By the eighth hole, Edwin feels that he has the entire match within his grasp. Tie it on 9, win it on 10 does not seem out of the question. Then he will have the privilege of playing out the rest of the holes by himself. Just for the enjoyment of it.
You might think it would be a rare treat for Edwin to best someone with superpowers. But it is not. Excelsior has proved to be so little competition that Edwin isn’t finding much joy in the game. It feels like uninspired work. Like hanging siding or bagging groceries. Something that requires a person to wear a one-piece jumpsuit. Edwin shudders at the thought.
He can not fathom why Excelsior has accepted this wager. It must be some vestigial sense of honor, highly irrational, yet still active in the herd. It doesn’t really matter. Edwin knows how to exploit a lucky bounce when he gets it. And impunity from the world’s most powerful superhero — and the ability to sell that protection — is certainly a lucky bounce. Some might see this as a license to steal, but Edwin doesn’t think of it like that. He thinks of it as a license to print money. Steal, and you may get rich. Print money and you have power.
Edwin addresses his ball. He has never been more certain of his swing. But as the club makes contact with the ball, he feels a queer sensation in his hands. The ball leaves the tee with a frightening amount of topspin. The club head separates from the shaft and flies straight up. Something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.
There is Excelsior, grinning at Edwin’s misfortune. Edwin ignores him. He’s looking at his club. No defect is visible, but the shaft is twisted and mangled. It is unexplainable, undeniable. Somehow a perfect swing has resulted in an awful shot.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Topper asks. He grabs the club out of Edwin’s hand. “What happened?” Edwin ignores Topper. His only concern is what to do now.
“I guess you’ll just have to start hitting the driver,” says Topper.
“Four wood,” says Edwin.
“Four wood? FOUR WOOD! Are you out of your mind!” Topper asks.
“I know I’ll hit it straight.”
“And you’ll still have 220 yards left to go!”
“Then I will hit it again.”
“Take the driver. Please, please take the driver.”
“No matter what I hit, I’m not going to get it on the green. But I can put it in the fairway,” says Edwin. With strain he adds, “It’s not like I need better than a bogey to beat him on this hole.”
“Exactly. And you’re so far ahead —”
“Not as far ahead as I’m going to be.” It is a controlling principle in Edwin’s life to never leave a contest unsettled. He does not believe in leaving adversaries to dangle over shark-filled tanks. When he finishes business, he likes it to be concluded utterly and beyond redemption. The match will be over when Excelsior has lost. Not before. No matter how far ahead he gets, both hands will stay firmly on the club. Never mind Excelsior, golf itself is too cruel a game to take chances with.
Edwin banishes the freak accident from his mind. He is going to knock this one stiff, close with a bogey, and put the hole behind him. Or so he thinks. This time, the club head flies off at the top of his backswing. It bounces off the next tee box and rolls into the fairway. Edwin is aghast. How can this happen? Twice?
Excelsior tries to hold it in, but he cannot. A giggle slips out.
“Do you mind?” Edwin asks. Excelsior just keeps laughing.
“Hey! Body suit! Spandex. Yeah, Jazzercize. I’m talking to you,” Topper says. “Man’s trying to play a game here. Keep your yap shut.” Excelsior holds his sides. He bites his lips. He tries thinking of a thousand other things. But it is no use. The giggles just keep coming. Tears stream down his face. He makes slobbery, slurping noises in the corners of his mouth as he fights for control. The judge is about to reprimand him, but it’s so bad he asks, “Are you okay?”
Excelsior nods and lies with his head. He is very far from okay. He is GREAT. The best he’s been in, well, forever really. He HAS CHEATED! It is the first time he has broken the rules and it feels GREAT!
At the top of Edwin’s backswing, Excelsior had used his heat vision, for just an instant, to melt the shaft. And no one realizes. He is going to get away with it. He has gotten away with it! Twice. Now he just can’t stop giggling about it.
As best they can, the golfing party ignores Excelsior’s breakdown.
“Does that count as a stroke?” Edwin asks the judge.
“Did you start on the downswing?”
“No, but I intended to hit the ball.”
“AHHHHHHH,” shrieks Topper, “AHHHHHH! You never answer more than you absolutely have to. Any defense lawyer can tell you that!”
“He’s right son,” says the Judge
“So I’m lying three?”
“That is correct,” says the Judge, “Still your shot.”
Edwin considers his next move very carefully. The situation is fluid, uncertain. Causes are unknown. Outcomes are unclear. And, for the first time, he reappraises how much is at stake. “Three iron.”
“Edwin, please, I’m begging you. Please, please, please hit the driver. Just blast it,” says Topper. Edwin gets his own club and plays the hole. He finishes with a triple-bogey while Excelsior manages to hole a 30-foot putt for a double.
The hero has won a hole.
Chapter Fifty-Four. The Back Nine
It’s driving Topper crazy. He knows Excelsior is cheating. Topper doesn’t know exactly how, but he knows that Excelsior has sabotaged Edwin’s clubs. What bothers Topper about this situation is not the cheating. It’s that it is unfair in an unfair way. Cheating is there so the little guy can level the playing field. It’s not supposed to make the strong guys stronger or the fast guys faster. Excelsior is clearly breaking all the rules of breaking the rules. It’s just wrong.
The judge doesn’t care. The rules of golf weren’t written with superpowers in mind. There is nothing about improving the path of a ball in flight; nothing about blowing your opponent’s ball of course.
The worst is that Edwin refuses to even notice, As his position in the match degenerates, Edwin speaks less and less. Surely that means that his powerful brain is working. But it doesn’t take a genius to see that there is no thinking your way out of this situation. Something has to be done. And that something is cheating back.
As they walk to the next hole, Topper asks, “E, E, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Look, we gotta do something. What’s the play?”
“Everything is fine.”
“I know how we can get him.”
“By having a lower score on each hole,” says Edwin, “I am aware of this already.”
“Edwin,” says Topper, clawing at the tall man’s pant leg, “he’s moving things with his mind!”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“E, you gotta know that he’s cheating!”
Edwin says, “Please Topper, I’m in the middle of the match.” Edwin lengthens his stride and leaves his little lawyer behind. That’s when Topper decides it’s his job to save the day.
On the eleventh hole, in the middle of Excelsior’s backswing, Topper kicks Edwin’s golf bag out of the caddy’s hands. The bag crashes to the ground. This noise causes Excelsior to yank his drive high and way left.
“Do you MIND!” Topper snaps at the caddy in mock horror, “Man’s’ trying to play a match here. You do that again and you’re fired.”
Edwin raises an eyebrow. The judge says nothing, but surely he too must have his suspicions.
