COLUMN
It’s been 10 years since the most extraordinary sporting experience of my life, which took place during the 2014 US Open at Pinehurst No. 2.
The third major of the year has returned to the brutal North Carolina course for the first time in a decade and I relived my incredible five days back in 2014 to my editors this week.
It’s such an unbelievable tale that they insisted I write about it to give weekend hacks, like myself, a rare glimpse behind the professional curtain.
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I’ve been very lucky to attend more than my fair share of professional sports around the world (114 stadiums and counting) but this experience stands head and shoulders above the rest.
Ok here we go, strap in.
I was crashing at my best mate Alex’s place in North Carolina, where he was on an athletics scholarship at Wake Forest University, when I got what proved a once-in-a-lifetime call.
The voice on the other end of the line was that of Kyle Grant who traded being the 1107th ranked golfer in the world to instead snowboard full-time, and we’d just finished working a ski season together in Utah.
Kyle told me his friend Brady Watt had just qualified for the US Open and could get us tickets to the tournament, which was about to be played a 90-minute drive from where I was staying.
So the next day I borrowed Alex’s car, picked Kyle up from Charlotte Airport and just like that we were on our way to our first golf major.
The only small problem we had was a serious lack of funds. Being young and broke, we barely had a few hundred bucks between us but we devised a plan to illegally camp somewhere near the course.
After assessing our options we settled on a quiet area in the woods perched just behind the ninth green and set up camp for the night.
The problem was we were filthy from the 35C heat and dusty winds, so we decided to drive back to a lake we saw on the way into town and wash off Happy Gilmore style, I kid you not, before heading to a cheap bar for dinner.
“I remember trying to find a spot to camp that first night, we were straight roughing it,” Kyle laughed when I contacted him this week.
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The next day we collected our tickets from the VIP booth, looked up Brady’s tee time and headed to the first hole. It was there that we bumped into Brady’s dad Mickey who had travelled from Perth for the biggest tournament of his son’s life.
Mickey asked where we were staying and we told him we were camping behind the ninth green.
“No seriously, where are you staying,” he said.
Once we explained our financial situation, Mickey revealed that because Brady had qualified so late that he also initially had nowhere to stay.
So an SOS went out in professional golf circles and who should have an available holiday house by the course that wasn’t being used that week – none other than Jack Nicklaus.
Mickey said there were two empty bedrooms and insisted we come stay, we didn’t need to be asked twice. So that afternoon we packed up our camp in record time before driving over to Nicklaus’ pad in a prestigious gated community.
In the space of 24 hours we’d gone from the shithouse to the penthouse.
But things were about to get even better.
After Brady missed the cut, his agent decided to skip town and on his way out the door he handed us his all-access credentials.
And when I saw all access, I mean all access.
All of a sudden the two brokest blokes in Pinehurst had the keys to the castle and access to the players’ lounge.
We’d gone from devouring all-you-can-eat chicken wings on the outskirts of town to eating world-class food alongside the world’s best golfers. I deadset asked Rickie Fowler to pass me the bread at the salad bar and he kindly obliged.
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Everything in the lounge was free of course, including a very fancy bar that Kyle and I took full advantage of throughout the weekend.
The tournament was being held during the FIFA World Cup and we found some Poms in the lounge who looked to be in the same boat as us – tagging along in support of a friend.
I plonked myself next to a young fella watching England play Italy and with a beer in hand I innocently asked who he was there supporting.
“I’m actually playing, I’m an amateur,” he said politely.
“Oh there you go, what’s your name?” I responded.
“Matt… Matt Fitzpatrick,” he said sheepishly.
“I’ll have to remember the name,” I told him encouragingly.
I remembered the name all right, he went on to win the tournament eight years later in 2022.
I asked Brady his memories of his major debut 10 years ago and despite missing the cut he remembered the week fondly.
“I remember you and Kyle stayed and we had an absolute blast,” he said.
“I remember us all being in the players lounge and lots of chats with players.
“The course was tricky, not a sand belt but it played with that kind of firmness. Greens only had like two or three flat spots on each one. Kaymer putted everything, so did Rickie.”
Another incredible part of the weekend was walking the course and watching the weekend’s play with two professionals in Kyle and Brady.
They think about the game in ways you would never imagine and genuinely have photographic memories of all their shots in big competition.
The difference between a scratch golfer and professional golfer is light years, let me assure you.
“It’s such a long course and the greens are tiny,” Kyle said.
“I especially remember how tough the rough was and the fairways all slope towards the wire grass areas which were super hard to hit out of.
“I also remember Chubby Chandler giving me shit for my unkempt appearance in the lounge.”
After German Martin Kaymer won the tournament by eight shots, we piled into a bar in town with a host of players and drank and sang into the early hours.
Kyle and I drove home in near silence the next day, barely believing the five days we’d just had.
It was truly a priceless, once-in-a-lifetime experience for a weekend hack like me and one that I’ll be reliving at dinner parties for the rest of my days.
– Eamon Tiernan is the NRL Editor at foxsports.com.au