Excelsior’s badly struck drive has sent his ball far out into a lake. It has come down behind a small island. Topper could not see the splash from where he was standing, but he knows there is no way the ball is dry. Excelsior confers with his caddy for a moment and then announces, “I’m just going to have a look.” He flies over to the island.
“Sonofabitch!” Topper thinks “That ball is in the water. No way it’s on that island, but he’s going to go over there where no one can see. Pretend to look for a minute and—”
Excelsior cries out, “Found it!”
“That’s my trick,” thinks Topper. “He’s going to beat us with my own trick!” The little man is fit to burst. Rage is always a destructive emotion. Topper’s rage doubly so.
As everyone else makes their way down the fairway, Topper lags behind with Excelsior’s weathered old caddy. “So,” Topper asks, a little out of breath from his struggle to keep up with the taller man’s, “You like this guy?”
“He’s all right,” the Caddy says noncommittally
“C’mon, all right. Get outta here, he’s like everybody’s hero. I mean the guy can fly.”
“Noticed that. Not much of a golfer though.”
“Yeah, yeah, so don’t you think it’s kind of strange that he’s winning?”
“Seen a lotta strange things on the golf course,,” he says. He let’s his gaze linger on Topper.
“Well sure, I mean, you. You seen it all right?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d be coming to a point young sir. It’s my man’s swing.”
Excelsior hacks at his ball. It’s an ugly swing for an ugly shot. But the ball leaps free of the swampy island and lands 20 yards short of the green. This island hop has shaved a great deal of length off the hole.
Edwin, bereft of fairway woods, plays two irons and a pitch to reach the green. A brilliant putt brings him within three feet of the cup. Par seems within reach. And par should be good enough to win the hole. Sure, Excelsior has a putt for birdie, but it’s so far from the hole, there is no way he can make it. Is there?
The man in spandex hunches his mighty frame over his tiny putter. In the midst of intense concentration, Excelsior looks quite absurd. But he strikes the ball well, and it rolls to the very edge of the cup. “Birdie!” he cries out even before the ball goes in. But, in one of those impossible, heartbreaking moments that golf always seems to deliver, the ball hangs on the edge of the cup.
“A shame,” says Edwin, “a good putt.” He starts to knock the ball in with his putter. But Excelsior says, “Wait.” He squats down about ten yards behind the ball and looks at it. He blinks, and the ball jumps in.
“Didn’t you see that!” screams Topper. Tell me somebody saw that!” He runs over to the judge and asks, “Did you see that?”
“Yes. This hole to Excelsior. He’s up by one.”
“That was amazing. That was fantastic. That was TOTALLY UNREASONABLE!” says Topper.
On the next hole, Edwin, hits a long, low, knock down shot. It is away and over the hill before Excelsior can do anything about it. Topper’s heart soars. Edwin isn’t stupid. He can keep it up. He can win. Barring any high lobs over water, Edwin could be home free playing a bump-and-run kind of game. But on his second shot, right before Edwin makes contact with his ball, Topper sees a small whiff of smoke rise from the grass. Edwin’s ball flies funny and lands in the sand trap just short of the green.
“Edwin,” Topper says.
“If you won’t let me concentrate on my game, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Damn that man, thinks Topper. Why won’t he let himself be helped? Is Topper not good enough to help him?
On the seventeenth hole, Excelsior gives Topper his chance. The hole is a 210 yard par 3. The back of the green closely guarded by heavy woods. Edwin hits a 4 iron, playing it to the short side. It’s safe, disciplined play, just like the rest of the round. But Topper doesn’t watch the ball. Topper watches Excelsior. He sees him puff up his cheeks and blow out a puff of air.
This zephyr hits Edwin’s ball and knocks it over the back of the green. The ball makes a horrible sound as it crashes into the trees. It is hopelessly lost. Edwin hits a provisional, and Excelsior pulls the same trick AGAIN. Topper is so angry, he can barely stand still.
“Well, I’ll find one of them,” Edwin says agreeably. He actually seems happy about being on the brink of absolute disaster.
What is wrong with him? Is it mind control? As they make their way to the green Topper sneaks a ball from Edwin’s bag. As Edwin and the caddies searches deep in the woods, Topper stays close to the green. He finds a spot, flat, level and with a clear shot to the pin. And then, with the ease of a practiced master, he yells, Found it!”
He conceals the ball in his hand, and bends over like he had just picked it up. Then he ‘replaces’ the ball on the ground. As Edwin walks over Topper says, “Must have gotten a good kick off one of those trees.”
Seemingly unaware of Topper’s deception, Edwin chips it close and wins the hole with a par. The losing streak is broken, and the match is all tied going in to 18.
Chapter Fifty-Five. The Last Hole
As they approach the 18th tee, Topper has given his tall friend a chance. Now it is up to Edwin to see it through. But things do not look good. This final hole is the last par five on the course. Edwin has lost every par five today. But as Edwin takes the tee, Topper is heartened to hear his friend call for his driver.
“Oh. Get outta my way.” Topper grabs the driver from his caddy and runs to his friend. “Knock the cover off the ball.”
“I won’t be penalized for it, now will I?” Edwin says, looking to the judge.
“Your honor,” says the Judge without even the hint of a smile.
Here it comes thinks Topper. If he can just get through this swing, he’s got it. As Edwin tees his ball, Topper sidles around behind Excelsior. As Edwin takes a practice swing, Topper reaches up and pinches Excelsior’s right ass cheek as hard as he can.
Excelsior whirls around with a look of utter disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You’re a fine piece of man-meat.” Topper whispers. Excelsior looks at him as if he is considering stepping on him. Which he is. Topper doesn’t care. Topper winks at him.
Wha-BOOM. While Excelsior is distracted, Edwin takes his shot. Edwin’s ball leaves the tee like a missile. It has that unique trajectory only found in a perfectly struck drive. The ball is spinning backwards so quickly that the dimples on the ball impart lift. The ball defies gravity. For a moment the little white dot seems to obey the laws of a more elegant world. When it finally returns to earth it is in the middle of the fairway, 376 yards from the tee box.
Topper cheers unabashedly. Then he turns to Excelsior, “Nevermind big boy. It never would have worked out between us. You’re too goody two-shoes for me.”
Excelsior swings hard, but only managed to move the ball 320 yards. He tops his next shot. Then puts his third on the green.
As Edwin approaches his ball, Topper is at a loss for another distraction. There just never seemed to be strippers around when you really needed them, he thinks. But then Edwin does something remarkable.
“Would you consider letting me borrow your three wood, in the interests of good sportsmanship?” Edwin asks Excelsior.
Excelsior is caught flat on his feet. A bad man, say, a villain, would have refused such a request in the interest of winning the match. But Excelsior stands for fair play. He can’t do such a thing, at least not in front of other people. So Excelsior hands Edwin his club. But there is hate in his heart as he does it. “Of course. Good luck.”
Edwin takes a practice swing. Then another. The tension builds within Topper. He can’t take it. Everything hangs on this swing.
