Wentworth Golf Club Picture - Source: Wikipedia

We really needed someone in the UK. Business was growing and it was critical that an office be established. We needed to start to interact in-country with customers. The sales team suggested that Scott Shearson might be the best person, but when discussions about moving to London came up he indicated he would go – but only if we could get him a membership at Wentworth Golf Club: Prince Philip’s course, close to Windsor Castle, home of the European PGA, Ryder Cup domain, surrounded by the homes of some of England’s wealthiest families! Agatha Christie had lived there. So had Elton John. Ernie Els lived there and helped to redesign the famous west course. Wentworth had an amazing pedigree. But getting Scott in as a member?

Scott was a golf fanatic. He already had a ticket to the Masters which he dutifully used each year – the unspeakable possibility of not using it meant falling to the bottom of the 25-year waiting list would never happen. And of course, he had played Saint Andrew’s: as luck would have it, he got to play the Old Course by “winning” the ballot for a tee time. “I’d play any of the 6 courses there, but the “old” Course was special”. He had played the Ghala course in Oman, Royal County Down in Northern Ireland, and Ballybunion in Eire. He had played in Indonesia, in India and in Pakistan. He went to Bulgaria to see Gary Player play at Thracian Cliffs Resort. “The most beautiful course I’ve ever played “. He had played golf with Roberto de Vincenzo at the Ranelagh Golf Club in Buenos Aires. “I was awed and charmed by my host but embarrassed by my game.” But a membership at one of the worlds most storied and prestigious courses while still working was bucket list material.

Getting a membership for Scott at Wentworth created some relationship challenges with long time international business partner British Telecom, and some favours were required, big ones as it turned out. But in the end, the deed was accomplished. Wentworth sent him a congratulatory note and Scott happily accepted the membership, and our assignment.

Despite the fact he played frequently and took more lessons than he cared to recount, Scott was at best an average golfer with a handicap of 22 at his home club. He had a magnificent chicken wing swing that sent his ball flying either left or right – but seldom straight. And while he seldom knew where his ball would land, he added such an infectious fervour to his game that people loved to play golf with him. An excellent business skill. And Scott could provide more statistics about world golf courses than a baseball announcer could generate in assessing a pitcher’s potential to last another inning.

It turned out that while Wentworth had agreed to Scott’s membership, certain caveats were placed on his access to play at the esteemed club. Notable among them was a requirement to play to a 20 handicap or less, and a requirement for an introductory letter from his home club professional attesting to his ability to play to that handicap or better, and, of course, to his outstanding character. This requirement necessitated a flurry of golf matches before his posting, with the objective of reducing his handicap to, at most, 20. While he would never admit it, we suspect there were several long “gimme” putts and more than a few “mulligans” to help reduce his scores, but before leaving Canada his pro certified – on home club stationery  – that he indeed had a 20 handicap, and of course,  that he was a gentleman of the highest regard.

While we searched for satisfactory accommodation in London for him, Scott wasted no time in visiting Wentworth. He was met initially by the club Secretary who extended a warm smile and official welcome. She reviewed the membership regulations and code of conduct and the financial obligations. “Just send all that stuff to my office in London”, said Scott. Over a glass of sherry, the Secretary provided a verbal introduction to the club’s management and surprising to her, Scott was very attentive. A relationship man, he never missed a chance to catalogue to memory key names at the club and learn about their roles at the organization. And the Secretary happily shared the information with him. By the third glass of sherry, they were best friends. The Secretary told him that they had set aside a “qualifying” round for him the next Saturday, but the Club Captain would provide details. He had promised to join them after his Women’s Committee meeting ended that evening.

Almost on cue, the Club Captain joined them. Impeccably dressed in the Wentworth tie and clip, he had an air of formality but was immediately likeable. His warm handshake signalled to Scott that the two would hit it off. The Secretary excused herself, saying she had ordered a cab for eight o’clock and must now attend a reception at nearby Sunningdale Golf Club for a retiring comrade. Scott turned to the Captain and said, “didn’t Bobby Jones turn that club upside down with an amazing 66 in the mid-1920’s?”. The Captain nodded agreement with a smile from ear to ear and then he ordered scotch for the two of them as the Secretary bid adieu.  He then began to recount, to Scott’s great satisfaction, the history of the Wentworth club and the many memorable rounds of golf that had been played there. “Sunningdale is nice but overrated compared to our west course”. They talked about each hole on each course, some of the great shots played by both local and international players at both clubs, and why Wentworth was the more formidable test. They discussed the differences between North American fairways and Britain’s, and Scott impressed the Captain with his knowledge of courses in other parts of the world. It was like a game of trivial pursuits – the gold edition – that grew more detailed as more scotch was consumed.

At last, the Captain, in his official capacity, told Scott that he must bring up the obligatory handicap requirements at Wentworth. He dutifully produced Scott’s home professional’s letter and the Golf Canada handicap attestation. “It is a glowing letter, and we are pleased to hear you have played throughout the world. We are particularly impressed that he refers to you as a fine gentleman. From our discussions tonight I can understand his statement. You will fit in well here”, he said. “Wentworth members are of the highest character. I see, as well, that you have greatly improved your game in the last month. That is excellent! We are looking forward to seeing you on Saturday at 8:00am. We have made arrangements with the starter for you to have that tee time. The driving range opens at 7am so you can come a little earlier if you wish to warm up. He felt obliged to clarify, “We trust that you understand and agree that in the interests of ensuring fast play and camaraderie among the members that a handicap maximum must be met. While we are confident you will have no difficulty meeting that requirement, we do know there are unique differences in playing conditions between here and Canada. And if someone fails to meet that requirement, we still offer “twilight” tee off times through the week until handicaps are reduced”. The Captain added, “We have two excellent teaching professionals here at Wentworth, which I am sure you will take advantage of”. Scott, the consummate sales guy, smiled and nodded and did not flinch with the discussion about qualifying (until he got back to the hotel where he obsessively began practicing his putting in preparation for his Saturday match).

