Andrew Landry Searching For Self-belief

In college they called me Roadrunner. My freshman year, I weighed 115 pounds, but I hit these low bullets off the tee that ran out 280 yards. Not exactly Golden Bear, Tiger or Great White Shark, but better to have a nickname than nothing.

- Max Adler

In college they called me Roadrunner. My freshman year, I weighed 115 pounds, but I hit these low bullets off the tee that ran out 280 yards. Not exactly Golden Bear, Tiger or Great White Shark, but better to have a nickname than nothing.

I WAS A COCKY LITTLE S___.  My older brother and our friends learned golf at a Groves, Tex., muny known as The Pea Patch. It had no bunkers, dry water hazards, internal out-of-bounds whose only function was adding interest to the treeless, flat ground—it was about the worst golf course you could imagine. Except the tiny, raised greens taught you to scramble.

 

I'M NOT THE FIRST PGA TOUR WINNER RAISED AT THE PEA PATCH. Chris Stroud grew up there, too, and I followed him to Lamar University. But the best decision I ever made was transferring to the University of Arkansas when Lamar’s head coach got the job there. I think I’d have followed Brad McMakin anywhere. His assistant, Layne Savoie, would make me practice my short game for 10 hours before I could get a lesson. Ditching the idea of trying to out-ball-strike other golfers helped make me a three-time All-American.

 

BUT MY FIRST FOUR YEARS AS A PRO, I STRUGGLED. I lived in Baton Rouge, and no club in the area would grant me playing privileges. The only person who respected me as a golfer was the coach at LSU, who’d let me hit balls on the back of the range. The only rounds I played were in tournaments. Friends asked when I was going to give it up.