I’ve covered the Fil-Am Invitational in Baguio City for decades — watched champions rise, teams crumble, and legends carve their names into the fairways of John Hay Golf and Baguio Country Club. I thought I knew this tournament inside out.
Then I stepped onto the tee box as a player this year… and discovered the gulf between recreational golf and competitive golf. And no — the divide was not simple. It felt like the gap between intention and reality when your ball hits a pine and comes back faster than your backswing.
You think you know pressure? Try standing on the first tee in front of the veranda of Baguio Country Club gripping your club, while diners, teammates, strangers — and the ghosts of every Fil-Am story you’ve ever written — watch you line up your shot. Suddenly, the fairway shrinks into a narrow alley, the trees grow into skyscrapers, and your knees start sending Morse code.
And then there’s the Stableford format — merciless, surgical, and absolutely unforgiving.
In weekend golf, a double bogey earns a laugh and maybe a friendly insult. In the Fil-Am? Anything worse than bogey means one thing: pickup. Move on. No sympathy.
Let’s just say I racked up enough pickups to fill the SM North EDSA parking lot. I even used a hybrid around the green to keep the ball in play, only to muff a makeable putt to save bogey.
That’s when it hit me: this isn’t your barkada’s Sunday round. This is the Fil-Am — every shot matters, every mistake is punished, and every single point feels like it needs congressional approval.
But here’s the part that surprised me: amid the chaos and self-inflicted wounds, there was a surreal, almost cinematic moment. I realized I was standing on the same tee mound as the very players I had written about for years. The legends. The multi-time Filipino champions. The senior aces. The amateurs who play like pros.
I had interviewed them, covered them, chronicled their wins.
Now… I was teeing off with them.
Not as a journalist. Not as a spectator. But as a competitor, however humble my scorecard looked.
There’s nothing quite like needing a clean shot on John Hay’s 180-yard 15th hole while Tommy Manotoc is watching from behind you. It’s the kind of moment that is both humbling and strangely uplifting. Golf does that — it exposes your flaws, but it also reveals your grit. It reminds you that you can be awful and still belong because showing up takes its own brand of courage.
And yes, even if my Stableford points barely registered, the experience gave me something no press pass ever could: a new kind of appreciation for the Fil-Am, built from inside the ropes. The camaraderie, the nerves, the banter, the pressure of every swing. The instant bond you form with someone you just met because you both chunked an approach on the same hole.
Playing the Fil-Am isn’t just about golf.
It’s about humility. Perspective. Resilience.
And earning the right to laugh at yourself afterward.
Because when I walked off those Baguio fairways — pickups, misfires, and all — I carried something better than a good score: A scorecard full of stories written not from observation, but from participation.
And next year?
Let’s just say I’m already practicing.
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NOTES: A heartfelt thank you to John Hay Golf and John Hay Hotels, and to everyone who made this experience possible: Philippine Sports Commission Chairman Pato Gregorio, Rhayan Cruz of LGR Sportswear, and Rudy Yu of Macbeth. Special shout-out to Raul Encarnacion for looking after our group, and to GMs Buddy Resurreccion of John Hay Golf and Anthony de Leon of Baguio Country Club. On behalf of the gang — Ding Marcelo, Jun Engracia, Dodo Catacutan, Nelson Beltran, and our captain Ramon Bonilla — we’re truly grateful!