“Then Jim Ambrose arrived on the tee. You know, it’s always funny seeing somebody in person that you’ve only seen on television. They always look smaller, and for some reason, you feel like you already know them. I just walked up to Jim like we were old buddies, but he didn’t want any of that.
“Hey, Jim. Travis Hatfield. It is a real pleasure to meet you and play with you today.”
“Play well,” he answered, shaking my hand briskly and not listening.
“So they announced my name, I teed off first and nailed one deep down the left side. My home crowd went nuts, cheering, hooting and hollering. But before the noise stopped and as his name was announced, Jim teed it up and proceeded to pound one down the middle, unfazed by all of the commotion. I think he was sending me a message that the noise wouldn’t bother him today. What a man.
“The Sunday pins were really difficult all day, tucked behind traps or next to false fronts on almost every hole. I had never seen anything like it. Jim and I par the first five holes, just trying to manage our games and not give anything away, because players were falling down the leaderboard again for the second day, going for pins and making big numbers. Hell, watching the scoreboard and how guys were blowing up, it shook you up. But not Jim. He had a four-shot lead.
“Out of nowhere, Jim birdied the sixth hole. His approach shot was genius, six inches from the cup. I came back with a birdie on the par five eighth hole, but he rolled a birdie right back on top of me there, so I gained nothing. And adding to my misery, Jim drained a 45-footer for birdie on the ninth hole. Jim knew it was good with ten feet to go and just started walking away, knowing his caddy would pick it up, not even watching as it fell in the hole. Even I clapped.
“So after nine holes, Jim was up on me by six at −14. He didn’t need to worry about noise anymore because my fans were pretty quiet, hoping I would do something, anything, and I started feeling a noose tighten around my neck, as far as winning the golf tournament went. We walked to the tenth tee, and Raleigh had this big smile.”
“What are you so happy about?” he asked, a little annoyed.
“Jim Ambrose still won’t talk to you. The second-ranked player in the world is scared of you cuz he knows you can still beat him, and he has a six-stroke lead. How cool is that?”
“I glanced over at Jim, and son of a gun, he did look a little nervous. Sometimes a big lead was more stressful than a one-stroke lead, and Jim seemed a little out of sorts. I don’t know if Raleigh was just blowing smoke and trying to motivate me or what, but his short pep talk worked. It may sound crazy, but for the first time all day, I felt like I could win the tournament.
“So what do you think?” I asked.
“Jim’s gonna try and par all the way home,” Raleigh said, covering his mouth now. “Let’s put a little pressure on him and see how he reacts. If Jim cracks, we will get him. If he doesn’t, oh well, we get second. We’re gods either way.”
“I started laughing, bumped knuckles with my caddy and went for it. On the tenth hole, I barely missed birdie. The putt went right where I wanted, just didn’t fall.
“Then came the par five eleventh hole, a hole that I had eagled twice already during the tournament. I pound a drive over the trees and leave myself 205 yards to the hole. I hit a six iron right at the pin, but adrenaline made it go long, and I had a 30-footer left for eagle. I hit my line on the putt, but it never broke left for me. I tapped in for birdie to cut the lead to five strokes.
“Then came the eleventh hole, a long par 4, like 490 yards, into the wind. There were some traps on the right side of the fairway, about 285 yards to carry them, and if you could hit it over them, it gave you the best angle to approach the green. However, into the wind, carrying a ball 285 yards was a mother. But hell, I had to go for it. I took a deep breath, set up and pounded it at the traps. It felt great, just carried the traps, and rolled out of view.
“I handed my driver to Raleigh and turned to watch Jim hit, but he was still talking to his caddy about their options. Out of nowhere, he grabbed a three wood. He didn’t want to challenge the traps, so he was going to hit a low stringer to the left side of the fairway.
“Raleigh jabbed me in my ribs with his elbow. We both knew this was a big moment.
