Chasing the Shark: The Nick ‘Eagle’ Giles Story

By Nicholas Fry

This is the story of a young Australian kid, his passion for golf, the road to his lifelong dream of being a golf professional, and his determined pursuit of Greg Norman’s record of twenty major championships. This is the story of Nick “Eagle” Giles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984501424

Nicholas Fry

Nicholas Fry is an Australian businessman, cricket fan, retired cricketer, and keen writer. As a youngster, Nick fell in love with cricket, playing up until the age of 50. In ‘Taming the Beast’, Nick introduces us to Jack ‘Beast’ Beasley, an up-and-coming Australian cricketer who experiences many ups and downs in pursuit of his dream of wearing the ‘baggy green’. Having previously written short stories and business articles, this is Nick’s second novel, following on from ‘Chasing the Shark’, which tracks the life of Nick Giles, professional golfer. Nick lives in Sandhurst, Melbourne with his wife and 3 kids.

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Copyright © 2018 by Nicholas Fry.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2018909626

ISBN:              Hardcover                978-1-9845-0144-8

                        Softcover                  978-1-9845-0143-1

                        eBook                       978-1-9845-0142-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/19/2019

Xlibris

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www.Xlibris.com.au

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My name is Nick Giles, but you probably know me

better by my nickname ‘Eagle’.

I’m a retired professional golfer and this is my life story.

*

This story is set partly in the past, present and future and is a fictional fantastical tale. There are references to real people, real places and real historical events, but these references are not always factually accurate.

This is a work of fiction.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

If you ain’t first, you’re last.

Chapter Two

You’re a bloody natural kid.

Chapter Three

3 Golfing Legends

Chapter Four

An Obsession

Chapter Five

Greg Norman

Chapter Six

The 1996 US Masters

Chapter Seven

Trev’s Fine Meats

Chapter Eight

Big Mike

Chapter Nine

Broken

Chapter Ten

The Pay Off

Chapter Eleven

The Carnarvon Curse

Chapter Twelve

Florida Calling

Chapter Thirteen

Meet the Wilders

Chapter Fourteen

Chasing Birdies

Chapter Fifteen

Augusta Dreaming

Chapter Sixteen

Meeting the Shark

Chapter Seventeen

The Eagle

Chapter Eighteen

Amateur Hour

Chapter Nineteen

Tour Pro

Chapter Twenty

My Master Plan

Chapter Twenty One

He Ain’t Heavy

Chapter Twenty Two

Wake Up Call

Chapter Twenty Three

Shanghai Surprise

Chapter Twenty Four

My First Major

Chapter Twenty Five

A Norman Masterclass

Chapter Twenty Six

Progress

Chapter Twenty Seven

Pay it Forward

Chapter Twenty Eight

The Eagle Rocks

Chapter Twenty Nine

Masters of Ceremonies

Chapter Thirty

The Wedding Planner

Chapter Thirty One

Jack plus One

Chapter Thirty Two

April at Augusta

Chapter Thirty Three

Wedding Day

Chapter Thirty Four

Speechless

Chapter Thirty Five

Fireworks

Chapter Thirty Six

London Calling

Chapter Thirty Seven

Norman vs Faldo

Chapter Thirty Eight

Breakthrough

Chapter Thirty Nine

2022 Masters

Chapter Forty

Double Trouble

Chapter Forty One

Heartbreak and Heartache

Chapter Forty Two

Open Glory

Chapter Forty Three

Number One

Chapter Forty Four

Open Slather

Chapter Forty Five

Eagle Golf

Chapter Forty Six

Bosley

Chapter Forty Seven

Fightback

Chapter Forty Eight

The Calm before the Storm

Chapter Forty Nine

Grand Slam

Chapter Fifty

You’re a Rich Man

Chapter Fifty One

The Chase Continues

Chapter Fifty Two

Ups and Downs

Chapter Fifty Three

Jumping Jack Flash

Chapter Fifty Four

One. More. Time.

Chapter Fifty Five

A Century of Majors

Chapter Fifty Six

The Long Goodbye

The Final Word

From the author

CHAPTER ONE

If you ain’t first, you’re last.

I was born Nicholas Rodney Giles on March 1 st 1996, the 2 nd of 3 boys. I grew up in a very happy household with my 2 brothers, Matthew & Thomas, and my Mum Denise & Dad Geoff. Although we were far from wealthy, my parents worked hard to provide the best they could. We wanted for nothing. The highlight of our year was our caravan trip down the Mountain Springs Highway each summer to Mayfield, where the 3 Giles boys, with 2 years neatly separating all of our ages, and our cousins and family friends all ran amok in the Mayfield Caravan Park: running, riding, jumping, playing footy and cricket and swimming at the beach.

