Greg Johnston grew up without golf in his blood or in his mind. He just stumbled into it in the summer of 1987, when he signed up to be a caddy at the Corning Classic in his hometown, Corning, N.Y., to make a few bucks. One thing led to another, and seven years later he was on the bag of one of the LPGA's most popular players, Juli Inkster.

Then, in 2003, Inkster had to pull out of a Portland tournament at the last minute, and Johnston got a call from BJ Wie. His daughter needed a caddy for the Safeway Classic. Could he fill in just for the week? Johnston said sure, why not? Inkster didn't mind at all. She advised him to keep in touch with the Wies after the tournament, because she wouldn't play forever, and she wanted her friend to have a place to go after she left the scene.

Just before the first round of the tournament, BJ steered his daughter aside and said, with Johnston standing next to them,  "Michelle, you do everything Greg says."

That would stick with Johnston for a long time.

Wie followed Johnston's lead on the odd occasion when he filled in again over the next two years. He had never seen any girl swing so well or hit so far. He had no idea how to advise her at first, since she hit mid-irons where some women players hit woods. So he simply read her putts and watched her go. Wie finished sixth in the 2005 Wendy's Championship in Ohio, after which she and her family drove to a Cincinnati suburb for the U.S. Amateur Public Links championship, the male equivalent of the only tournament Wie won. Except there were two huge differences: a woman had never entered this event, and the winner got an invitation to The Masters.

Johnston booked a flight to Europe on the same day as the Sunday final, figuring he'd leave after Wie was eliminated, return home to Virginia, and fly to meet Inkster for the Evian Masters. The only risk to his travel plans was if Wie made the final. It was not a huge chance to take, Johnston figured, since no woman had ever even made it out of the stroke play in the qualifying stage of any USGA men's event, let alone reached the end of the 64-player match play bracket. Even BJ had booked his family's ticket to Europe for the Evian Masters in advance.

Then Wie made it through stroke play, shooting 76 and 72 to make the round of 64 by one stroke. And Johnston started thinking about that plane ticket.

BEATING THE MEN

Wie's first-round opponent was Will Claxton from Auburn. Not much of a matchup: 15-year-old girl against a dominant college male. But somehow Wie came from two holes down to tie the match going into the final hole, a 420-yard par 4 that ended in a peninsula green.

After her drive, she had 180 to the pin, which was tucked left and precariously near the pond. Johnston, once again, didn't quite know what club to suggest. It didn't matter. Wie silently took out a 6-iron and aimed for the flag. It was the first of many times when Johnston wondered to himself how the girl thought she could make such a shot. But he stood back and watched the ball arc right at the pin and drop onto the green like a feather, 15 feet from the hole. Wie sank the birdie putt, and won the match.

"She's a great golfer," Claxton said afterwards.  "But I guess you already know that. The whole world knows that."

The next day, a knot of USGA officials gathered behind the first tee to observe how opponents reacted to Wie. One college-age boy actually seemed to shake in his spikes, terrified of losing to a 15-year-old girl: Wie creamed him. An older gentleman got so rattled that he asked his caddy to fetch him a beer between the ninth green and the 10th hole: Wie dispatched him before he could finish his beverage.

She was the only person on the course not surprised by her success.

Wie beat three opponents, made the quarterfinals, going the improbable distance from one girl against 63 men to one girl against seven. Johnston now had two different bags to carry on two different continents. Additional ropes were brought in from the U.S. Senior Open in nearby Kettering just to keep the crowds contained. Journalists from the New York Times and Sports Illustrated and ESPN and the Golf Channel hurried to Cincinnati, so many media that USGA officials ran out of press passes, and reporters had to write their names on labels and stick them on their shirts.

At St. Andrews, reporters gathered at the British Open to witness Jack Nicklaus' last trip across Swilcan Bridge started to huddle around computer screens in the media tent. Someone would scream out Wie's score after each hole, causing it to fill with an excited buzz.

Wie stood 36 hours and three rounds of golf away from qualifying for the Masters, the most prestigious golf event at the most exclusive golf club in America, one that did not allow women to become members.

DRAWS HUGE CROWD

Clay Ogden laughed when he first saw the mob around Wie as he made his way to the first tee in the quarterfinals on that sticky July Friday morning.

