Day 310: Bob's ball

“Fore!” A group of men looked high in the sky, shrugged their shoulders while ducking their heads in hopes not to get hit when the stranger from afar shouted fore. A small white ball landed with a thud a few feet away from the men, whom were carrying their own large golf bags, and walking up a hill towards the ninth hole.

Bob Mcgillin, the one closest to the ball, looked at his golf buddies, as they proceeded to resume normal conversation midst their golf game.  Ricky Herrera looked at Bob and nervously laughed, “Dang that was a close one.” He then fell into step behind the other two men, Ted Chelsea and Larry Wilson. “I haven’t had to shout ‘fore’ in such a long time. Whoever shot probably hasn’t played long,’ Ted called out as he looked back towards the stranger. Bob could sense that Ted was a little ticked off. Ted was typically a very serious player, so he didn’t appreciate lousy golfers, since he thought he was one of the best.

“I don’t know Ted, he might have sliced it. Besides, it’s pretty windy out, and I know that’s not helping my game.” Larry was the first to reach the green. As he approached, he set down his bag and walked towards his ball, crouched down and examined his next shot.

Bob’s ball was the closest to the hole, so he waited patiently for each man to go before he took his shot. As he was waiting, he took a few minutes to study his surroundings.  The day was gorgeous, perfect for golfing. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and since it was late August the temperature was starting to cool down, which was great when hauling around a large golf bag while walking eighteen holes.

Diamond Woods was one of their favorite places to play. The fairways were always maintained, with beautiful lush grass. The first nine holes seem to be more open, while the back nine features more tree-lined holes over rolling terrain. The holes themselves always gave Bob a good challenge, which he appreciated, but today he was having some trouble. Even though he was set up nicely on this hole, he’d been playing poorly all day.

Losing didn’t really matter to Bob, but playing poorly did. Usually him and the guys make the game exciting by betting. Typically they bet by hole, whoever wins a hole gets a dollar. Not anything big, but it keeps the game interesting. Occasionally, Ted will suggest that whoever loses the eighteenth hole has to buy a round of beer. Bob always loses the eighteenth hole. With a sigh, Bob looked over at Ted.

Ted had hit his ball into a bunker full of sand, so he was furthest from the hole, which meant that he shot first. Cursing to himself, Ted began swinging practice swings outside the trap. After a few practice shots, Ted was ready. Larry’s tall, lanky frame stepped off the green and stood next to Ricky.

Bob watched Ted as he lifted his stubby arms with his club high into the air and swing. Ted’s stocky body didn’t take away from his playing. The club glided gracefully knocking sand, along with the ball into the air. The ball landed and rolled into the hole.

“Now that’s how it’s done, boys.” Ricky rolled his eyes at Teds comment, and took his shot, also making it. Bob was the only one not to make it into the hole on the first try and he had the best shot! He was starting to get frustrated. 

Because the back nine is much more challenging, as they reached the tenth hole, they upped the ante to five dollars instead of a dollar. On the tenth hole, Larry, Ted and Ricky took their shot before Bob. Bob grabbed his driver, approached the tee, placed his ball down and swung. The drive was long, it looked fairly good, but the wind picked up in the direction the ball was flying, and ball landed in the forest behind the green. From behind him, he could hear Ted laugh and whisper to the other men, “Looks like beers on Bob!”

Once Bob reached the tree line behind the green, he set down his clubs and took a deep breath. He should take a penalty and just drop the ball, but he didn’t want to have a penalty stroke. Bob needed to find that ball, for he surly didn’t want Ted to win. “Good luck,” Ricky called as Bob entered the forest.

Searching for a tiny white ball in a huge forest full of twigs, sticks, dirt and logs was a difficult task. He knew the ball couldn’t have gone that deep into the brush, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. Bob could hear the chatter of his friends in the background, the birds chirping, the wind blowing the tree branches. There wasn’t a ball in site, only rocks and dirt. Squinting his eyes as he looked up at the sun, he realized he’d been looking for far too long, so he decided to take the damn penalty.

Just as he was turning to leave the forest, he saw something bright in the peripheral of his eyes, like a reflection from the sun off a glass mirror. He walked towards this brightly lit object, squatted and looked down. Beneath him, buried a little into the ground from the impact of landing, was a ball. It looked like his golf ball, had the same marking on it, but it looked much brighter than before. The way the sun beamed down through the trees and lit the ball was fate to Bob, that something was different, he just didn’t know what yet.

“I found it! I see a pretty good clearing too, so I’m going to play it as is.”

“You sure about that, Bob?” Larry asked, as he poked his head through the forest examining Bob’s shot. Bob was also examining his shot; it looked tough, but possible to make it out of the forest. He didn’t expect to make it close to the hole or even onto the green, because that was impossible, but he knew he could set it up nicely.

Larry moved out of the way and resided next to the other men, all of their gazes resting on Bob. While Bob was taking a few practice swings, Ted leaned over to Larry, who happened to lean down so he could hear Ted bruit, “Watch! Now this will be amusing!”  Both chuckled and resumed watching when Bob took a step closer to the ball.

Inching closer to the ball, Bob decided it was finally time to take his shot. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and swung. He watched as the ball flew perfectly through the clearing of the forest, flying past the rough, past the bunker, and landing on the green. Sine the green was on a slight hill, the ball then began to roll slowly towards the hole. Bob couldn’t believe what he was seeing, had his ball actually rolled into the hole?

Bob emerged from the forest, briskly walking towards the green. Peering over the hole, there he saw his brightly lit golf ball. Looking back at the other men, Ted stood staring back at Bob with his mouth wide opened. Larry looked confused as if he were trying to calculate exactly what had just happened and Ricky just gave Bob a smile.

Amazed at his play, Bob picked up his ball, and strutted over to his clubs. Ricky was there, grinning. “You son of a gun, how’d you make that shot? That was incredible!” Bob slide his golf ball into his pocket, holding on tightly to his charm and shrugged. “Luck, I guess.” Still looking confused, Larry walked up and slammed a five-dollar bill into Bob’s free hand.

“I don’t even understand how you possibly made that, but you deserve this now.” The men all laughed, except for Ted. Ted muffled something under his breath, and pressed on. Bob could sense that Ted might be a little bitter, since he was such a competitive player. Oh well. While the other men were taking their shots, Bob pulled out the ball and looked at it. This ball was special, he thought.

Hole after hole, Bob kept sinking shots. Impossible shots. Once he hit the ball into water, but instead it of sinking to the bottom, it bounced across the water like a child skipping rocks. Another time, the ball ricocheted between two trees and finally ended up in the hole.  Ted accused Bob of cheating, but there was no way to prove that he was, when they all had seen him play. Bob Kept telling them it was luck, but he knew it was this new miraculous ball he had found.

On the final hole, the one Bob usually lost, his miraculous ball started to fade, as was his luck. Maybe no matter how miraculous a ball was, the eighteenth hole would always be unlucky to Bob, and he’d have to once again buy a round of beer for everyone. As he watched each of his buddies sink their shots, he realized he’d have to get his ball into the hole with one swing.

Bob took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lightly tapped his putter. The ball rolled across the lime green turf, curving towards the hole, but it was moving too slowly. Bob had shot too short. The ball stopped an inch away from the hole. Ashamed of his shot, Bob turned away. Just when he was about to give up, a gust of wind blew and behind him, Bob heard that beautiful noise of an echoing ball rattling as it fell into a hole. He turned his head over his shoulder and saw his brightly lit ball no more.

“Looks like drinks are on you, Ted!” Ricky shouted as he ran up to Bob and shook his hand.