I loved sports, particularly cricket, and was a left-handed batsman like my Dad, the only ‘mollydooker’ amongst my siblings. Dad taught us all how to hold a cricket bat but with me being a leftie, I think I got a bit more attention than the others. Us mollydookers have to stick together Nicko he’d say to me.

My childhood was wonderful: happy and loving and active, and Dad’s love of sport really impacted my formative years. You could always find me bouncing or bowling or throwing or kicking or hitting a ball. I was a very active kid, full of energy, and I loved sports. There was however one inherent behavioral trait that separated me from my brothers and most of the other kids in the park: while they played sport for fun, I played to win. Always. The competitive streak in me was inexhaustible. It occasionally got me into to some trouble, where my competitive streak caused friction and tension, which sometimes boiled over, but I couldn’t control it: once the contest began, I was in it to win it. Perhaps I listened to Dad too much when he quoted a line from a movie he always watched which perfectly summarised my mindset when it came to sport: If you ain’t first, you’re last. And I hated coming last.

CHAPTER TWO

You’re a bloody natural kid.

O ne morning, in the summer of 2008, down at Mayfield, Dad announced he was going to play golf. Normally I’d have gone to the beach, but I’d been dumped by a big wave the previous day and wasn’t particularly keen on swimming that day. Can I come Dad? I asked, wanting to learn more about this strange sport my father seemed obsessed with. I’d heard him talking to uncle Trev about his handicap and birdies and his short game: I needed to find out what this sport was all about.

Sure mate, I need a caddy, he laughed. I didn’t know what the joke was, but I tagged along with Dad and my uncle Trev to the nearby Long Gully Golf Club one hot day in mid-December 2008. I was 12 years old and little did I know that my life was about to change forever.

As soon as we drove into the course and I saw the fairways and greens, I was fascinated.

It was quite a hot day so there weren’t many people around, but I saw a few grown men pushing their buggies around and practicing their swings or their putting, then grouping up and heading off to play. It looked like fun.

I was Dad’s caddy that day, pushing his buggy around for him, handing him the club he’d call out - Grab my 7-iron son - and watched intently as he and uncle Trev charted their way around the course. Trev was a pretty good player. Dad was even better. He hit the ball a long way off the tee and I remember being amazed by the sound his metal driver made on contact with the ball, sending it flying into the distance.

Dad and Trev were very competitive, as brothers usually are, and I tried to get my head around the scoring system they were using, a method called ‘Stableford’.

Dad tried to explain it to me, how he had a handicap of 6, so he got one stroke on the 6 hardest holes, whereas Trev is off 11 so he gets a stroke on the 11 hardest holes. It made absolutely no sense to me, but to Dad and uncle Trev it meant everything: they were playing for a slab of beer for the winner.

There was hardly anyone else on the course by the time we got to the 165-yard par-3 14th, so I asked Dad if I could have a go. Dad was winning comfortably and in a relaxed mood, so he looked around to see there was nobody around and said Sure, why not? We won’t hold anyone up. You’re a leftie, here, use my driver and see if you can get it on the dance floor….on the green, up where that red flag is.

Dad gave me a very quick grip tutorial and swinging lesson: Keep your head still, don’t swing too fast and try to make clean contact with the ball he said as he teed up an old tattered ball for me, clearly not wanting to risk losing one of his good balls in the water to the right or the bushes on the left.

I’d been watching Dad’s swing pretty closely that day so I tried to copy that. I had a couple of practice swings and then stood over the ball. Keep your head still and get it on the dance floor I told myself as I started my backswing. It felt good. I got to the top of my swing and reminded myself to keep my head still. I brought the club downwards, slow and steady, and awaited contact. Bang! I hit it beautifully, making really clean contact, and as my head shot up to follow the ball’s trajectory I remember being both amazed and delighted as the ball tracked upwards and outwards, in a straight line, heading directly towards the flag.

Dad and uncle Trev both let out squeals of delight as the 3 of us stood there admiring my handy work. Dad excitedly called out What a shot mate. It’s heading for the hole. I was motionless, still in my follow through pose just watching the ball begin its descent and bounce on the green, then roll up towards the flag. As the ball came to a stop, my eyes were popping out of my head and my mouth was agape as I spun around to look at Dad and Trev.

