by James Ross
“Stay focused,” J Dub urged his friend. “Can you get enough club on the ball to get it back out in the fairway?” He bent over and looked at the lie. “You identified it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s mine,” Opur said.
“Opur’s got a dilemma on the first hole,” Trent Tee announced over the air waves.
“He’s got to simply try and get it out of there,” Callum said. “Take your poison and keep the damage to a minimum.”
“What’s he doing now?” Trent said as the pair peered at the action below.
“He’s got a little bit of a directional problem,” Callum said. “With the way the ball is lying in the heather he may have to pitch backwards away from the green. That might be the only way that he can get the ball back in play.”
Opur reached into his bag and grabbed his pitching wedge. His first attempt over the ball was straight sideways and back into the fairway. However he continued to rotate his body until he was almost facing the tee box. After determining the best direction to hit the shot he swung as hard as he could. The ball moved thirty yards.
“He won’t drop a clanger here. He’ll be gutted if he does.” The description caused Trent to chuckle.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“This is an easy birdie for him. If he’s doesn’t get a three here he’ll be mildly upset.” Tank proceeded to knock the ball stiff. It came to rest five feet from the hole.
“Match is on,” Trent declared.
“And the challenge now for Opur is to get the ball up and down,” Callum confirmed. “He can only lose two shots on the first hole. Three might be disastrous.”
Opur and J Dub looked at their shot from behind the green. The ball had carried into the first cut of rough. “It’s uphill to the hole,” J Dub started. “The ball should release out of this lie. But make sure you leave yourself an uphill putt. Past the pin is straight downhill because of the false front and may roll all the way into the fairway.” He wanted to stress the positive. “Keep this shot short. We’ll knock it in.”
As Opur executed the chip shot Callum gasped again in the television booth. “It’s not going to roll out that much! He’s left himself at least fifteen feet.”
“Now he has to put enough pace on the ball to get it to the hole, but anything too far past the cup is disastrous,” Trent said.
“I’m not going to count the kid out,” Callum said. He looked at Opur who was now squatting behind the ball reading the line of the putt. “He putts left-handed with that Gawd-awful setup, but how can you argue with the results he’s had in this tournament?”
“This putt may be bigger than any birdie putt he made yesterday,” Trent added.
Curt whispered to Dr. DV and Captain Jer, “What’s going on out here today?”
“It’s nerves,” the veterinarian replied. “He’ll settle down.”
Opur walked around the line of the putt carefully avoiding Tank’s mark. He conversed with J Dub and pointed to a faded spot of grass on the green. J Dub nodded his head. Seconds later the youngster rolled the putt toward the cup. Two feet from the cup it nudged an old divot, but the pace was pure and the putt hit the back of the cup.
“Just another one-putt green,” Callum blurted into the microphone as cheers from the crowd roared across the property. “That’s a bogey five that feels like a birdie.”
Tank easily dropped his five-footer to slice Opur’s lead to three strokes. The crowd favorite got a hearty round of cheers as well.
“By the sound of the noise I’d say that Tank has more fans, but the kid sure is getting his admirers,” Trent announced.
“And Opur will keep them as long as that blade stays hot,” Callum added.
“Oh my,” Callum sighed. “That ball was buried.” He watched as Opur and J Dub walked to the next shot. “He’s still in the heather but it’s not quite as deep as the stuff he just came from.”
“What’s the percentage play here?” Trent asked.
Callum took a deep breath. The gasp was audible to the listeners. “He won’t be able to stop the ball coming out of the rough. This green is as hard as concrete. With the topspin coming out of the rough the ball won’t bite. He can either lay up or go long and pitch back. Either way, he’s looking at taking a six right now.”
Opur and J Dub studied their options. After some discussion Opur reached for a club. Out of the rough the ball flew onto the middle of the green, took a massive bounce and bounded long over the green.
“Smart move. That was all he could do,” Callum explained to the audience. “It was the percentage play. Now he can chip uphill to maybe save a bogie.”
“And what about Tank?” Trent asked.
He won’t drop a clanger here. He’ll be gutted if he does.” The description caused Trent to chuckle.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“This is an easy birdie for him. If he’s doesn’t get a three here he’ll be mildly upset.” Tank proceeded to knock the ball stiff. It came to rest five feet from the hole.
“Match is on,” Trent declared.
“And the challenge now for Opur is to get the ball up and down,” Callum confirmed. “He can only lose two shots on the first hole. Three might be disastrous.”
Opur and J Dub looked at their shot from behind the green. The ball had carried into the first cut of rough. “It’s uphill to the hole,” J Dub started. “The ball should release out of this lie. But make sure you leave yourself an uphill putt. Past the pin is straight downhill because of the false front and may roll all the way into the fairway.” He wanted to stress the positive. “Keep this shot short. We’ll knock it in.”
As Opur executed the chip shot Callum gasped again in the television booth. “It’s not going to roll out that much! He’s left himself at least fifteen feet.”
“Now he has to put enough pace on the ball to get it to the hole, but anything too far past the cup is disastrous,” Trent said.
