The Champion

I watch his first shot on eighteen drops in the water, short of the island green by two feet. I damn near laugh out loud. I can't help sticking it to him. "Looks like you choked." He looks like he'd like to strangle me. Good. He tees up another ball and puts it ten feet past the pin. He could make a four, probably five.

I tee my ball up. This shot wins the club golf championship one up. Revenge for twenty-seven years of bad luck. Like in '75 when that bastard wouldn't give me the three foot putt, or in '86 when I hit the spike mark and three-putted from eight feet. Also, I won't forget the disqualifications for cheating in '78 and '93. For that I ain't buying drinks in the bar. Screw custom.

I catch it clean. It flies straight at the green, lands short and a little left of the pin and runs up eight feet from the hole.

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