They were both laughing as they high-fived each other. Nicko, what a shot exclaimed Dad. Trev called out You’re a bloody natural kid as I walked over and handed Dad his driver.

Thanks Dad. That was amazing.

Dad and Trev each played their shots, ribbing each other to get inside the kids ball, which they both couldn’t manage. My ball had stopped just 2 feet from the hole. Wow!

Dad showed me how to mark my ball on the green and as I stood there cleaning my ball and watching them both putt, my chest was bursting with pride and excitement: this game already had me hooked. And maybe, as uncle Trev had exclaimed, I was a natural.

Dad gave me a quick putting tutorial, and with great determination I sank my birdie putt. As I bent over to collect my ball from the hole, Dad patted me on the back: That’s incredible son, your very first hole of golf and you got a birdie. Sensational stuff. Yeah and you beat us both laughed uncle Trev.

I was so excited. I was immediately smitten by golf.

Dad let me play a few more shots over the final few holes, explaining the different loft each club generates, and how to read a green, and a few other tips about golf etiquette. But he didn’t let me go overboard because first and foremost he had to protect his lead over Uncle Trev. With a case of beer up for grabs, the stakes were high!

By the end of the 18th hole I was fascinated by golf. On the drive back to the caravan park I must’ve asked Dad and uncle Trev a dozen questions about golf, and when Dad pulled up outside the bottle shop as Trev ran in to buy the slab of beer to pay for losing the bet, Dad turned around to face me in the back seat and said I told you golf was a great sport. Christmas is in a few weeks, how about we get you some golf clubs? I think you’ve got some serious natural ability Nicko. What do you say?

That’d be awesome Dad.

I could not possibly have been any happier or more excited: I seriously felt like golf was my calling in life and I lay in bed that night thinking about that shot off the 14th tee. I’m pretty sure I dreamed about golf all night and as soon as the sun came up around 6.30am the next day, I snuck out of our van and removed Dad’s golf clubs from the boot of his car and began practicing my grip and my swing in the carpark at Mayfield Caravan Park.

CHAPTER THREE

3 Golfing Legends

I was pretty tall for a 12-year old, only around 6 inches shorter than Dad, so he cobbled together a set of clubs for me from a few of his old clubs which were lying around in the shed, and a few second hand clubs for sale in the Golf Shop at the Long Gully Golf Club. An old double-sided putter which, according to Dad, had been owned by my grandfather, ‘pop’, in the 1960’s, completed my set. They were all in pretty good nick, and I cherished each and every one of them.

On Christmas morning, after a very restless sleep, I received this mishmash set of clubs, complete with a new bag and a dozen golf balls, and they were instantly my proudest possession which I treated with great care. I’d been saving money so I could buy a few golf books from the Mayfield second-hand bookshop to learn more about the game. Dad had told me about 3 golfing legends who I should read up on: Greg Norman, Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods. After chipping a few golf balls around the caravan park on Christmas Day to pass the time, on Boxing Day I jumped on my bike at 8:30am to ride into town to the bookshop, and I knew exactly what I’d be buying that day. The week before, I’d been in the shop and found 3 books which I’d asked the store owner to hold for me until Christmas, when I’d have the $25 I needed to buy all 3 editions. Upon arrival I found my new prized possessions had been carefully wrapped in brown paper, and I handed over the $25 I’d saved by doing a morning newspaper run in the caravan park.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the caravan park to start flicking through the pages of Greg Norman’s ‘100 Instant Golf Lessons’, Jack Nicklaus’ ‘Playing Lessons’ and Tiger Woods ‘How I Play Golf’. Over the holidays, when I wasn’t practicing golf, or playing a few holes with Dad, I was reading those books. Before long I thought I was an expert on golf: I was certainly enamoured with the legend of Norman, Nicklaus & Woods.

CHAPTER FOUR

An Obsession

T houghts of golf soon overtook every waking moment of my life. And because I thought so much about it, it also took up some of my sleep time, as I dreamed of being a golf pro on the US PGA tour. All my other recreational and sporting pursuits soon took on secondary importance, and when my 13 th birthday came around I’d already plotted my career path towards achieving my dream. At my birthday dinner I announced my plans to assembled family and friends. My announcement was as follows:

Thanks everyone for coming to celebrate me becoming a teenager. As you all know, a few months ago I played golf with Dad and uncle Trev, and I loved it. I birdied my first ever hole, the 14th at Long Gully, and since then, golf has become my passion. I got my first set of clubs at Christmas and have since practiced or played almost every day. I love the game of golf and my plan when I grow up is to become a professional golfer on the American PGA tour. To do this, I will continue to play and improve and when I am 16 I will join the North Florida PGA Junior Tour in America which will present me with the opportunity to eventually become a golf pro on the US PGA. By the age of 16 I expect to have a handicap of around 2 which will get me accepted onto the North Florida PGA Junior Tour, the pathway to my dream. By the age of 20, I will be a professional golfer playing on the US PGA tour.