"I was like, 'What is this?' " he recalled. Ogden was only 20, and a rising sophomore at BYU, but he had power and cool and looked almost ready to step out onto the PGA Tour.

"There were people lined up three-deep around the tee box," Ogden said. "And 75 yards down the fairway. It was crazy."

It was a day Ogden never forgot. "I remember everything," he said a year later. He remembered the way Wie struck the ball, the way she whipped through her turn without losing any balance, the way she handled the pressure as if it was nothing.

He even remembered specific shots, like on the 4th when Wie nailed a 190-yard approach to within 15 feet of the hole. Ogden took out his 5-iron and stared at the white speck right by the pin. He had no choice but to aim for Wie's ball. He did, and watched as his shot sailed right at it, then landed even closer to the flag. Ogden birdied five out of his first six holes. ("I was in a zone.")

Ogden noticed something else:  "I would say 'Good shot' or 'Good putt,' but I never got any response out of her." He wondered why. Was Wie simply in her own world? Didn't she know anything about common golf etiquette? Was she just plain rude? Or was it something else? "If somebody gives you a compliment," he said,  "respond to it. At least acknowledge it."

But people in the gallery didn't know or care. When Ogden made a good shot, which was often on this day, one single man was heard applauding or cheering above the mostly silent gallery: Ogden's father. But even as his son birdied hole after hole, the chatter remained about the girl:

Beyond comprehension ...

So much more confident than most boys ...

I wish I could play like a 15-year-old girl ... .

But on this day, Ogden was better. And in the shadows of the tree-lined 14th green, he went up 5-to-4 and eliminated Wie. The crowd erupted in applause, as much for the girl's valiant effort as for Ogden's victory. No one in the gallery knew it at the time, but the match that day was the last time Michelle Wie would ever play a tournament in the United States as an amateur.

Later that night, USGA official Marty Parkes checked into his hotel and logged on to check Google's top news stories for the day. No. 1 was Karl Rove testifying in front of a grand jury. No. 2 was a story on the aftermath of the London subway bombings. And No. 3 was Michelle Wie falling just short in her quest for The Masters.

The days ahead would bring what can only be called "Michelle Mania." Example: a Seattle newspaper column with the headline,  "Wie Wins 2015 Masters," in which the columnist called the missed cut "a trifle, a necessary plot turn for what will become a great — and historic — American success story."

Only an hour or so after the match with Ogden, Michelle gabbed animatedly on her cell phone as her parents loaded up their rented minivan. The three Wies jumped into the van and rode to a nearby Italian restaurant. Michelle wanted to order quickly so she could see a showing of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" starring her favorite actor, Johnny Depp.

She was a kid again.

The three settled in at a circular table. Bread came, and BJ dived in, but Michelle simply watched, saying she was on a diet. BJ talked about the family's upcoming trip to Europe for two tournaments and a fashion show featuring his daughter, followed by a return to New York for an appearance on "The Late Show with David Letterman." The Wies grinned as the waiter went through his list of specials.

But then the subject of the weekend's tournament came up again, and the mood at the table shifted. "I don't feel like I've proven anything yet," Michelle said. And she told a story about the men's tournament on O'ahu that she tried to enter as a child. "They said, 'Men only. Always has been, always will be,'" Wie remembered with a set jaw and no smile. "I never got to play that tournament."

BJ chimed in: "Most of the criticisms of her are unreasonable. They are encouraging a very small dream. That bothers me."

"It's the PGA Tour," Michelle said emphatically.  "Not the MPGA. I don't think it's insulting or degrading anyone by stating my goals. I have different ways of doing things. I don't want to be seen as a woman golfer breaking barriers. I want to make people think."

But she had already done that earlier that same day. Now the name Michelle Wie meant "the girl who plays against men." She had come so far so fast that the only thing left to prove was that she could actually win on the LPGA Tour and actually compete on the PGA Tour. Suddenly the world wanted that to happen fast. And perhaps more importantly, the Wies themselves wanted it to happen fast. So BJ called Johnston soon after the U.S. Publinx and told him that Michelle was turning pro, and that the family wanted him as their full-time caddy.

Julie Inkster figured she would lose Johnston sooner or later, maybe in three years or so, but it happened much, much sooner than either expected. She was upset. Johnston was torn. But the decision was as obvious to the caddy as it was to the family.

The time was now.