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“Don’t put words in my mouth. You pay me to look after you, and that’s what I’m doing. Every athlete has a tendency to choke when he thinks he’s being watched, and today you’re going to be watched big time.”
“I won’t choke.”
“I also know that you, more than most, crave attention and love to play to a crowd. Especially a crowd that adores you. Especially a female crowd that adores you.”
“I won’t get distracted.”
“There’s going to be a ton of pressure. Those reporters will be badgering you, telling you that Ace just bogeyed the thirteenth or Harley just got a hole-in-one on the ninth. Trying to get your reaction. You have to put all that out of your head.”
“I know this already, Fitz.”
“You have to keep your brain on the game. Ignore the leader board. Concentrate on the game, and nothing but-”
“Fitz, please.” Co
“You say that, but you-”
“Fitz, I’m telling you-I’m ready.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Fitz.” He laid his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Did you trust Gary Player?”
“Well, of course, but-”
“Did you trust Jack Nicklaus?”
“Well, sure-”
“Did you trust Arnold Palmer?”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Good.” Co
Co
Co
As they approached the sixteenth hole, one journalist sidled up to Co
At the seventeenth hole, Co
“C’mon,” Fitz whispered. “We don’t want to pick up a stroke for delay of the game.”
“I won’t be long.” He cast his eyes dreamily toward the fairway. “Fitz, what would you say… if I went for it?”
Fitz didn’t need an explanation of what that meant. “I’d say you’d lost your mind.”
“Well, now, let’s give it some thought.”
“Co
“This isn’t machismo, Fitz. It’s plain strategy.”
“The smartest strategy is to lay up. Take the dogleg left, then get to the green on your second shot.”
“Normally, I would agree, but today…” His eyes turned back toward Fitz. “Today I think that would constitute an extra stroke I can’t afford.”
Fitz’s eyes narrowed. “What did that reporter tell you?”
Co
Fitz completed the sentence. “That he started the day two strokes ahead.”
“Which means we’re tied. Or will be, if he continues to play as he has, which seems likely. I need to pick up a stroke.”
“But there’s no straight shot. You think your ball can go through those trees?”
“Over them.”
“Over them! Are you kidding?”
“It’s possible. Theoretically.”
“But it’s so risky, Co
“It has to be. Otherwise, Ace will simply duplicate it. It has to be something so risky he won’t dare try it himself.”
Fitz nodded grimly. “This would certainly qualify. I don’t think anyone’s gotten to the green in one on this hole in the history of the Masters.”
“On the other hand, no one has more experience than me at trying.”
“Trying and failing.”
Co
Fitz ruminated for several seconds. “I… I think you should do what you think is right,” he said finally. He paused a moment before adding: “I trust you.”
“Thank you, Fitz.” Co
He drew in his breath and tried to remember everything he had ever been told about this game. Loosen your grip. Keep your weight on both legs. Swing smoothly, with a strong follow-through. And he remembered one other piece of advice as well, something his old buddy John McCree had said a million years ago and a million miles from here.
If it isn’t fun, what’s the point?
A tiny smile crept across his face, and he knew what he was going to do.
Co
30 The ball climbed into the sky, becoming a tiny dot against the fluffy white clouds overhead, reaching ever higher, passing the water hole, soaring over President Eisenhower’s tree, and not coming down until it was only a few precious feet from the green. Pandemonium erupted. The crowd screamed, and the applause didn’t die for minutes. The commentators went apoplectic, then launched into a spew of hyperbole. Everyone in sight seemed to be pouring out their love and affection, all in Co
Except Fitz. Fitz was remaining notably stone-faced.
As they strolled to the eighteenth and final hole of the course-and the tournament-Co
Fitz nodded stolidly. “It’s true.”
“They think I’m magnificent.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Everyone!” Co
Fitz averted his eyes. “It’s a sin to tell a lie…”
Co
“You won’t let the crowd get to you?”
“Crowd? What crowd?” He winked. “I’m here to play golf.”
And after Co
Co
He changed into his street clothes and ambled upstairs to the bar. He’d never felt less like drinking in his entire life, but he knew the bar was where the action would be-and the players. When the final scores were posted, the barflies would be the first to know.
A few minutes after Co
“Well,” Co
“I can tell you this,” Harley replied. “I didn’t beat you.”
Co
“Two strokes. That eagle on the seventeenth nailed it for you. Man, that took some balls.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll probably end up in fourth or fifth place,” he said downheartedly. “I blew it on the fifteenth. Totally underestimated the distance. Should’ve known better.” He shook his head. “Like my daddy always said, Measure twice, saw once.”