In 2004, nobody on a golf course could touch Lonnie Hawkins. Two decades later, he is the only one who hasn't quite caught up to how much that has changed.

The Hawk sits with him deep in the unglamorous part of a career, the part after the highlight reels stop adding new footage. Players half his age move past him on leaderboards he used to dominate, sponsorship calls thin out, and his son Lance has become the sport's new golden boy without apparently needing his father's guidance to get there.

None of it dents Lonnie's certainty. He still believes one clean run at the final major he needs to complete golf's Grand Slam is going to bring all of it back.

Some days that looks like grit. Other days it looks like a man who hasn't noticed the room has moved on without him.