Why does miniature golf make that special Saturday night so magical? Is it the nubby green turf? The plastic Paul Bunyan with a tiny golf ball-sized mouth? The tiny putters you get stuck with when all the adult-sized clubs have some-how disappeared? For Peter A. Gilchrist '00, Harvard's very own miniature golfing champion, "putt-putt golfing" has been the source of tremendous success.

The Miniature Golf Association of America (MGAA) was founded six years ago by a gentleman named Skip Laun who, Gilchrist says, "Is a jerk. As far as I have been able to tell, his only goal was to make some money out of the deal, which i believe he has done thanks to various sponsorships." Europe Gilchrist explains, has a "much more organized system of tournaments, culminating in the European Championships held every year in August."

As for "real" golf, Gilchrist confesses, "I'm an awful golfer. People say golf is relaxing, but I'm more annoyed and upset after nine holes of golf than after just about anything else."

His competitive career began in September 1995 when he won the Northeast Regional Tournament, which was conveniently held in his hometown of Boothbay Harbor, Maine. After winning that tournament, he advanced to MGAA nationals that October. And as Gilchrist so cleverly states, "The ball started rolling from there."

He won the national title that year, and placed third in 1997 and sixth this year. Gilchrist also won the Northeast Regional Competiton in 1995, and placed second and third in 1997 and 1998, respectively. His parents are certainly not miniature fans of mini-golf--this past year at the regionals, Gilchrist lost to his mother.

As with most professional sports circuits, miniature golf has its share--and then some--of colorful characters. "One could compile a set of photographs from this year's national tournament that would paint a pretty sad picture of man," Gilchrist says. "From the tournament director's idea of cool entertainment--some drunk guy with a microphone standing under a Baskin Robbins canopy--to the assorted collection of people the tournament attracts, each trip definitely leaves me with a handful of stories."

At the Nationals tournament, Gilchrist was on par with the best in the miniature golfing world. "The regulars are always there," Gilchrist remembers. "Tom Dixon, the best miniature golfer in the world, as he likes to call himself, shows up every year in his 18-wheeler, as do Tommy Thelin, the Swedish Miniature Golf Champ, Elmer Lawson, the man who decided to get married at the sixth hole of this particular course in 1997, as well as the group of middle-aged preppies, one of who, in response to compliment from me last year, stuck his nose up and said, 'We're professionals.'"

Gilchrist stresses, however, that he is definitely not a professional. "I don't intend to make a career out of it. Harvard doesn't train well for it anyway." The rigors of academia have certainly begun to take its toll on the wunderkid. He adds," When my roommate came to visit me this summer, we decided to play mini-golf. I was losing through the ninth hole." No longer burdened by the celebrity appearances, lucrative commercial endorsements and high-profile talk show guest shots, Gilchrist affirms that for now, mini-golf is but "a relaxing waste of time."