I heard my brothers & cousins laugh and I knew Mum and Dad were amused by my plans, but nobody realised just how serious I was. Little did they know I’d already sent an email enquiry to the North Florida PGA Junior Tour and had received a reply outlining the criteria for acceptance: I had to be 16 years old and I had to have a handicap of 2 or less to be eligible. I knew the guidelines. My plan was hatched.

CHAPTER FIVE

Greg Norman

A s I learnt more about golf, I soon became fascinated with Greg ‘the Shark’ Norman. I also had great admiration for Jack Nicklaus, ‘the Golden Bear’, and Eldrick ‘Tiger’ Woods, not to mention Arnold Palmer, Tom Watson and Seve Ballesteros: but Norman, as an Australian, became my hero. I saved more of my pocket money and bought a few more books about the ‘Great White Shark’, and also scoured the internet to read more and view highlights of the greatest Australian golfer ever, winner of 20 ‘majors’ and the most exciting and charismatic player I’d ever seen.

The 4 golfing major Championships, known simply as the ‘majors’, soon became of particular interest to me: these 4 annual tournaments were the true measure of golfing greatness, and Greg Norman’s 20 major wins was the benchmark.

The 4 golf major championships consist of:

US Masters, played in April each year at Augusta National Golf Club, in Georgia, USA.

US Open, played in June each year at an alternate course throughout America.

Open Championship (also known as the British Open) played in July at an alternate course in the United Kingdom.

PGA Championship, played in August each year at an alternate course throughout America.

Greg had overtaken Nicklaus’ 18 Major wins at the 1999 US Masters, which was a monumental occasion, as evidenced by the YouTube vision and magazine and online articles I’d read about this feat. Greg won the US Masters an incredible 8 times over his career, including 4 consecutive wins from 1986-1989. The scenes at Augusta in 1999, when Norman overtook Nicklaus to win his 19th major, captivated me. The excitement and celebrations amongst the crowd as Norman birdied the final 2 holes in spectacular fashion to defeat Spain’s José María Olazábal was incredible to watch.

As Norman’s final 10-foot putt dropped into the hole, the noise and mayhem amongst the gallery was deafening as Greg pumped his fists in the air and embraced his caddy: with 19 majors, he was now officially the greatest golfer of all time. Fittingly it happened at Augusta, where Greg had dominated for years, playing 22 times for 8 wins, and 9 other top-5 finishes, between 1981 and 2002.

It was also fitting that 59 year old Jack Nicklaus was on hand that day to witness Greg overtake his record of 18 major victories and present Greg with his 8th ‘green jacket’, the coveted reward for the Masters winner. To see Greg and Jack together and witness the emotion and sincerity of Jack in presenting Greg his green jacket, and the ‘most major wins’ mantle, was both greatly historic and sentimental. Jack’s record of most majors, which many thought would never be beaten, was now owned by a great Australian golfer, the Shark. My hero.

I did more research about the magnificent Augusta National Golf Club and was determined that I’d play there one day. I wanted a green jacket of my own.

CHAPTER SIX

The 1996 US Masters

A s I learnt more about the Shark, of particular interest was his famous 1996 victory at Augusta, his 7 th Masters and 18 th major victory, drawing him equal with Nicklaus. Although I was only 6 weeks old at the time, I’ve watched it so often I now know every moment in detail. After 3 steady rounds of 69, 67, 73, Greg was in second place at -7, but 6 shots behind a rampant Nick Faldo who’d started with a course-record 63 on day one and hadn’t relinquished the lead. It seemed a mere formality that Faldo would cruise to his 4 th Masters win, and 10 th major overall. Norman and Faldo were fierce rivals on the course, but close friends off it. Previously they’d gone head-to-head 3 times as the final grouping on the final day of majors, with Greg winning 2 times to Faldo’s one win. Their most recent final day head-to-head encounter was at the 1993 British Open at Royal St George’s when Greg shot a superb 64 on the final day to defeat Faldo by 2 shots. 3 years later at Augusta, it seemed Faldo was poised to exact revenge on Greg. As a Brit, Faldo didn’t like being deprived of his ‘home turf’ major 3 years earlier, even though he’d already won it 4 times, and with a 6 shot lead he seemed unstoppable.

