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In July 2000, I was playing in the Ohio Open at Tam O’Shanter Golf Club in Canton, Ohio, when the worst day of my golfing career turned out to be the best.

As I began play in my first round, I was around even par after four holes. Then it happened — I began hitting the ball off the hosel. See, for years I had struggled with this problem. I sought advice from golf publications, instructors and friends but couldn’t find a way to rid myself of this dreadful shot. Sometimes I found an aspirin but never a cure. I ended my first day shooting in the upper 70s.

I was so beaten down by my swing that I was tempted to break every club in my bag. I simply wanted to quit. I walked to my car, put my clubs in my trunk and was about to head back to my hotel when I realized I’d left my pullover at the driving range earlier that morning.

While at the range, the rain began to fall lightly as it had intermittently throughout the day. Not a soul was around. I noticed there were a few golf balls in a bucket near one of the hitting mats, so I grabbed an old nine iron leaning on the ball machine and hit a ball, out of anger as hard as I could. It flew perfectly. So I hit another … and another, and they, too, soared beautifully. Astonished, I ran back to my car and grabbed my clubs, wondering if I’d been struck by lightening.

For the rest of the evening, I hit shot after shot, and I never missed one. Whatever club I chose, whatever target I picked, the shots were incredibly accurate. Before long, I had hit five large buckets, but I felt like I’d only set up to my first ball. In all my years of golf, I’d never hit a series of balls with such precision. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t try to analyze what I was doing, I got in my car and headed back to my hotel.

Surprisingly, I hit solid golf shots the next day of the tournament until about the last five holes, when my swing left me again. Of course, I was disappointed, but I couldn’t let go of the thrill I felt the evening before. For once in my life, if just for a few hours, I had found my authentic swing.

My sole mission then was to rediscover it. Because I’d found my authentic swing on my own, I began to trust my thinking and ability regarding the game. Not to say I stopped consulting instruction or reading materials; I just ingrained the ideals and philosophies that were best suited for my game. It took some time for me to unearth my swing again, but when I did, I understood why.

I believe every player has an authentic swing. It’s something natural, innate. Players often get so wrapped up in unnecessarily complicated golf instruction that they stop listening to their bodies. Believe me, I know. For years, I waded through confusing and contradictory advice before focusing on what really works for me.