“Jim made a good swing, but the wind turned the ball more left than he wanted. The ball rolled out of the fairway and into the second cut of rough.
“We watched as Jim took a look at his ball, about 220 yards out and the lie was iffy. Only half the ball was visible, and there was a clump of grass right behind it. Jim and his caddy talked for a second, and then Jim pulled out a four iron. He decided to go for it. Jim took a big rip at it, but he thinned it. The ball flew like a bullet toward the green, never got more than ten yards up in the air. It landed forty feet short of the green, shot left and buried under the top lip of a greenside bunker, barely visible.”
“I cannot believe he just did that,” Travis said to Raleigh, as they walked to their ball. “It makes no sense. He has a five-shot lead.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s not the first best player in the world,” Raleigh said, and we both tried not to laugh.
“We finally saw my ball, and it was crazy. It must’ve landed on the back of the traps perfectly and raced way down the fairway. I had only 167 yards left. The pin was tucked near the front-right side of the green. A real sucker pin with the false front.”
“Can you stop an eight iron on that plateau near the pin?” Raleigh asked, worried about the wind.
“No,” Travis said. “It’s got to be a pitching wedge, and my adrenaline is flowing right now. Let’s try it.”
“I reached back a little and sent the ball over the pin, spinning it back to about three feet. A sure birdie. The roar was so loud.
“Jim saw his lie in the bunker and threw his hat on the ground. Buried, about six inches under the lip. He decided to try and hit it sideways, but it hit the grass edge, stayed in the trap and rolled back down into his footprint, still on the upslope. He was lucky the ball didn’t touch him. Jim walked out of the trap, regrouped for a minute, then lined it up at the pin. Raleigh and I look at each other, thinking he could leave it in that trap again. The guy took a massive rip, and it flies out, so gentle, and stops ten feet above the pin. To this day, it might be the greatest shot I’ve ever seen. I could not believe he got it out of that broad footprint and over that lip. I would’ve just cried and run away.
“Jim put a good stroke on the putt, but he missed it on the pro side and ended up making double. I drained my three-foot birdie, and now I was only down by two. The Muni-Mob went nuts. The whole place did.”
“Ok, now you have to catch him,” Raleigh said, as they walked to thirteen. “He’s gonna par the rest. He won’t take another chance. We got six holes left. We need two or three birdies. You can do this. It’s your tournament now.”
“It was a great speech by Raleigh, but truthfully, I wasn’t as brave as my caddy. I was hoping Jim would continue to blow up. I played it safe on the next three holes and made pars, but so did Jim. Now I had to go for it.
“The sixteenth hole was a 157-yard, island par three, really skinny and long, surrounded by water, with wind crossing out of the left. Perfect to hold my draw. I hit first, chose a 3/4 pitching wedge. I made a real smooth pass at the ball and hit it just right. The ball landed on a hill in the middle of the green, then gently spun left down toward the pin, seven feet away. The crowd was so loud that I had to quiet them for Jim. He said, ‘Thank you,’ his first words to me all round. Jim fatted an eight iron, and it barely caught green. I thought it was wet.
“So he’s got a 45-footer that breaks twice. Jim studied the green for a while. It was a mean putt. He stroked it, on a good line, but it caught a slope and rolled ten feet by the hole. It was still his turn. He stroked it again, but it missed low. Jim three-putted, made bogey, so if I made my birdie putt, we were tied.
“What do you see, Raleigh?”
He got down behind it, then said, “A foot left, maybe more. What do you see?”
“No clue.”
“I tried it a foot outside left, but it broke two feet, from seven feet! I tapped in for par, and I was only one stroke back now.”
Travis sipped his Jack and Sprite Zero, then took a deep breath.
“According to the police report, at about the same time that we finished the sixteenth hole, Lexi walked out of her backdoor, wearing a white evening gown and carrying a short-barreled, twelve-gauge shotgun. A next-door neighbor, a guy named Drew, was working in his garden when he saw her.”