Greg had other ideas. Early on the final day Greg played steady consistent golf, and with the aura of the reigning champion and a 6-time Masters winner, the massive crowd was strongly behind him, excited at the prospect of witnessing some Norman final-day magic. After 5 holes Greg was still 5 shots behind and with 13 holes remaining the task was monumental, almost impossible. Greg kept chipping away, and the pressure soon started to get to Faldo. Norman collected birdies at the 6th and 8th holes, as Faldo bogeyed the 9th, and at the turn his lead had been reduced to 2 shots.

The Shark was circling.

Faldo felt the pressure and started to self-destruct with bogeys at the 10th and 11th. Suddenly, incredibly, scores were level at -9. Faldo’s bad run then took a turn for the worse at the 12th, with a double bogey after finding the water, while Greg safely found the green, and made par, and incredibly he now had a 2-shot lead with 6 to play.

By now the enormous gallery was bursting with excitement, sensing they were witnessing a double-dose of history: the greatest ever final day come-from-behind victory at Augusta, plus Greg equaling Jack Nicklaus’ 18 majors. The sense of occasion clearly overwhelmed Faldo and he was unable to stop Greg’s triumphant march: the Shark birdied the 13th, 15th and 18th holes to finish at -12, while Faldo double-bogeyed the 16th, and finished at -7, 5 shots behind. Greg had engineered an improbable 11-shot turnaround on the final day, shooting a fine 67 to Faldo’s erratic 78.

The 2 warriors embraced at the end of the round, Faldo congratulating Greg on his magnificent win, Greg consoling Nick. Norman later wrote in his biography ‘Shark Tales’ of his emotions after the win: I had sympathy for Nick and I don’t think I’d felt that before about someone I’d just beaten. I just wanted to grab him and hold him tight because I didn’t know what to say.

Whilst some media and critics were quick to condemn Faldo, and question his mental toughness, the majority of the public reaction was devoted to Norman’s unlikely and incredible come-from-behind victory, delivering him back-to-back Masters, a record 7th Masters overall, and a record-equaling 18th major victory. 3 years later, at the 1999 US Masters, Greg won again, and became the overall leader in the major’s race, with 19 victories. It was his 8th and final Masters victory. Incredibly, 9 years later at the age of 53, Greg won his 4th British Open and 20th, and final, major.

Tiger Woods had won 16 majors by the age of 34 to be in 3rd place in the major’s stakes, but a chronic back injury saw his career cut tragically short. So the 3 kings of the golfing jungle, the Shark, Bear and Tiger, had set the benchmark in the majors, winning a combined 54 majors between the 3 of them, including an incredible 19 US Masters. It was a benchmark I studied with great interest, and as a 13-year old, these numbers were clearly embedded in my memory:

CHAPTER SEVEN

Trev’s Fine Meats

T he day after my 13 th birthday I woke up with a very clear plan in my mind: I needed to get a part-time job to generate income so I could fund my golfing obsession. My research showed me that to become a low single-figure handicapper, I needed new clubs, properly fitted, and I needed lessons. I could practice all I wanted, but to be the best I needed the best equipment and the best coaching. I also needed to join a golf club. Enter uncle Trev. Trevor was Dad’s only brother, 2 years younger than Dad, and they were great mates. Trev owned his own business, a butcher shop called ‘Trev’s Fine Meats’, just a 10 minute bike ride from my house.

I spoke to Dad, who spoke to Trev, and it was agreed that I could work at the shop from 6am until 8am each morning before school. This would allow me to practice golf straight after school each afternoon, on the proviso that I was home by 6:30 for dinner and would then immediately do my homework. Of course I immediately agreed to these rules: it was a perfect plan, leaving me plenty of time for golf. And I needed the cash!

The work at uncle Trev’s butcher shop was quite difficult: I had to do a fair bit of heavy lifting and cleaning and carting around boxes and hosing down equipment, but I loved every minute of it.

It was making me stronger and it was making me money. Thanks uncle Trev I said as he handed me my first pay packet, all of $100, a lot of money for a 13 year-old kid. I’ll pay you back one day, I promise.

