Wilmington, Del. — Michael Tobiason Jr. arrived early this week.
Most golfers opted for the official tournament hotel, which was offered to the elite group of U.S. Open participants at the special rate of $195 per night.
Explore how the pros have played Congressional Country Club in past tournaments.
But Tobiason lacks the pedigree, the pretense and the bankroll. He doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page. So he, his caddie and a couple of friends checked into a discount hotel that featured a king-size bed, a pull-out sofa and enough space for a couple of air mattresses. Total cost: $40 a night.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, to be honest,” said Tobiason, perhaps the most unlikely member of the 156-golfer field scheduled to tee off this week at Bethesda’s Congressional Country Club.
There was no exemption for the 27-year-old Tobiason, who won his spot in the U.S. Open field through a pair of qualifying tournaments. He’s a grinder, the kind of competitor who, if he ever saw a silver spoon, would probably trade it away for a better set of clubs. His caddie works at the nearby prison. He attended a small Division II school near his home. He’s spent his professional years picking up modest paychecks on Florida’s minor tours in the winter and working in the summers as an assistant club pro to fund his fading dream. And he still lives with his mother while he saves money and has to suffer long stretches away from his son.
Tobiason will tee off on Thursday morning in anonymity alongside millionaires named Phil and Ernie — the game’s giants who are backed by corporate sponsors and consider the Open part of their annual routine.
“Most of the people who are playing have probably spent more time doing national high-level tournaments,” said Eric MacCluen, Tobiason’s first golf coach. “Michael is out here in Wilmington, teaching little kids how to golf on a soccer field at the YMCA.”
‘Their special bond’
Michael Sr. and Joan Tobiason bought their 6-year-old son golf clubs and some lessons for Christmas. Golf, they figured, might be something father and son could finally do together.
They’d also given him a Nintendo, which seemed like a better present those first couple of months. Joan would drop her son off for his lesson and like clockwork, she’d get a phone call five minutes later from MacCluen. Her son was ready to be picked up.
But Tobiason was physically bigger than the other kids and his natural talent quickly surfaced. When he started winning junior tournaments and posting low scores, his love for the sport was sealed.
“He’s always said, ‘I’m gonna be a golf pro when I grow up. And I’m gonna be on TV,’ ” Joan said.
Perhaps more importantly, the sport cemented a son’s relationship with his father. The elder Tobiason was a soft-spoken man who didn’t open up to just anybody. But on the golf course, it was just the two of them, walking through a park and chatting.
“That was their special bond,” Joan said.
Tobiason attended Goldey-Beacom College and played for four years on the golf team, never wavering on his post-college plans. When he graduated, he saved up $3,000 and loaded his clothes and clubs into his 2005 Chevy Malibu. He drove to Florida to play on golf’s minor league circuit but wasn’t even sure where he’d lay his head at night.
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