Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Author, speaker, entrepreneur, and mental training coach are the roles Dr. David L. Cook has assumed over the past two decades. His clients have included NBA World Champions, National Collegiate Champions, PGA Tour Champions, Olympians, and many Fortune 500 companies. He is the author of the bestselling book Golf’s Sacred Journey. He and his wife, Karen have been married for over 35 years, have two daughters, and live in the hill country of Texas.

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Golfers and non-golfers alike will be moved by the powerful transformation that takes place in Golf's Sacred Journey.

“Read it. Devour it. Keep it as a reference book. You'll be glad you did. Golf's Sacred Journey is a remarkable and encouraging story with an entirely different approach on how to succeed in your golf game.”
--Zig Ziglar, leading motivational expert and bestselling author

“This book is full of wisdom that will enhance your game and I believe it just may change your life.”
--David Robinson, NBA MVP, 1992 Olympic Gold Medalist, Two Time World Champion

“A truly thought provoking and straight-forward story that prompts you to close it up on occasion and say, ‘I got it!'”
--Terry W. Darrow, Amazon® review, 10/17/08

This book is about influence. The story is based on thousands of athletes the author has counseled, and the great mentors and teachers from whom he has learned, told through the lives of two characters--a rancher with a passion for teaching truth and a young golf professional at the end of his rope.

They represent each of us in the various stages of growth. In life we must be willing to coach and be coached, for either one alone will leave us empty.

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Golf's Sacred Journey

Zondervan

Contents

Foreword by Tom Lehman.......................11Acknowledgments..............................15Introduction.................................171. A Fork in the Road........................192. The Links of Utopia.......................313. Conviction................................394. Shadow-Casting............................495. Signing a Masterpiece.....................636. Tradition vs. Truth.......................717. Pilot's Checklist.........................898. Hickory Sticks............................1039. Buried Lies...............................12310. A New Voice..............................13911. Destiny Knocks...........................145Epilogue.....................................159

Chapter One

How can a game have such an effect on a man's soul?

It was a scene all too familiar. I had entered this tournament with high hopes. This was going to be my breakthrough. Finally, after years of hard work and practice, my time had arrived. I entered the last round of this mini tour event within two shots of the lead. With an errant shot here, and a poor club selection there, and a three putt on the par five that I hit in two, I came to the back nine needing to make something happen. A 36 on the front left me three back with nine to go.

I began to press as I headed into the final nine. I knew better, but the adrenaline seduced my logic. Unbeknownst to me, I had just engaged the melt-down sequence.

On the tenth I pulled my shot slightly into the trees left. I pulled it because I feared the water hazard to the right. I found my ball in a small thicket of oaks. I figured I had to make a move on this nine so I decided to take a risk. After all, half the field birdied this hole on the previous day.

I saw an opening between the trees, so I tried to hit a low hook and get home in two on this short par five. Instead, it caught a limb and kicked deeper into the trees.

I couldn't just chip out now. I would be giving two shots to the field. My playing partner stood in the fairway with an iron in his hand seeming to be irritated that I was taking so long. I made a quick decision to thread the needle one more time. If I hit the green, I would still have a chance for birdie. My swing was fine but the grass behind the ball flipped the club head slightly shut, and my shot hammered a big oak, ricocheting into an area of deep grass left of the thicket. I was still out, so I hurried to find my ball. I knew it was there. I felt a panic brewing when I couldn't quickly find the ball. The grass was well above my ankles.

My playing partner was looking back at the group pushing us from behind. He was becoming angrier by the moment, not wanting our group to be put on the clock. I motioned to him to go ahead and hit. He did, and walked off in a huff after missing the green to the left. Like I had anything to do with it. He didn't come over to help. He couldn't have cared less; it wasn't his problem. His job was to beat me.

I looked back at the tee. There were two groups waiting now. I was holding up the entire field. I could feel my heart racing, the cotton was gathering in my mouth. My time was up. I had to return to the trees and drop another ball. Hurriedly, I dropped the ball without scouting out the best scenario for my drop. It landed on bare ground and bounded a few feet, resting in front of an exposed root. From my vantage point, the ball looked as if it had rolled more than two club lengths, allowing me to drop again. But I wasn't sure.

I heard the guys behind me yelling to hurry up. I saw my partner up the fairway gesturing to a rules official. I quickly grabbed a club, a seven iron, and proceeded to punch out. I picked a large opening, and without a plan in mind, hit the shot for the narrow neck of the fairway. I caught it a little thin, sending the ball scurrying across the fairway. Surely it would stop. It caught a burned out area and continued to roll toward the water hazard. I was crumbling inside. Surely this must be a dream.

The official drove up and asked why I was taking so long. Before I could answer, he said that I was on the clock and it was ticking. We went to find my ball. There it was inside the hazard, slightly nestled in greenish-brown slime at the edge of the lake. I had about 175 yards to the green. I knew I could advance it, and I felt like I might be able to get it to the green. The question was where to stand. It was wet and marshy where I needed to take my stance. On any other day I would take my shoes off and get after it, but the clock was ticking and the official had no sympathy. I grabbed a six iron and went in after it. My shoes were sinking in the mud, but I felt that I had to hit this shot. I wasn't going to wimp out now. As I took the club back my right foot sank up to my ankle. My balance was off, but I couldn't stop the swing. I tried to compensate, but there was no chance for a recovery. The club hit two inches behind the ball, catching the slime and mud. I felt the pain shoot through my left wrist all the way up to my shoulder as the club came to an abrupt stop in the thick goo. The ball moved forward a couple inches slowly sinking in the slimy water.

My shoe came off as I tried to step out of the mud. There were now three groups on the tee behind me. I was so embarrassed I wanted to quit. The official said to drop a ball and hit while he graciously helped retrieve my shoe. My shirt was covered with slime, my six iron was caked with mud, my right foot was shoeless, and I was still 175 yards from the green. My caddie threw me another ball. I dropped it and took a swing almost before it had stopped rotating on the ground. My barefoot slipped causing the ball to go low and left. It wound up in the left bunker, with a left-tucked pin. It didn't matter at that point; I was just trying to keep my sanity.

The official gave me my shoe, which was covered in dark brown muck and felt as heavy as a brick from all the water it had absorbed. I threw it to the caddy and continued to walk up the fairway with one bare foot. My playing partner had putted out for birdie and was waiting impatiently on the next tee, letting me know from his body language that I was ruining his day.

I hurriedly reached my ball in the bunker. I had a downhill lie with the green sloping away. The pin was tucked close in on the left, and a lake stared at me across the green. I was numb except for the sensation of tears building in my eyes, clouding my vision. I gave it my best shot, barely avoiding the lake. I took three putts to get home from there. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I slammed my putter into the ground, snapping it in two. The head buried deep into the earth. I screamed an obscenity and left the putter head in the ground. I was way too proud to try to dig it out in front of the gallery.

The rules official met me on the tee box and assessed me one shot for slow play and two for the tirade he just witnessed.

A couple of old college buddies saw me and ran up and asked how I was doing. They had come out to watch because they had seen that I was near the lead after day one. I yelled at them to leave me alone, not knowing they had just arrived and had not witnessed my previous hole. I was out of control. Any psychiatrist would have committed me at that moment. I had all the symptoms of a suicidal maniac. I had lost all sense of reality. In my...