament round and backed off shots frequently, it caused more anxiety – stress that he was holding up his competitors and the tournament. This created more doubt and apprehension. He began working with a sports psychologist in an attempt to understand why he felt this way.
Humphrey understands he’s never going to be truly comfortable while competing, but he has learned to answer the question of why do I feel this way? Confronting that question eases his mind. He has come a long way since the last time we were paired together. The game can drive you mad, but it can also lead you to a greater understanding of yourself.
As we wait on the 16th tee, Caleb tells us he used to be a powerlifter. He could bench press 405 pounds and deadlift 585. That was before the accident.
After a night of heavy drinking, Caleb’s best friend and the friend’s girlfriend insisted on driving home. Caleb knew that wasn’t such a good idea, so he got in front of the car. A light pole was behind Caleb, and when the driver accelerated, he got pinned between the car and the pole. It broke his back. He could have sued, but chose to focus on his recovery. He never thought he’d swing a golf club and wasn’t sure he’d even walk again. But here he was.
Suddenly, Caleb’s score didn’t matter. Neither did mine. The importance of golf was in its rightful place. Golf – even bad golf – was a measure of how much Caleb had overcome.
I birdie two of my final three holes to shoot a 4-under 68, missing the playoff by three. Humphrey posts a 2-under round and makes his flight home. Caleb matches his front-nine score on the back for a 98, the highest score turned in by three shots. We all shake hands and thank one another for an interesting day.
While I don’t think Caleb – or someone of his skill level – should play in Monday qualifiers, I am happy to have met him. I hope he picks up more marketing clients, runs wildly successful video campaigns and oversees a booming eyelash business. I hope he returns to his club championship better for the experience of having played in a Monday qualifier. I hope during a Wednesday night beer league round, Caleb laughs while recounting how he once picked up his original ball after hitting a provisional for a shot into a penalty area. I hope he mentions that he has learned a lot since that day.
“It’s a different level out there,” I imagine him saying. “I’m glad I tried it.”
As we read our putts on the 1st green, Caleb says, “This is my first one of these things. If I do something wrong, tell me.”
I appreciate the candor and humility, and Humphrey and I agree to let him know. We all three-putt.
“Well, that wasn’t a good start!” Caleb blurts out as Humphrey taps in. Caleb is right, of course, but that’s not something you say after a playing partner misses a short one. Such a comment most likely will land you on everyone’s bad side. Humphrey, to my surprise and to his credit, seems to agree with Caleb without a hint of annoyance. This is not the Humphrey I remember.
Caleb flares his drive at the 2nd into a penalty area that lines the right side of the hole. He takes a drop and flares another one into the trees. He drops again and whacks one along the penalty line. He finds his original ball not far ahead, and yells to a rules official in the vicinity to ask if he should play it or go to his provisional ball.
“You didn’t need to play a provisional ball because this was clearly a penalty area,” the official calls out from 50 yards away.
Caleb picks up his original ball and keeps walking, leaving the rules official confused. “That was your original ball?” the official asks loudly.
“Yes, sir,” Caleb replies.
“You should play it then,” the rules official says. “Go put it back.”
Caleb abruptly retreats and places his ball back outside the penalty area in the rough. Given that a rules official had instructed him to do this and I knew it was going to be a long day, I’m not about to question the instructions. Caleb wastes no time and takes a swipe from the rough that, remarkably, flies over the trees in front of him and lands on the green some 180 yards away. Great shot!
We have a long wait on the tee on the next hole, a par-3, and Caleb begins to tell his story. In his mid-20s, he had been stationed in the infantry in Alaska. When his time in the military ended, he moved to Utah, started a video marketing company and later bought an eyelash business.
“I always wanted to own a women’s cosmetics company,” he says. “There are so many repeat customers!”
Caleb has two step-children, both teenagers, and is in Wichita with his wife while she visits friends. That’s how he got the idea to give the Monday Q a shot. He talks about a first marriage that ended in divorce during his time in the military – a dark period in his life – and how the experience changed him. He found his best friend in his second wife and is happy now. He took up golf three years ago and began getting serious about it a year ago. Even though I know he is going to struggle mightily for the rest of the day and is probably going to make my job harder, I already like Caleb.
Caleb makes a mess of the next few holes, feeding balls into penalty areas as if the native areas are ravenous. He plays quickly, and even with all of his ball searches, we are constantly waiting on the deathly slow group in front of us.
Humphrey makes a few early bogeys yet shows little sign of frustration. He plays quickly when it’s his turn. After another long wait on the 7th tee, we look at the time – it has taken two hours to play six holes.
Humphrey is 3 over par when we finish the 7th and mentions the possibility of finding an early flight home. Unless he birdies in, he has no mathematical chance to qualify. He is considering a WD at the turn – totally acceptable etiquette in a Monday qualifier. I wonder if Caleb might be considering the same. As if he has been reading my mind, Caleb shuts down any such thoughts.
“I’ll never quit no matter how I play,” he says. “I’ve never quit a round before. I’m playing for fun now.”