“I’m not going to count the kid out,” Callum said. He looked at Opur who was now squatting behind the ball reading the line of the putt. “He putts left-handed with that Gawd-awful setup, but how can you argue with the results he’s had in this tournament?”
“This putt may be bigger than any birdie putt he made yesterday,” Trent added.
Curt whispered to Dr. DV and Captain Jer, “What’s going on out here today?”
“It’s nerves,” the veterinarian replied. “He’ll settle down.”
Opur walked around the line of the putt carefully avoiding Tank’s mark. He conversed with J Dub and pointed to a faded spot of grass on the green. J Dub nodded his head. Seconds later the youngster rolled the putt toward the cup. Two feet from the cup it nudged an old divot, but the pace was pure and the putt hit the back of the cup.
“Just another one-putt green,” Callum blurted into the microphone as cheers from the crowd roared across the property. “That’s a bogey five that feels like a birdie.”
Tank easily dropped his five-footer to slice Opur’s lead to three strokes. The crowd favorite got a hearty round of cheers as well.
“By the sound of the noise I’d say that Tank has more fans, but the kid sure is getting his admirers,” Trent announced.
“And Opur will keep them as long as that blade stays hot,” Callum added.
Chapter Sixty-Five
“Let’s head to the landing area,” Curt suggested to the gang. “If we can stay a shot ahead of them the crowd might not be as thick.” Watching a golf match in person was so much different than sitting in the easy chair and watching all of the shots on television.
“I don’t think there’s enough tread on my sneakers to make it across the whole course,” Pork Chop complained.
“We’ve only gone one hole,” Captain Jer said. “You’re not tired already are you?”
“If we can’t make it, then Pork Chop and I will try to sneak into one of the hospitality tents at the turn,” Fred reasoned. He saw a concession tent
and headed for a candy bar.
Morgan walked with Julie. They couldn’t ramble as fast as the guys and lagged behind by thirty yards or so. “My mood swings are out of control. I feel terrible about last night,” she confided to Julie.
“What’s done is done.” Julie knew that Opur needed to keep his mind on the final round. “Let’s bring him some luck today. Does he know you’re out here?”
“Are you kiddin’?” Morgan answered. “We made up, but he’s mad that his head is hurtin’.” Dressed in white spandex slacks she had agreed to wear a bright red maternity blouse so that he could pick her out of the crowd easier. Despite the ugly reaction in the hospitality tent Opur got an inner charge out of seeing her in the crowd. Even with several extra pounds Morgan’s smile and wholesome good looks seemed to pick up Opur’s spirits.
“Something is wrong with him,” Julie commented as she noticed Opur standing next to J Dub on the second tee. His head was bowed with his face buried in his hands.
“He said he was fine when he left the cottage this morning.”
“His mannerisms aren’t the Opur I know,” Julie said. “He’s always been so full of energy. Today he looks lethargic.”
“Maybe he had too much to drink last night,” Morgan said. “I tried to get him to stop.”
“If that was your way of getting him to stop, then I’ll think twice before I have a cocktail with you.” Julie smiled. “You’re a little tomcat.”
“He took a few over the counter pills to ease the throbbing. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken as many.”
“I hope they don’t make his heart stop. He looks like he’s about ready to fall asleep.”
“Look at this,” Morgan complained. She looked at her maternity blouse. “I must have gotten some make-up on it.” She continued looking at her clothes. “Here’s some here, and here and here,” she said as she discovered the various spots of make-up on her clothing. “Tst. Tst. Tst. What would Monique say?”
“Focus your attention on his golf rather than on the make-up spill,” Julie said. “That will take your mind off it.”
The comment went in one ear and out the other. “And this nail broke this morning when I snagged it,” Morgan said as she raised her right hand.
“A lot of things could be worse in life,” Julie said as she nonchalantly blew the comment away.
The two continued walking. Out of nowhere Morgan said, “I just don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Men. I’ve got no idea where they’re comin’ from.”
“Maybe you need to work in the pro shop for a little while. They’re pretty simple to figure out,” Julie replied.
“They don’t like to shop or talk or reveal their feelings.”
“You got it,” Julie agreed. “All they want is a warm bed, a cold drink, some stray trim and buddies that don’t bitch.”
“Huh?” Morgan cocked her head sideways. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Julie looked at Morgan with amazement. “Really.”
Trent Tee and Callum Foss were excited to see a golf match shaping up. “The second hole at The Classic is a five hundred and sixty five yard par five,” Trent said.
“It’s a straightforward hole as long as you find the fairway,” Callum added. “Trees line the hole on both sides. The long hitters can carry the crest of the hill. From there they have a downhill shot that plays shorter than it is because of the change in elevation.”
“This week it’s the second easiest hole on the course,” Trent added.
“Playing downwind today I would expect both players to birdie the hole. It’s very reachable in two.”
“Any tips on how to play it?”
“Aim away from the bunker in the landing area on the right side of the fairway. There’s plenty of room left. If they do that they’ll both hit irons into the green,” Callum predicted. “There are several greenside bunkers, but most of the field has been carrying them today.”