Saturday came quickly and Scott came early to practice before the game. At 7:50 he met the starter and enquired about his foursome. “We purposely left a tee time vacant before and after your time. You’ll be joined by the Secretary and club Captain”, he said. At that moment they appeared, resplendent in Wentworth official uniform. “Good morning. A perfect day for your test match, Mr. Shearson”, said the Secretary. “The best to you today, Mr. Shearson. The Greenskeeper has moved the white tees up just for you today. Should take the edge off things for you”. Scott shook their hands and noted his excitement to be playing his first match at Wentworth.” Where are you clubs”, he said. “Oh, Mr. Shearson, we are not playing. Our job today is to observe your round, and the Captain will provide you with some local course knowledge should you need it. We will only be accompanying you for nine holes”. Scott’s smile disappeared for a moment then quickly reappeared. He understood the need to always build on relationships in every meeting and interaction. Still, he felt a twinge of nervousness as he teed his ball up. Happily, the ball sliced beautifully from left to right and landed in the fairway.

As he played and finished each hole the Secretary dutifully recorded his score. Scott managed to keep from losing his original ball, benefitting from the experienced and watchful eyes of his audience, but he found the hard-sloping fairways difficult to hold his shots. He was often hitting out of the rough adjoining the fairway. And regularly, when hitting from the rough, his club would become entangled in the wire-like grasses, and his ball would roll sadly down the fairway. He also found it strange when hitting off the fairways that the turf seemed dry, but his ball always sat up perfectly on the fairway in anticipation of his next stroke. Putting was initially difficult, as Wentworth greens measure almost 12 on the Stimpmeter, certainly much faster than anything Scott had recently played on. But as he played on, he expressed a great admiration to the Captain that each green seemed to to be consistent in speed and firmness. “We’re experimenting with something new – the SubAir system that was pioneered by Augusta National. It creates amazing consistency in greens moisture content”, said the Captain proudly.  Wentworth was a treat to play, and despite his dribbling rescues from the rough, Scott felt that he was playing close to his regular game and handicap.

When they came to the ninth hole Scott was feeling confident. A double bogey or less should qualify him, he thought. The ninth was a par 5 dogleg right playing just under 500 yards. The Captain offered some advice, “Be mindful of the Ellis River on your right, and an errant tee shot to the left could find you at the bottom of Lake Madeline”. When hearing this Scott thought, “Why did he have to say that?”

He was more than a little excited when his drive cleared the Ellis River and stayed on the fairway – one big problem out of the way. He topped his next two shots but remained in the fairway. Now just a seven iron to the green. He hit it well but slightly to the left. Suddenly it careened sideways and then seemed to disappear. “Oh dear, Mr. Shearson, I believe you went into Hell’s Bunker”, said the Secretary. “Why do they call it that”, asked Scott as they quickly walked toward the left of the green. “It’s the devil’s work”, she said. The Captain then went on to say, “ In the 1960’s Harold Henning looked like a shoe-in to win the British Match Play championship but he hit his ball into Hell’s Bunker and took four shots to get out. It just broke his concentration, and he lost the Championship on the 16th hole. A sad day that one”. “While the Bunker has been here for many years, it was augmented and deepened by bombing in the Second World War. The greenskeeper is actually thinking of modifying it as it is just too difficult to maintain”.

When Scott got to the bunker, he noticed a ladder at the edge, and at the bottom was his ball. It must have been 15 feet or more deep. Slowly he went down the ladder, his sand wedge in hand. He walked to his ball and found the sand to be surprisingly soft. He glanced up to see the Secretary standing with her arms folded across her chest and the Captain on the other side indicating to Scott where the flag would be. “About 15 yards to the pin”, he offered. Scott lined up, reminding himself to hit behind the ball and finish his swing. A good swing…but not enough. The ball hit the upper portion of the Bunker and fell back. “Two more tries and I should still be okay”, thought Scott. His next was not his best and it rolled back into the Bunker. He glared at the ball, forced himself to concentrate. He swung mightily but once again the ball did not make it a dropped to the sand. He was devastated and could only think of playing as the sun was setting on the east course for the rest of the year.

“Stop right there Mr. Shearson”, exclaimed the Captain. He descended into the Bunker, one step at a time down the access ladder. “That was a valiant effort, Mr. Shearson, but sometimes you have to accept the inevitable punishment in golf”. Scott’s head dropped as he felt totally deflated at failing his test. “Allow me to introduce you to the Great English Hand Wedge”, said the Captain. He picked up Scott’s ball and threw it out of the Hell’s Bunker. “You’ve passed the qualification round. Welcome as a playing member of Wentworth”. The Secretary applauded as they both climbed out of the Bunker.

Surprisingly, Scott sunk his putt following the amazing Great English Hand Wedge recovery shot from Hell’s Bunker. The Bunker was widened and filled in later that year, but Scott retained his Great English Hand Wedge for numerous emergencies he faced at Wentworth (and elsewhere) that year.