“Everything ok, Lexi?” Drew asked.
“Everything is glorious.”
“You look great.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, placing the shotgun on the passenger seat and hopping in her Mercedes. “Love the shirt!”
“Thanks,” he said, waving as she drove off.
“The police report said Drew was wearing a t-shirt with ‘I Pooped Today’ on it.
“Anyway. So we both par the seventeenth and I was still down by one stroke. I have to birdie eighteen, or it was over. We walked onto the eighteenth tee box and who did I see? You. Little Ava. You ran over, gave me a little hug and asked me to sign your program. Your mom was so mad. I signed it for you, even put my phone number down in case you ever needed anything, gave you another hug, then you disappeared back behind the ropes. You were so excited and happy like you knew I was going to birdie and eventually win. All my nerves disappeared. I wanted to win now.
“The eighteenth was a 450-yard par 4, with water all along the right side of the fairway. I spanked a drive down the right side, perfect position for the back-left pin. Jim played it safe, hitting it down the left side, away from the water. He hit his approach shot in the middle of the green, safer than safe.
“I had 109 yards. The pin was way back there on the left.”
“What ya thinking?” Raleigh asked.
“I can punch a gap wedge back there,” Travis said, trying to picture a shot in my mind. Then it hit him. “Give me the lob wedge.”
“You sure?” Raleigh asked.
“Yeah. Let’s end it right here.”
“I took a big rip, trying to pinch the ball real close, so it would spin when it landed. The ball jumped so high, flying right over the pin and into the intermediate rough behind the green.
“Then it started to spin back, gently climbing onto the green, slowly tracking toward the hole. I remember Raleigh saying ‘No way.’ The crowd began to roar as it got closer and closer.
“But suddenly, inches from going in, the ball swerved left and barely missed the cup. Now all I had was a two-footer up the hill for birdie.”
“You called that shot?” Ava asked. “You tried to make it?”
“I think I scared Raleigh a little,” Travis said, cracking a smile. “So Jim two-putts for par, I made my birdie. We were tied, and it was playoff time. Jim didn’t even shake my hand after the round. He wasn’t about to let his guard down with the thousands of people on the course, and millions at home watching television, all hoping he would choke and I would win. The guy was a pro and knew how to handle things.”
Travis motioned to Mac for another round of drinks. They were already on Mac’s tray.
“The playoff started at 5:18 pm. At 5:20 pm, Lexi walked into Marco’s Restaurant, told the bartender that she was supposed to go to Mac’s house for dinner but had lost his address. The bartender happily told her Mac’s address and apartment number.”
“Stupid idiot,” Mac said, dropping off another round and sitting down again.
“The playoff went back to the eighteenth hole,” Travis continued. “We drew numbers from a hat, to see who would hit first. I picked the number one, so it was my honor. They silenced the crowd, then I drilled one down the right side again, further this time, leaving myself only 94 yards. The gallery went ballistic.
“Jim teed it up, while the crowd was still cheering, barely aimed and pumped one down the right also. Perfect. It took a few bounces, rolled for a while, but abruptly stopped all of a sudden and disappeared. Raleigh and I glanced at each other, a little puzzled. Jim didn’t flinch. He gave his caddy his driver and calmly marched down the fairway.
“Jim saw his ball first and threw up his hands in anguish. The ball had hit the top end of a poorly repaired divot. Whoever fixed that divot hadn’t used enough sand on the top of it, and the ball fell into the gap. Jim composed himself and started discussing his options with his caddy.
“I walked up and asked for a ruling from the officials. It wasn’t fair. Jim piped a perfect drive, and there was no excuse for a badly repaired divot. The golf ball was an inch deep with sand right behind his ball.”
“Travis, it’s ok,” Jim said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So I backed off, not wanting to bother my opponent. Jim pulled out a six iron, took a few deep breaths, then tried to punch it out of the divot hole. The ball shot right and dove into the water, about twenty yards right of where my drive ended up.