I excitedly rode home and shoved the five crisp $20 notes into my money box, and logged the amount into my little note book, which I’d clearly marked in big bold thick black texta on the front: ‘GOLF’. According to my best-laid plans, I could work 48 weeks of the year, thus earning $4,800 each year. Because I’d shown initiative and motivation in getting up at 5:30 each morning, Mum and Dad promised to match, dollar for dollar, every cent I earned.

This would allow me to pay for lessons, new clubs and a membership at my local club, Fernleigh Heights Public Golf Course. As it was only 3 years until I turned 16, the clock was ticking for me to get my handicap down to qualify for the North Florida PGA Junior Tour.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Big Mike

T hroughout the 3 years I was aged 13, 14 and 15, I grew about 8 inches to be around 188cm (or 6’2 as Dad would say). As I was so active from dawn until dusk I grew strong and fit, with Mum joking that she couldn’t afford enough food to feed my insatiable appetite.

I joined Fernleigh Heights Public Golf Course and immediately engaged the club pro, Michael ‘Big Mike’ Baxter as my coach. I paid for my first 1 hour lesson, and on a fine Saturday morning he spent 45 minutes putting me through my paces and closely examining and video-taping my swing with a number of different clubs. In between club changes I told him of my plans to be a pro golfer on the US PGA tour. I outlined my 3-year timeline and my blueprint to join the North Florida PGA Junior Tour when I was 16, with a handicap of 2. He seemed impressed by my ambition. I hoped he was equally impressed with my smooth swing and solid ball contact.

For the final 15 minutes of the hour, I nervously awaited his analysis, and the video synopsis. We walked to his little office and ran through the video tape of my swing. I will never forget Mike’s first words as he started up his computer, inserted the thumb drive and turned the monitor around so I could see the video of my swing: We’ve got a lot of work to do Nick.

He kept talking after that, but to be honest I didn’t hear a word he said, I was dumbstruck by his opening comment: ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do Nick’. My fragile, immature ego was hurt. I was stunned and shattered. His words kept playing around in my head. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. All hope and exuberance and positivity had been sucked from my body with those 9 words. I sat there sulking. I was expecting to hear him tell me how good I am, how smooth my swing is, how talented I am and how much potential I have. I wasn’t prepared for this blunt critique.

For a few minutes I sat there, staring blankly at the screen and nodding intermittently to give the pro the impression I was actually listening and absorbing what he was saying, whereas in reality I was feeling sorry for myself. Then a voice inside my head said Wake up to yourself, listen to this advice and I snapped out of my sulky stupor. ‘Big Mike’ had frozen the image at the top of my backswing and was pointing out that I needed to get my right shoulder rotated a bit more just before I started my down swing. It was very good, tangible and practical advice and suddenly some positivity returned to my young, delicate mindset. I then realised this was how I was going to get better. I had to listen to the pro and take his advice. I had to accept criticism and understand I have faults. If I couldn’t or wouldn’t accept this I couldn’t or wouldn’t improve.

That 2 or 3 minutes I spent sulking and feeling sorry for myself was the first and last time I suffered from self-pity. It was a big wake up call for me. I wasn’t perfect, far from it in fact. I had a lot of work to do to achieve my dream of being a golf pro. I listened intently to ‘Big Mike’ finalise his assessment of my swing, and the emotional rollercoaster continued: from moments earlier being devastated at his calculation that we had a lot of work to do, his closing words gave me enormous hope: You’ve got a lot of natural talent Nick, you’re a sweet hitter of the ball, but we’ve got a lot of work to do, and I am confident we can get you to where you need to be to join the PGA tour. But you have to promise me a couple of things he said, his imposing large frame towering over me. Ok I nervously stuttered.

Firstly, you have to accept criticism he said looking at me knowingly. He could tell I’d sulked for a few minutes after his opening remarks. Sure I said, nodding in acknowledgement. Good. Secondly you have to trust me and practice very hard. There will be times you don’t agree or don’t understand what I’m teaching you, but you must trust me and practice hard to get better. Can you do that? Yes Mike, I will do whatever I need to do, whatever you tell me to do. I promise.

Great said ‘Big Mike’, rising to his feet and placing his big strong hand on my shoulder: Nick, you are very talented and clearly very determined. You will have a lot of ups and downs along the journey, believe it or not there will be times you won’t enjoy your golf, but if you stay focused, and keep working hard and stay motivated, I have no doubt that in the next 3 years we can get you to where you want to be. I will see you at 4:30 tomorrow and we can have a look at your short game.

‘Big Mike’ removed