Considering how much we are waiting on the group in front of us, shedding players from our group would only lead to more waiting. Humphrey birdies 8 and 9 to turn in 1 over par – matching my score – and Caleb breaks 50 by a shot. Humphrey finds a couple of rules officials and tells them about the stalled pace of play. He reports back that the officials are surprised by the news.
After a triple bogey on 10 and an out-of-bounds drive on 11, Caleb pulls his provisional ball way left into the trees.
“Guys, if I can’t find that one, I’ll just drop up there,” Caleb announces.
Humphrey and I both laughed uncomfortably. “Sure, man, we’ll be complicit in this violation,” I say.
“I know that’s not the way you play, but I’m not going to qualify,” Caleb says. He finds his provisional, punches his fourth shot over the green and asks us how many aces we have. He has never had one, although he’s hoping today is the day. I have to admire the guy’s unshakable optimism.
Caleb pulls his tee shot 50 yards left into the native grass on 12 but doesn’t hit a provisional.
“Caleb, what did you think you were going to shoot today before we teed off?” I ask.
“I thought I could shoot even, or maybe one or two better,” he replies.
“Have you ever looked at scores for a Monday qualifier?” I ask.
“Yes. It usually takes negative six or negative seven,” he says.
Both Humphrey and I are amused by the phrasing.
“Have you ever played a state am qualifier?” I ask.
“Yes, but you go from that to this and it’s just different,” Caleb says. “I can shoot 6 under at my home course and turn around and shoot 10 over the next day.”
“Have you ever shot 6 under?” I inquire skeptically.
“Yes, I shot 6 under in my club championship,” he says.
“Did you win?” I ask.
“Yes, I’ve won before.”
“Do you think you should play more of those types of events before you come out here?” I ask suggestively.
“I was going to sign up for Q school last year, but thought $500 for these one-day qualifiers was a better idea,” Caleb says. “I’ll sign up for more of these and do better next time.”
Caleb may have been naive, inexperienced and disillusioned, but he was also sincere. He just hadn’t witnessed enough competitive golf to understand what he was up against.
He finds three balls in the native grass and hits one of them back to the fairway.
“I’m glad you found it,” I say to him as he reaches the fairway.
“Well, yeah, the problem is I never marked the ball so I think it was mine, but I’m not sure,” he says. Standing on a drain in the fairway for his next shot, he asks, “I have to hit this, right?”
“No, you can take relief,” I say.
Caleb casually taps the ball away from the drain with the back of his club. Humphrey laughs and we both shrug.
The group in front of us has finally picked up the pace, and Humphrey and I are finding a rhythm. Humphrey is booked on a 7 p.m. flight back to Dallas, but he’s still cutting it close. If we have to wait again for any length of time, he decides, he’s going to call it a day. Humphrey doesn’t want to miss the flight, of course, but he’s playing better and we’re having a good conversation.
I ask if it has been difficult to change his anxiety-sieged routine.
“It’s been hard,” he says. “It’s been a process. I was always uncomfortable hitting shots and felt more pressure because of it. So there was the pressure of playing good golf and the pressure that my routine caused.”
Humphrey says he didn’t realize it was OK to be uncomfortable in his early years on tour, that it was an uneasy feeling shared by many others. When he wasn’t able to establish a routine early in a tournament round and backed off shots frequently, it caused more anxiety – stress that he was holding up his competitors and the tournament. This created more doubt and apprehension. He began working with a sports psychologist in an attempt to understand why he felt this way.
Humphrey understands he’s never going to be truly comfortable while competing, but he has learned to answer the question of why do I feel this way? Confronting that question eases his mind. He has come a long way since the last time we were paired together. The game can drive you mad, but it can also lead you to a greater understanding of yourself.
As we wait on the 16th tee, Caleb tells us he used to be a powerlifter. He could bench press 405 pounds and deadlift 585. That was before the accident.
After a night of heavy drinking, Caleb’s best friend and the friend’s girlfriend insisted on driving home. Caleb knew that wasn’t such a good idea, so he got in front of the car. A light pole was behind Caleb, and when the driver accelerated, he got pinned between the car and the pole. It broke his back. He could have sued, but chose to focus on his recovery. He never thought he’d swing a golf club and wasn’t sure he’d even walk again. But here he was.
Suddenly, Caleb’s score didn’t matter. Neither did mine. The importance of golf was in its rightful place. Golf – even bad golf – was a measure of how much Caleb had overcome.
I birdie two of my final three holes to shoot a 4-under 68, missing the playoff by three. Humphrey posts a 2-under round and makes his flight home. Caleb matches his front-nine score on the back for a 98, the highest score turned in by three shots. We all shake hands and thank one another for an interesting day.
While I don’t think Caleb – or someone of his skill level – should play in Monday qualifiers, I am happy to have met him. I hope he picks up more marketing clients, runs wildly successful video campaigns and oversees a booming eyelash business. I hope he returns to his club championship better for the experience of having played in a Monday qualifier. I hope during a Wednesday night beer league round, Caleb laughs while recounting how he once picked up his original ball after hitting a provisional for a shot into a penalty area. I hope he mentions that he has learned a lot since that day.
“It’s a different level out there,” I imagine him saying. “I’m glad I tried it.”
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