The Longest Day

The toughest week in pro golf is unquestionably the PGA Tour qualifying tournament—Q school—in the fall, a six-round ordeal during which would-be Tour pros play for their would-be careers. The toughest single day in golf, though, occurs every June. It's the sectional qualifier for the U.S. Open, a 36-hole marathon that invariably includes a multiman playoff to determine who gets the last few spots in the main event. "It's a day of dread," says Tour veteran Mike Hulbert, who once shot a 30 on the opening nine of the sectional but still didn't make it to the Open. "It's a death march," says Steve Pate, who has missed playing his way into the last two Opens. "I'd rather not have to do it, but you can't win if you don't play."

Sometimes the sectional seems like a bad dream. Getting ready to play in one at Canoe Brook Country Club, in Summit, N.J., in 1989, Jim McGovern absentmindedly locked his clubs in the trunk of his car, then realized that his car keys were in his golf bag. After repeated attempts to pop the locks, a frantic McGovern borrowed a hammer and was ready to smash in one of the car's windows when the caddie master successfully lassoed a lock button with a coat hanger and opened the car, leaving McGovern just enough time to grab his clubs and make it to the 1st tee. He didn't even have time to hire a caddie. "My brothers stopped off after work and saw me coming up the last fairway," McGovern says. "My brother Jack asked if I wanted him to carry the bag. I said, 'Man, I made it this far, I'll finish.' I had a small bag, but, my god, after 36 holes I was tired."

On rare occasions, the sectional works out like a dream. In 1993, darkness and storms stopped a playoff for the last spot between Eric Hoos and Phil Mickelson at the Lakes Golf and Country Club, in Westerville, Ohio. Needing a place to spend the night, Hoos, an assistant coach at Colorado who was playing the Nike tour back then, was offered accommodations at the Lakes, which has a dormitory much like the Crow's Nest at Augusta National. "They made dinner for me," he says. "I had the clubhouse to myself. They woke me the next morning by saying, 'Mr. Hoos, it's time to get up and beat Mr. Mickelson.' " He did, too, sinking a 20-foot birdie putt on the first hole.

Some sectional experiences fall somewhere between dumb and dumber. In 1992, Brad Fabel breezed through the sectional in Memphis, or so he thought. During the second 18, Fabel had kept the score of his playing partner, Olin Browne, on what was actually Fabel's card and vice versa. "It was dumb," says Fabel, who was disqualified. But not as dumb as what happened to him last year. Fabel needed to play 43 holes at the sectional, finishing at 9:20 p.m., to become the first alternate at Congressional, which is outside Washington, D.C. Because alternates are denied access to the Open course, Fabel figured, What's the use? So he stayed home in Nashville. Sure enough, at 6 a.m. on Thursday he got a call from Congressional informing him that Brad Bryant had withdrawn and Fabel was in the Open—if he could be on the 1st tee in 30 minutes. "I'm thinking, Pal, didn't you dial an area code? Doesn't that clue you in I can't make it?" says Fabel. "The thing about the Open is that the guys are jerks, they set it up to be jerks, and if you asked them, they'd admit it. The course is hard enough, but they make playing a hassle. It's part of the test."

How the players rate that test is another matter. "For the guys trying to make history, playing in the Open is huge," says Patrick Burke. "For guys like me who are trying to make a living, it's just another event. Without meaning to sound disrespectful, I want to get into the Open because if I finish in the top 16, I get invited to the Masters. The Open's almost a 16-spotter for Augusta."

Burke was playing for history, though, when he tried to qualify for the '93 Open at Baltusrol. His father, Mike, had played in the '67 Open there. His brother, Mike Jr., made the field for the '80 Open, which was also at the New Jersey club, and his mother, Joan, played in the '61 Women's Open there (while pregnant with Patrick). Burke didn't make it. "Most of the time when you miss you say, 'Rats! Now I can't go play in hip-high grass on a course the USGA fouled up,' " says Burke, "but that one was a killer."

The toughest day in golf always is.