James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “Now you’ve got a tiny bit of room past the hole,” J Dub said to Opur. “If it goes too far we’ll drift farther and farther from the hole.”

  “Where do you want me to land it?”

  “It’s a smooth sand wedge for you. Don’t lean on it. The wind is helping,” J Dub said confidentially. “If you fall a little short of the pin, then that is okay. It will hop forward and check up.” Opur grabbed his sand wedge out of the bag. “Now stick it,” the head pro said as he backed away.

  The crowd on the back nine heard the roar a few seconds later. Opur’s ball hit in front of the pin, jumped forward, spun slightly and stopped six feet from the cup. J Dub already had Opur’s blade out of the bag. “Now go on up there and drain that putt.” The caddy retrieved the divot, stomped it into the ground and followed his protégé to the putting surface.

  There’s not much to say about that performance,” Trent said as he marveled at what he had just witnessed.

  “Now you know why the young man is leading this golf tournament,” Callum followed. “Tank makes a run at him and the boy closes the door.”

  “Tank can still pick up a stroke if he makes this putt,” Trent said.

  “Opur isn’t in quite yet,” Callum reminded the listening audience. “It could be a two shot swing.”

  That became a moot point a few minutes later when Tank slid his putt wide of the hole. Opur stepped up and knocked his putt to the back of the cup.

  “We’re going to have an entire nation of right handed golfers putting the ball left handed,” Callum said. “By my count that is eight putts through six holes.”

  “How much do you think he wants for that blade?” Trent asked.

  Callum laughed. “That old Bulls Eye putter looks to be forty years old. He’s probably regripped it a half dozen times.”

  “And for today, and the week for that matter, it is gold,” Trent announced.

  Chapter Seventy

  The crew from Prairie Winds was pumped. They scurried to the seventh hole. But by now everyone on the property knew where the match was being played. The playing conditions had been such that no one could make a move on Opur and Tank. As the final pairing got farther along on the golf course more and more people turned around and followed them. And the buzz on the course was electric.

  “As golf holes go, the seventh at The Classic has gone through a series of major renovation,” Trent began. “The length is only four hundred and fifty-four yards so the committee over the years has decided to toughen the hole by narrowing the fairway and reducing the size of the green.”

  “It’s not really a dogleg to the left,” Callum explained, “but more of a banana left. Church pew bunkers are lined up the left side. Pine trees stretch from tee to green on both sides of the hole. The fairway is only twenty-two yards wide. The elevated green is tiny with a false front. Today the players will be facing a right to left cross wind.”

  “What do you see here, Callum?”

  “It’s a definite birdie opportunity for both players. If they can hold the green they should have a putt that they can handle. There’s an old saying in this business . . . fairways and greens. If they do that here then both might put a three on their card.”

  “Whew, is it getting hot or what?” Julie said to Morgan. “Are you holding up okay?”

  “Sure, the doctor wants me to walk as much as I can.” She looked at the masses of people that were cramming their way around the twosome. “It’s crowded and I can’t see. Let’s find some shade.”

  “Look at all these people,” Julie said. “And most of them are about as out of shape as Fred and Pork Chop.” The girls laughed. “I don’t know how they can walk around out here with all that weight.”

  “Everyone that I see is bigger than me,” Morgan replied. The duo made their way to a small knob between the green and the eighth tee box. “We can probably watch both holes from here.”

  The shade of the trees provided a respite from the hot sun. Even though the clouds periodically blocked the rays from time to time, the trees provided continual relief. Coupled with the breeze, the day was starting to become comfortable again.

  “Are you excited?” Julie asked with enthusiasm.

  “About Opur?”

  “No, about your baby,” Julie replied.

  “Oh, that,” Morgan said. “I can’t wait to get it over.”

  “That’s it?” Julie questioned.

  “No, don’t take it wrong. I’m excited. Opur is excited. It’s just that right now so much is happenin’.” She folded her hands across her belly. “This has been a hectic week. My moods have been up and down and all over the place.” She fanned her face. “With all of the goings-on down here I haven’t had much time to think about it other than the discomfort part of it.” She paused. “Do you have any kids?”

  “I’ve got two,” Julie began, “a boy and a girl. There’s nothing like it. They start out as your precious creation and then you get to watch them grow. They are so innocent. They want to know about things and then they start to form their own opinions. Mine ask questions and I’m there to help guide them.” Julie reflected. “There’s really nothing like it.”

  “I’m sure it is a wonderful feeling,” Morgan sighed. “I just never imagined that I would be takin’ this on so quickly in life. That’s all.”

  “You’ll do great,” Julie reassured her. “It will be neat. Like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.” She stopped as the crowd rushed around the green. “They’re both putting.”

  “Who goes first?” Morgan asked. “I can’t see.” The girls got on the tips of their toes in an attempt to look over the crowd that had huddled around the green. It looked to be ten to twelve people deep.

  “It looks like Tank is putting first. He’s just now getting over the ball.” She craned her neck. “So tell me, have you thought about names?”

  “Sort of,” Morgan answered. “But we don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “You didn’t have an ultrasound test?”

