A Good Lie

Doc told me meet him out on the first tee at 5 a.m., before all the regular country clubbers get there. That's how we get a free round. Doc's lead maintenance at the place, so he gets the run of things pretty much.

I got there about 4:45, fresh with a set of clubs that I got me in a barter for old stereo speakers a week back. Two of the clubs were real good, like Big Bertha or something. The speakers were an extra set of Sanyos, so it didn't matter much. The set came with a bunch of different balls and tees, some of them real new looking. I told Doc I got me a set of clubs and he said come on out early and we'll get a game in.

When I got there the gates were locked, so I just got the clubs out and started swinging in the parking lot. The three iron felt real nice in my hands, just cutting right over the top of the asphalt. Felt like you could really rip the hell out of something. The putter didn't feel so good. It was too little in my hands, like some goofy golf thing. It felt like I damn near had to touch my toes to get the thing to reach the ground.

I could see Doc's truck coming up. When he got to me he leaned out and hollered, "Well, well, look at Johnny on-time! Don't wet your grampers, I'll get us moving here soon."

He unlocked the gates and we went straight up to the first hole. The course was empty and sprinklers were going along parts of it, making the whole thing look like something out of a movie. A movie about lawns in heaven. Doc said, "We got enough time to play nine if we don't shit around too much."

Doc teed up first. He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and then set it in the grass as he lined up the driver. Then he reared back and got a hold of it. The ball went straight for a while and then took off to the right real bad and smacked a mesquite tree which sent it back down the middle of the fairway.

"Haha! That dog'll hunt!" he said, and then put his cigarette back into his mouth. "Your turn, Arnie. Ready golf."

It had to have been ten years since I last hit, so I was nervous all of a sudden right after I teed up the ball. Damn near had to hyperventilate. I took one practice swing just to shake the cobwebs. Making sure to go real slow on the backswing, I ended up making pretty decent contact. Couldn't see where the hell it went though.

"Oh, that's real nice, that'll do just fine, not bad!"
"I lost it."
"No, you're OK. You're right up there on the left of the fairway, not bad at all!"

We walked up the start of the fairway and Doc pulled a beer out of his bag for the both of us, Coors, and it tasted goddamn majestic. The air was kind of dewey and rolling across the grass, so it just felt like being alone and walking out in nowhere.

"So how's the married life?"
"Not bad. Sandy OK?"
"Sure. We're thinking of going down to Monterrey in a couple weeks."
"Monterrey, never been there."
"They say the cooking is real good."
"What's that, like nine, ten hours drive?"
"Twelve."
"Better be good food."

We got up to Doc's ball first. He took a look at it and said, "You think that's two-fifty from here? I'm not sure, we're too far out from the markers. Ah, to hell with it, I'll just give it the three." He took a couple warmups and then hit the ball nice and square, and it went straight at the green and bounced about fifty feet short.
"Hell of a shot," I said.
"That's what I'm trying to do."

When we got to my ball it was on top of a drainage cover.
"Kick it out on the fairway a bit. We call that a provisional."
I took my shot and hit way under the ball, so it went about fifty feet. I'm not by nature an angry person but I really wanted to break the goddamn club over my knee for about a second just to get back at it. "Chili-dipped it," Doc said.

My next shot wasn't quite as bad but it wasn't quite good neither. It hit a sandtrap right in front of the green and rolled down into a little pool of water settling in the back. "Must be the club," I said.

While we walked up to the green I got to thinking about a lot of things. Like I wasn't really playing a game but just walking out in the clear and open with all of these ideas in my head. I can't much describe the feeling but it felt like a big deal at the time. I looked over to Doc and said, "This is the life right here."
"You got it, old timer. This is the place to get away."

Doc's third shot was a beauty. It went way high up in the air and then spun back on the green and landed about six feet from the hole. "How often do you get out here?" I asked him.
"About three or four times a week. The best time, other than now, is after closing time in the summer, when it still stays light till about eight. You can usually get in at least nine after all the Richie Riches leave."
"You're a hell of a guy, Doc, for letting me join you."
"You won't be thanking me once you see your ball."

Doc was right. I was lying in a hole full of water and mud in the middle of the sand. I reached in with the head of my wedge and pulled the ball out of the water and set it higher up in the sand.
"How you do this again?" I asked.
"Hit an inch or so behind the ball so you can get some sand underneath it and kick it out."

I took a couple practice swings in the sand even though I know you're not supposed to. I wanted to make this one count. When I hit it right away I knew it felt right. A bunch of sand kicked up and I watched the ball float up and bounce right off the green. It rolled real slow and kept rolling until it looked headed straight to the hole.
"Oh, oh, yes, yes, YES, YES!!" Doc was yelling the whole time.
And then it dropped. You could even hear the rattle in the cup.
"Heat seeker!" I said.

"That's one hell of a shot. You might as well quit now," Doc said. He shook my hand and laughed. It felt like a million bucks. Got me a par and didn't even have to use the putter.

posted by ZHorton at 5:36 PM