“It wasn’t fair. Worst of all, the crowd erupted with cheers as it splashed. We got to my ball, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Give me an eight iron,” I said.
“Travis, you’re 94 yards out,” Raleigh said, confused. “What shot do you see with an eight iron?”
“I can’t win this way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I grabbed the eight iron out of the bag and asked the officials where Jim’s ball entered the water. We figured out the place, so I lined up and punched a little eight iron into the water, right where Jim’s ball crossed the hazard. The thing that I really remember was the gasp from the crowd. Jim’s first reaction was anger.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“We’re both hitting our fourth shot now,” I said.
“Hey, I don’t need your charity.”
“And I don’t want to win because of an unfair lie,” I answered, sternly. “I want your best, not bad luck. So relax and get ready to hit. I’m gonna try and beat you, fair and square. You are too good a golfer and too fine a champion to lose because of a bad divot repair on a drive in the middle of the fairway. I have watched you for years, admired what you’ve done for the game and others, and I’m not going to beat you on a technicality. I can’t win that way. I won’t win that way. I’d rather lose.”
Jim chuckled and asked Raleigh, “Is he for real?”
“He’s the best,” Raleigh said, proudly.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jim said and stuck out his hand. “Ok. I’ll give you my best.”
“I shook his hand, then we even half-hugged. The crowd cheered, and I still don’t know if they knew why.
“The officials showed us our drop area, in thick rough, 102 yards out. Jim was deemed to hit first. He took a drop, and the ball disappeared in the long grass. He pulled out a sand wedge, pitched it on the front of the green, and it gently rolled all the way across, stopping below the hole, six feet away. Jim judged the rough perfectly.
“I took my drop, lined up my lob wedge and clipped it just like I wanted, flying the ball high and checking it a foot from the hole.
“But then it spun backward. Out of that rough, it spun. I couldn’t believe it. It started rolling one foot, three feet, eight feet back, then it hit a slope and shot down the hill. It ended up thirty-eight feet away.”
“What happened?” Ava asked.
“I hit it too well,” Travis said, shrugging his shoulders. “I clipped it so well it spun, out of three-inch rough. Plus I made a poor decision in carrying the ball so far in the air. Jim hit the correct shot. I didn’t.
“I opened the door, and there stood Lexi, in a white dress, all dolled-up, with a shotgun in her hands and a shit-eating grin on her face. I stepped back a little, afraid to even speak. Then the girls came over, screaming, and grabbing my legs. Lexi saw how petrified we were, and I swear, she started laughing.”
“Is Grizzly Adams your interior decorator, Mac?” Lexi asked, gazing awkwardly at the tent and fake fire in the middle of living room.
Lexi pumped the shotgun, placed the muzzle under her chin, and smiled at her girls.
“Oh, the things we do for love,” she said.
“Then she closed her eyes, pulled the trigger and blew out the back of her skull,” Mac said, shaking his head. “Shelby and I were in shock. That little girl had a death grip on my left leg, and I couldn’t move. But then I felt Charlotte let go of my other leg. Charlotte calmly walked to the front door, took a quick peek at what was left of Lexi on the outside door step, then slammed the front door shut.”
“Let’s watch Daddy,” Charlotte said, sitting down in front of the TV.
“I’m gonna go finish the dishes,” Mac said, trying to shake the memory out of his head and walking away.
Grabbing Travis’s Jack and Sprite Zero, Ava stole a considerable mouthful, trying to quiet her nerves after Mac’s account of horror. She placed the chilled glass against her forehead and took a few deep breaths.
“It helps, doesn’t it,” Travis said, gently inspecting her, then recognizing that she was all right. “There was nothing anyone could do, Ava. It was what Lexi wanted. If you try to understand it all, you’ll go crazy. I promise. You’re ok, right?”
“Yeah,” Ava said. “Now I understand why you never told anyone.”
Disappearing like the Wind Page 11