  “We didn’t want to spend the money and take away the surprise.” Morgan strained her neck in an attempt to view Tank’s putt. A roar from the crowd indicated what the outcome was. Morgan looked from side to side and behind at all the people clapping. “He’s got lots of fans.”

  “That only puts him two behind Opur unless he makes it.”

  “Come on, Honey.” She peered to the green. Opur and J Dub were stalking the putt. When one was squatted behind the ball, the other was looking at the line from behind the hole.

  “What are you going to do if he wins this week?” Julie asked.

  “I’ll probably go down to Mom’s house,” Morgan answered. Neither girl was looking at one another as both strained to view the action on the green.

  “Where is that?”

  “South Alabama.”

  “Then it’s not too far away.”

  “No,” Morgan said as Opur approached the ball.

  “How far is it? Can you tell?” Julie asked. Her view was somewhat obstructed.

  “About two hundred and fifty miles I guess,” Morgan answered.

  Julie laughed. “No, I meant the putt.”

  “Oh, that,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “It looks like about fifteen to twenty feet.”

  “Then that means Tank dropped a gagger.”

  “Huh?” Morgan said.

  “Oh, that’s a figure of speech the guys use in the clubhouse when one of them drops a long putt. I hear them use it all the time when they’re figuring up their bets,” Julie explained.

  “So that’s what that means,” Morgan said as the crowd erupted in a roar that was louder than when Tank dropped his putt.

  “I guess your sweetie has a lot more fans out here than Tank,” Julie said. The rush of humanity sprinted by them to the eighth hole. “Good. He kept his three-shot lead.”

  Chapter Seventy-One

  “What more can you say about the kid with the long hair?” Callum asked his broadcast partn
er.

  “He’s taking everything that Tank can throw at him and giving it right back. There’s no chink in this guy’s armor,” Trent replied.

  “There are so many good, young players out there that can hit the ball a country mile,” Callum said. “On any given weekend any one of them can put together four hot rounds and win a golf tournament.”

  “This kid isn’t letting the course or the number one player in the world curl his hair,” Trent said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Not only that, but you’d have to be barmy to not enjoy this Sunday action,” Callum added.

  “We’ve come to the eighth tee box,” Trent said, “and Owen Purler, Jr. who goes by the single name of Opur is a relative unknown playing in his first golf tournament as a professional. He’s brought his very impressive game to the most prestigious setting in the world of golf. Can you give the viewers some thoughts as to how something this incredible can happen?”

  Callum laughed. “Talent.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What else can it be?” Callum questioned his play-by-play partner.

  Off camera Trent sneered at his color commentator. “Come on, Callum. I’m the straight guy in this. Why don’t you help me out a little and extrapolate?”

  Callum chuckled some more. “Well, I don’t know what that means but I’ll give my thoughts as to how something like this can occur.” He took a small drink of water. “The young man is very talented. But that’s only part of it. We’ve done this tournament for years and know how important it is to be able to putt these incredibly difficult greens.”

  “Tank has said that he practices on the concrete of his basement floor to prepare himself for the speed of these greens,” Trent added.

  “The public doesn’t know how hard it is . . . especially if you get on the wrong side of the hole. I have to give some credit to his caddy. J Dub has been keeping him below the hole with his yardages and coaxing him around this golf course. He’s forcing him to think and get the proper positioning. It’s so important to be putting uphill on these surfaces.”

  “If nothing else just so the player can get the ball to stop.”

  “Absolutely,” Callum concurred. “And having a hot putter contributes a lot to his scoring success. But there is a lot that goes into all of this.” Callum paused. “This isn’t happening overnight. Opur learned the game at a young age, got the proper instruction from J Dub, endured a series of tough knocks, bounced around on the Florida mini-circuit for years and went to Europe to live his dream. Now it all seems to be coming together during this four-day event.”

  “He’s got eleven holes left. Can he hold on?” Trent asked.

  “We’ll find out,” Callum said. “If he can simply play even par golf, then that’s going to force Tank to get three birdies to tie. The most difficult part of the golf course is ahead of them.”

  “Tell us about hole number eight, Callum.”

  “This might be the most unique hole at any of the major golf tournaments. Originally this hole was a par three, but the tournament committee lengthened it to a three hundred and forty-three yard par four.”

  “That’s almost a chip shot for today’s players,” Trent threw in.

  “Exactly,” Callum agreed. “But they put a few wrinkles in the design to give the golfers several options. The entire hole plays uphill and bends to the right. The tee box is tucked into the trees that continue up the right side making it impossible for the players to go for the green. Their options are to hit a mid-range shot and hit off the fairway from about one hundred and forty yards or pound the driver into the bailout area left of the green which gives them a shorter shot out of heavy rough.”

  “What’s a fellow do?”

  “Ah. Decisions. Decisions,” Callum sighed. “The green is the smallest on the course. It’s not much larger than a snooker table at the corner pub. The putting surface is well bunkered in the front and the back and is merely twenty-five feet deep.”

  “That’s almost illegal,” Trent said.

  “Believe me, when you play the hole you think that very thought.”