Tank hit first and once again crushed the ball. Opur followed suit. “Just like you suggested,” Trent said.
Callum shrugged. “There’s no secret here. Put the next shot on the green and maybe drop an eagle putt. That’s why so many people crowd the stands down there. The officials have this hole set up to score. With the pin placement today, the danger is getting above the hole and three putting.”
“Let’s join Monique St. Roux on the course. She’s walking with the final pairing today,” Trent said. “What exactly happened on that first hole?”
Monique St. Roux had been a mainstay on the ladies professional golf tour for years. She had won six majors in her career. Originally from France, Monique found her niche as an on-course reporter for the national sports network. Now retired from the game, the mid-forties superstar had found national acceptance as a color commentator.
Standing five foot seven with long brown hair tied in a bun the athletic woman generally created a stir whenever she entered the ropes. Early on, the networks allowed her to wear culottes and a chic golf shirt. But her long, tan legs created such a commotion that the network had to issue a new policy requiring her to wear long pants while on air.
“Monique,” as she was simply known, had branded her name and opened a line of golf attire as well as sports fragrances and make-up. She had achieved international status. Dressed in form-fitting slacks, men from around the globe focused on her athletic physique. With a touch of blush, manicured nails and a French accent Monique attracted male viewers every weekend and professional golf ratings had never been higher.
“You wouldn’t have believed Opur’s lie on the first hole,” Monique said seductively. “It was lucky they found his ball.”
“That could have been pear shaped,” Callum interrupted. “He might have dropped more than two shots if that had happened.”
“What do their lies look like here?” Trent asked.
“Both are perfect. Tank is two hundred and fifty-four yards out and Opur is two forty-six. They should both have the green light to go for the putting surface.”
The pair of golfers had to wait for the green to clear. J Dub placed Opur’s bag on the ground. The kid sat on the support ring on the bottom of the bag and placed his head between his legs. “I don’t have the patience for this today,” Opur complained. He put the palms of his hands behind his ears and pressed on the back of his head.
“You’re going to have to get it together,” J Dub coaxed. He walked around the bag, bent over at the waist and lowered his head to the same level as Opur’s. “Now look. I’ve told you all along that this wasn’t going to be easy,” he began in a whisper that was not audible to the others that were in hearing range. “You’ve worked all your life for this moment. We’re paired with the number one golfer in the world on the final day at the finest golf tournament in the history of the world. Understand?”
Opur raised his head slightly and mumbled.
J Dub placed both of his hands on Opur’s shoulders. “Look at me.” Their eyes met. “I told you a long time ago that you were going to have to persevere to be successful in this game. You’re going to have to battle through the setbacks. We’ve got a job to do out here.”
“Yeah, I know,” Opur whispered.
“I don’t want to hear any more about your head hurting. If you drank too much last night, that’s your fault. Put it out of your mind. Suck it up. You’re in a fight for your life out here today,” J Dub lectured sternly. “Got it?”
Opur gently nodded his head. “Yeah.” He nibbled at his lower lip and rubbed two fingers across his brow line.
“Now come on. We’ve got work to do.” J Dub reached out and pulled Opur to a standing position. “I’m here to help you.”
“What’s going on down there, Monique?”
“They were whispering, Trent.” She walked across the fairway with earphones on and an antennae protruding from the top of her head. A cord was trailing her steps with a cameraman jockeying for position. “I couldn’t hear much of what they were discuss
ing.” She paused, brought the microphone up to her mouth and gave a serious look into the camera. “But I think that what it amounted to was simply an old-fashioned pep talk.” Monique said as she flashed her contagious smile into the camera.
“Let’s hope that it did some good,” Trent replied.
“If so, we’re in for a barn burner of a finish,” Callum followed.
J Dub bent over, grabbed the top of some of the grass and flipped the remnants in the air. “We’ve got a nice breeze at our back.”
They both watched as Tank flew the ball onto the green and left himself a thirty-foot putt for eagle.
“What are you thinking?” Opur asked. “Four iron?”
J Dub looked around at the tops of the trees. “It’s downwind, downhill.” He pointed to a spot between two greenside bunkers. “The ground is firm. I want you to aim for the front fringe in the neck between those two traps. A big bounce will get us inside him. Hit your 5-iron.” He tilted the top of the bag in Opur’s direction. “And commit.”
The head pro took several steps away and watched as Opur steadied himself over the ball. Seconds later the two of them followed the flight of the ball. After the ball landed and came to rest J Dub chased after the divot. He ran back, threw it in the hole and raised a closed fist in the air as Opur tapped it. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Callum grinned. “The kid’s not going away.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
“The third hole is a two-hundred-forty-eight-yard par three that plays slightly downhill,” Trent said.
“Maybe that birdie at number two will kick start Opur’s round,” Callum said. “That was more like what we’ve been watching from him the last several days.”
“That birdie brings Opur back to even par for the round. With back-to-back birdies Tank is getting the start he needed.”
“He’s been there before,” Callum said. “Making up five strokes on the last day at The Classic is what champions are made of. Look for him to put on a charge.”
“What’s the danger here, Callum?”