Sticks - A Golfer's Tale, W. Sautter [rooftoppers .txt] 📗

on the plane and that they would meet on the flight. He said the caddy’s name was Joey and that’s all he would say.
Finally, the fifteenth arrived. Bob paced nervously in front of the window, waiting for the airport limo to arrive.
“I sure wish you were coming,” he said to Maryanne who sat at the kitchen table trying to disguise her own nervousness.
“Well, suppose something happens. I mean suppose, well, you know what I mean,” she began apologetically.
“You mean suppose I don’t place. No money! Suppose I screw it all up,” replied Bob attempting to read her thoughts and doing it quite well.
“I think I should keep my job. I can’t do that and go with you too,” she answered, again with apology her voice.
“I know you’re going to do great,” she added immediately.
“I know you’re right. I think I’m going to do OK but you’ve got to be realistic too. The best players in the world will be there. It sure won’t be easy.” Suddenly, he drew back from the window.
“It’s here! I gotta go! Wish me luck!” he blurted as he rushed to grab his suitcase and clubs.
She hugged him tightly for an instant and whispered, “Good luck,” as he headed for the door.


Chapter 6
Bob arrived at the airport, checked his suitcase and carried his clubs onto the plane. He put them in the seat next to him and sank into his own seat. He closed his eyes and drifted for moment. He was flooded with a mixture of anticipation and intimidation whirling through his mind. Several minutes passed. It felt like hours.
He slowly opened his eyes and glanced up to see a tall, slender woman about twenty-five, standing next to him. Her short, blond hair exposed exquisitely fine features, high cheekbones, large, green eyes and full red lips. Her tank top blouse hung loosely over her large, rounded breasts and the satiny fabric of her slacks clung softly to the full curve of her hips. A clear, sweet scent enveloped her and her smile radiated warmth.
“Hi! I’m Joey! Josephine Fluore,” she said, “And you’re Bob Andrews? Right?” she continued.
Bob spontaneously straightened himself up his seat, startled by her unexpected appearance.
“This is Joey? The caddy Harrington talked about?” he thought.
“Yes -” he stammered.
She smiled again, turned and lifted her bag to the overhead storage compartment. Her slacks gracefully slid up over her full firmness, exposing the roundness beneath as she stretched over him. Then, she seated herself.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she began.
Bob hoped that she didn’t.
“Some caddy!” she mocked sarcastically.
That was partly right, he thought.
“Let me make you feel better,” she continued. “I’ve been around the game since I was born. My father was a professional golfer, so I was raised on a golf course. I can remember when I was four or five, he used to practice putting and I used to go and get the balls out of the cup and bring them back to him. I would do that for hours. I loved it and so did he.”
“When I became a teenager, I caddied for him. I did that for six years.”
“Who is his caddie now?” Bob asked curiously.
“Well,” she replied with downcast eyes.
“He died four years ago. He had just got it all together. He won a few minor tournaments and he was getting ready to make a big move and then it happened. He got cancer!”
She paused and swallowed hard before continuing.
“It started as a lump in his left shoulder. He tried to beat it, you know, pretending that if he just kept playing, it would go way. It didn’t. Even I thought he could beat it, but then when the doctors wanted to amputate his arm, he just gave up.”
“He never would let them operate. He said he’d rather die and he did!”
She paused again, a long pause this time.
“But that’s enough of that. Let’s talk about you and how we’re going to win this tournament,” and with that she took out a course map and spread it before them.
It was a beautiful flight and by the time it ended, he felt as if he knew Joey for years. She had winning ways that made him comfortable right from the start. Her charm and intelligence parlayed her good looks into an unbeatable combination. His nervousness quickly faded. Throughout the trip, she bolstered his confidence with a voice of experience. By the time they landed, he felt relaxed and assured.
They were greeted at the airport by a fellow named Jack, a representative of Covel Corporation, the sponsor, just as Harrington had said they would. Jack guided Bob and Joey through the maze of meetings and formalities, preliminary to the event. Bob shook more hands and smiled more smiles than he’d done in his lifetime. He met and touched those who he viewed only the day before, as unapproachable titans of the game. The more he experienced the exhilaration, the more he longed to become one of them. Tomorrow, he would begin his first step towards that lofty goal. Now, he was more eager than ever.
The sun rose brightly and the air was sweet. It was a perfect day for golf or for just being alive, for that matter. He dressed hurriedly and met Joey at the coffee shop for breakfast. She entered, attired in white shorts and blouse, wearing a golf visor with a name “Andrews,” emblazoned across its brim.
“It pays to advertise,” she said with a grin.
