Final Round

Halfway up the fairway, they both spotted another pro on the tour: Abel “Ace” Silverstone. Ace was the sobriquet awarded by the sports press after Abel racked up an impressive series of titles his freshman year on the tour. Now, in his fifth year in the PGA, he was still racking them in, creating the biggest buzz in the golf world since Tiger Woods.

“Why is he moving so slowly?” John wondered.

“Over there,” Co

“Why are they shooting him?” John asked. “The tournament hasn’t even begun yet.”

“Probably doing filler spots,” Co

Co

“That’s just as well. Because as I recall, he hates you.”

“That business at Pebble Beach was a total misunderstanding. How was I to know that girl was his daughter?” He glanced back at the camera crew. They looked ready to roll. “Anyway, I don’t think this glory hog needs any more exposure. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m just a good ol’ boy from Oklahoma.” John paused. “I count on you to come up with the evil stuff.”

A malevolent grin infected Co

When they caught up to Ace, he was on the lip of the water trap, barely ten yards from the green. Ideally, he could chip the ball over the water onto the green and then one-putt into the hole. With luck, he might even skip the putt and score with his chip shot.

“Ace, my man. How goes it?” Co

The instant Ace saw Co

“Looks like you’ve attracted a bit of attention,” Co

“What? Oh, them. Right.” Ace shrugged haplessly. “It wasn’t my idea. They’re from CBS. They wanted some background footage on me, just in case… well, you know.”

“Of course we do,” John said, taking the man by the shoulder. “And we just want you to know we’re rooting for you.”

Ace blinked. “You are?”

“Course we are. You’ve always been our favorite. Of the top dogs, I mean.”

“Jeez, that’s nice to hear. When a man rises to, well, you know, my place on the money list, he starts to worry that there might be some resentment from… well…”

“The peons?”

“No, no, of course not. I just thank God every morning that he made me one of the wi

“Or,” John said, “taking Co

Ace laughed. He started to walk on, but John grabbed his shoulder and held him fast. “Say, I’ve been wondering if you could do something for me-”

Ace’s eyes narrowed. “Jeez, I’m really busy right now. After this shoot, I’ve got a meeting to talk about a cable TV special, then I’m talking to the Ping people about a possible endorsement-”

“This won’t take a minute. See, I’ve been having this trouble with my backswing, and since everyone knows you’re the master, I thought maybe…” He winked. “Just a few pointers?”

“Oh. Oh. Sure.” Ace’s face brightened. “Well, you know, the key to the backswing is the grip. I know some people say it’s the stance, but let me tell you-it’s the grip. It’s really simple. See, most people hold the club like they’re swinging a baseball bat upside down. But what you want to do…”

While Ace gassed on about backswing, behind him, Co

“… then you gotta loosen up, you know? Hold the club firmly, but relaxed. Then carefully bring your club back around and-pow!”

John smiled. “Pow! That’s it, huh?”

Ace gave his familiar aw-shucks shrug. “That’s it. Pretty simple, huh?”

“Heck, yeah. I just wish someone had told me before.” He shook Ace’s hand with great vigor. “Well, I’ll get out of your way so you can hit the ball.”

“Thanks,” Ace said. “Course, I’d love to chat but-you know.” He jerked his head toward the camera crew. “ America is waiting.”

“Right, right.” Smiling and waving, Co

“Think he saw me make the switch?” Co

“Nah. All he can see is his name in lights.”

Back at the water trap, Ace made a great show of addressing the ball. He frowned, crouched down, then gazed studiously at the hole in the center of the green. He placed his club on the ground to check the lie of the course, then brushed some leaves and other debris away. He held his thumb forward, as if measuring the distance, then licked a finger to check the wind.

“Cripes, just hit the ball already,” Co

Finally, Ace was ready to swing. With a brow creased by fierce concentration, he took his stance, adjusted his grip, gave his ball a steely-eyed look, then swung…

The instant the club hit the ball, it exploded into a cloud of white talc. Ace cried out-something between “Ahhh!” and “Yikes!”, Co

“No,” Co

Ace flailed his arms madly, trying to recover his balance, but it was not to be. With no means to stop himself, he tumbled face first into the water trap, like a diver belly-flopping. After thrashing about in the water for several seconds, he reared his head up, dripping wet, algae around his neck, a lily pad clinging to the side of his head.

And of course, every moment of this performance was recorded for posterity by CBS.

John turned toward Co

“I think he’d prefer to be alone right now.”

“You’re so sensitive, Co

“Yeah.” The impulsive grin criss-crossed his face. “Let’s see if we can bribe the cameramen for a copy of the tape.”

Shortly after dark, a head appeared in the rough off the fairway for the eighteenth hole. The eyes sca

He replaced the manhole cover and quickly ducked behind a tree. It had taken hours of crawling through narrow, claustrophobic tu

When at last he decided it was safe to move, he stayed low, clinging to the ground. He knew that the Augusta National employed a significant security team, and that their numbers were tripled during the week of the Masters tournament. It was not impossible that someone might be out here, even after dark, even this far from the clubhouse and the cabins.