So, here’s the deal, right? Augusta, Friday afternoon, and up there on the second-floor porch, there’s a whole bunch of people gobbling down their lunches, probably feeling all sophisticated and proper because, well, it’s Augusta. Meanwhile, elsewhere, Nick Dunlap’s living a different reality. Picture this: he’s standing on the first tee, barely holding it together. It’s like his insides are throwing a tantrum – stomach’s knotted, mind’s all over the place, hands are sweaty. Classic mess. But here he is anyway, 21, staring down this internal battlefield. Fight-or-flight moment, and he’s swinging toward ‘fight.’
Some voice in the crowd near the tee mumbles, “Man, give him credit — he showed up.” His friend’s crunching numbers, probably way off but still. Like, even if Nick pulled out a course miracle, shot a 62 – not happening, buddy. But something about just being here was good enough for them. Before Tiger, I guess you’d always see guys play the second round after the first, no matter how much they tripped over their own feet. Dropping out’s more normal now. Yet here he is, just for showing up, doing a bit of an underdog gig.
Oh, and if you’re craving Michael Bamberger’s galaxy of thoughts, you might want to paddle over to InsideGOLF. Just saying.
So, Dunlap tanked Thursday with a solid ‘90’ – the kind of score that screams “red flags and problems” louder than a rowdy fan in a library. Not a shocker for him, apparently. He’d been on this tangent for a bit, possibly longer than the rest of us knew. But 90? Ouch.
The guy calling the tee – all official like with his “Fore please — now driving” Augusta ritual – sent him off while Dunlap’s companions, Billy Horschel and Robert MacIntyre, went guns blazing with their drivers. Dunlap played it safer with a 3-wood. Good call, trying to keep some TV booth or a hot-dog stand from becoming collateral damage.
Dunlap’s Thursday launch: straight into tree territory, naturally. Nightmare scene continuing. And he lugs his gear uphill, 50 paces from his crew, like it’s lonely trek through a desert.
Then, plot twist time! Out of nowhere, he scrapes a par from the chaos at one, and by hole 10, he’s 3 under for the day. The wind’s howling like a banshee, greens are tough as week-old biscuits, but he’s doing it. Scoreboards are throwing a blank next to his name like they’re doing him a solid. Back in the day, apparently, pros like Billy Casper got this treatment too when struggling to drag a 90 out over the finish line. Odd support, kinda? Yet here’s Dunlap, nailing some of the day’s sharpest rounds despite the madness. Not exactly text-book golf, but effective. After the 10, par! But then a driver plops a shot closer to the 14th green than the 11th fairway. Still, another par. It’s like watching someone assemble IKEA furniture without instructions or even a tool – baffling, yet they somehow make it work.
And what’s Rory doing? Oh, hanging in the Press Building, spinning tales of his day. Just came off a rocky 72 and banged out a stellar 66. Swinging from chipper to downer – talk about sports mood swings. He gripes about a moment on Thursday where he botched it with a chip into drink at 15. Self-scolding ensued. “Hey, idiot,” probably crossing his mind. True golfer self-talk reality.
Someone asks Rory about Dunlap’s rollercoaster: “Reminds me of Memorial, 2014,” he shares. A tale of two rounds, from a 63 smile-fest to 79 despair. He’s got this Nicklaus anecdote where the golf legend playfully wonders how a 16-shot difference was even possible. Golf’s quirky like that – volatile, like trying to keep a wobbly balloon in the air while juggling bare-handed on an oil-slick. Conditions lay waste, momentum wrong-foots you.
“We’re all great players,” Rory assures. “Masters-bound, capable of good scores.” Alright then.
Dunlap’s got this little gaggle watching, his mum and a mate tagging along. Once upon a time, back when he bagged the American Express title, crowds were larger: parents, girlfriend, agents, swing coaches. Now? Landscape’s shifted a bit. She’s climbing the hill on 18, tells anyone who’ll listen, “That boy fights. Doesn’t quit.” Every motherly pride, right?
If you’re still here, Dunlap has gone four under after a 15 hole birdie, but oops, triplets of bogeys to finish. When you’re barely scraping through, home beckons more than a warm hearth to a winter traveler. He scribbles down a 71 at the end, quite the 19-point upswing. He’s no fool to reality’s harsh whispers, seeing that kind of truth’s a rare thing among pros.
Someone asks how yesterday felt compared to today. Both days held the same vibe, he admits. Honest to the point it makes you wince.
Two years on from launching this pro journey, Dunlap labels it like this: “Extremely rewarding, yeah. But humbling, frustrating too. Call golf a lonely road – worse if your game’s tanking.”
So, the drama continues Thursday night, as he bizarrely swings away in his rental backyard with random, emergency-bought balls from a local Target. An odd escape plan, but hey, swings ‘n roundabouts, they say. Looking for that elusive comfort, a swing to call home.
As 18th’s behind them, Horschel pats Dunlap’s back, saying it proudly: “Good job on that tough round.” Dunlap’s worn-out, eyes with that tell-tale look of battle fatigue heading into the scorer’s.
“I won’t give up,” he retorts. Next stop, Hilton Head to do it all over again.
Michael Bamberger’s thoughts are just an email away if you’re into it: [email protected]