They arrived at the course early and together walked the entire eighteen. Bob could tell immediately that she was no amateur. She carefully scrutinized each twist and turn of the course, examining every fairway and rough, checking the grass texture and depth with almost scientific precision. She wrote page upon page of notes, describing every aspect and contingency of the terrain, no matter how minute it appeared. She sketched every green, carefully evaluating possible pin placements and breaks at various locations, noting how each would be played from anticipated lies.
Bob soon began to appreciate, not only Harrington’s sense of aesthetics, but also his assessment of competency in selecting her as his caddy. With the inspection over, they walked the practice tee. When they arrived, Bob stepped up to the tee box and looked out over the practice field, noting the two fifty, three hundred and three fifty-yard markers in succession.
Joey pulled the driver from the bag and held it out to him. As she held it, a curious look covered her face, as if she was experiencing something unusual, something strange. She said nothing but her expression revealed her perplexity. Bob accepted the club and began his warm up routine, swinging the club back and forth.
Then he was ready. He struck his first shot. It soared straight and long, landing just in front of the three hundred and fifty yard marker. He fired the next and the next each falling at, or beyond that same location.
Joey stood awestruck by his power and consistency. He hit several more, this time bouncing them off the marker itself, five out of seven times. Joey gazed in astonishment as he completed his practice with the driver. He handed it back to her and requested the seven iron. Once again, an enigmatic look spread over her face as she drew it from the bag.
“These clubs look different and they have a funny feeling too. I can’t exactly explain it,” she said looking at the seven iron as she held it.
Bob quickly replied as he had so many times before, how they had been made especially for him by a his uncle who was a club maker. He had told that same white lie so often in the past, that by now, he was beginning to almost believe it himself. She said nothing but nodded agreeably.
Bob proceeded to take the seven and with pinpoint accuracy, lofted high, arcing shots down onto, and striking the one seventy marker, time after time. She stood in amazement.
“What’s the matter? Never seen anybody hit golf balls before?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Not like that,” she replied with admiration in her voice.
With his work completed on the practice tee, they moved to the first tee of the course and waited for Bob’s turn. When it came he performed with machine like precision, shot after shot, guided flawlessly by Joey’s expert advice and the enchantment of the clubs. One after the other, his remarkable shots sent the ball blasting towards the flagstick in a direct, unaltered path.
When the round was over, the scorecard read sixty-six, with four consecutive birdies on the fifteenth through the eighteen holes.
“Great practice round,” cheered Joey. “Four rounds like that could win it,” she added optimistically.
“I was feeling good towards the end there and I think I can do even better tomorrow,” Bob responded with certainty.
The next day Bob made good on his promise and shot sixty-three in his second practice round. Now, both he and Joey felt his chances of winning were no longer a dream but a reality. The next day they would begin to find out if they were right.
It all relied upon how he could deal with the crowd, the excitement, the media pressure and most importantly, the intimidation of playing against the legends that would be there. When he thought of the challenge that awaited him, his stomach turned and he could feel cold perspiration in his armpits. But once his hands wrapped around the club grips, all uncertainty and fear instantaneously vanished from his thoughts, leaving only confidence and conviction.
That night, he prayed harder than ever, with all his strength, that it wasn’t a dream and the old man’s magic wouldn’t fail.


Chapter 7
He’d seen crowds like this before, but only on television that is. He’d even been to a couple of professional tournaments and seen them firsthand, but being at the center was much different. When his foursome was called, he walked to the first tee surrounded by three of the game’s giants.
“Hey, Nick.”
“Dave – Dave.”
“Greg let’s see you show your teeth today,” came the cries from the gallery amidst the chatter of camera clicks and cheers.
If it was not for the occasional, “Who’s that with them?” being whispered quietly, here and there, he would have thought himself to be invisible. The closer they approached the tee, the weaker his legs began to feel, the more wildly his head spun and the more rapidly his stomach quivered. All three preceded him at the tee; firing drives, each more magnificent than the one before it.
Then, it was his turn. Joey pulled his driver from the bag and handed it to him with a wink from her long, lacey eyelashes and a smile from her full red lips. He grasped the club tightly. Instantly, he felt the pounding anxiety begin to drain from his body.
Without hesitation, he stood before the ball, drew the club back and slammed it with every fiber of muscle he possessed. A roar exploded from the crowd as the club swept over his left shoulder and came to rest. He looked up to see the ball bullet skyward, sailing far beyond those