  “Let’s join Monique on the course,” Trent proposed. “It looks like both players are walking to the landing area of their drives.”

  “Both Tank and Opur chose to hit 4-irons off the tee. Each decided to stay back and shoot out of the short grass.” Monique took a peek at each ball and determined the yardage. “The wind will work the shot a tad from the left to the right. Opur will hit first from one hundred and thirty-six yards. Tank is eight yards closer.”

  “Smart plays from both of them,” Callum commented. “It’s so tempting to take the big stick out and knock the ball to the left of the green and leave a fifty-or sixty-yard shot. But a bad lie can bring a bogey in play. From this position we could see a repeat of the last hole.”

  “Two birdies?” Trent asked.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Callum said.

  After J Dub and Opur conferred the player chose a 9-iron and placed the ball fifteen feet left of the hole. “That’s an excellent spot to come in from,” Trent said.

  “Once again his caddy kept him on the proper side of the cup,” Callum said. “The talent comes from the player and the swing. But the two of them working in tandem on the mental part of the game is an art.”

  “Okay boss, we’ve got a little opening here,” Dickie Doo said as Tank reached for his wedge. “That’s the club.”

  Tank was focused on the task at hand. He looked at the skies and the wind moving the top of the trees. He reached down, grabbed a few clippings of grass and tossed them in the air to get a feel for the shot. “I don’t know,” Tank questioned. “It’s an uphill lie. The wind is swirling. I’d rather grip my 9-iron.”

  “That works too, boss,” Dickie Doo assured his buddy. “If that’s the one you want, then swing it. Either one works.”

  Tank stared at the flag and then changed clubs. He took dead aim. His divot flew in the air after the swing. “Be as good as you look,” he shouted.

  “Paint that pin on the way down the stove pipe,” Dickie Doo coaxed. The ball reached the top of its arc and continued its descent. “Come on baby, get close!”

  “Oh!” Callum shouted on air. “He hit the cup!”

  A chunk of turf flew up in the air as the crowd exploded. “He took a chunk out of the hole,” Trent said.

  “It almost plugged!” Callum yelled. “He left himself three, maybe four inches. That’s as Easy Peasy as it gets.”

  “Those are the kind of birdies we all hope for,” Trent announced as Tank and Dickie Doo shared high fives. The cries of the crowd rippled over the golf course.

  J Dub looked at Opur. “Let’s go and drop a putt.” The pair made the uphill walk together. As they reached the green the crowd was still buzzing. J Dub had already handed the putter to Opur. The pair went about their business.

  Opur reached down and repaired his pitch mark in the green. He watched as Dickie Doo took the flag out of the hole and placed it on the collar of the green. Tank’s caddy then repaired the cup and put it back in its original condition. With a look at Opur, Tank motioned to see if he could tap in. Opur signaled that it was fine.

  J Dub and Opur then went to work reading the green. There was no hurry. The two of them wanted to make sure that what they saw was correct and that they were in total agreement.

  “This is beautiful,” Callum said on air. “Look at the two of them work together.”

  “They want to be certain of the line,” Trent agreed.

  “It’s makeable,” Callum said. “There might be a two-inch break at the cup when it loses a little speed.”

  “We’ll know shortly,” Trent said. “Opur’s over the ball.”

  “I might be off my trolley,” Callum said, “but the more I look at that setup he has, the more I can see how fundamentally sound it is.”

  “How is that?”

  “He’s on the other side of the ball from the way he plays. His right arm is locke
d at the elbow and wrist. The left arm goes right across the beltline. With the split grip the left hand is only along for the ride. He actually pulls the ball right into the hole.”

  Seconds later there was no need for the announcers to say a thing. The reverberation from the crowd would have dwarfed the noise that Opur’s shot caused.

  “Incredible!” Callum shouted. His voice was barely audible over the air. “That’s ten putts in eight holes. At this pace Tank won’t be able to catch him!”

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  “I don’t know if my heart can take this,” Morgan said to Julie. They walked along the ninth hole with the entourage from Prairie Winds.

  “Let’s find something near the ropes so we can see better,” Julie proposed. She was tired of standing on her toes trying to look over people.

  The crowds were getting thicker. “Fat chance of that,” Captain Jer said as the gang of guys kept walking. “We’re going to go to the concession tent, grab some snacks and make a pit stop.” The pack wandered along.

  “We’ll catch you by the green or on the next tee,” Curt said over his shoulder.

  “How can they not watch this?” Morgan asked Julie.

  “They’ll find a spot. Guys are good about doing one thing and keeping their eye on something else. I bet some women are up ahead of us that they’re checking out in between shots,” Julie theorized. “That food and pit stop excuse was telling me that they didn’t want us around to cramp their style.”

  “Do you think they’d do that out here with all this action?”

  “Are you kidding?” Julie asked. “There’s plenty of time in between shots to people watch.” She looked around. “What do you think some of these gals are doing out here?” She let the comment soak in. “They’re checking out the guys.”

  Back in the booth Trent turned to his partner. “Callum, we’ve got one more hole before the turn. Tank is four under for the day and Opur is two under.”