by James Ross
Lifetime Loser
James Ross
Copyright © 2007 by James Ross.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2007903806
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4257-7210-9
Softcover 978-1-4257-8208-5
Ebook 978-1-4500-6957-1
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One
Days like today reminded J.W. Schroeder of when he was a boy learning the game of golf. The sun was as warm as the sky was blue. As most boys, he allowed impatience to permeate every crevice of his character. This proclivity for eagerness led him to cheat on a spelling test in school which in turn, spotlighted the need for his character to be molded.
Even his given name of Jerome William was abbreviated to J.W. Yet the kids in school found that pronouncing “J-Double-U” was too cumbersome and time consuming. So the initials were shortened even more to become “J Dub” and the name stuck. Such is life for an impetuous eleven year old boy.
Memories of his eleventh summer always brought a smile to J Dub’s lips. His family moved to a more status-conscious neighborhood and his dad, Bob Schroeder, felt that the time was perfect for his youngest son to learn the nuances of the “gentleman’s” game. This was especially so since the discovery of J Dub’s cheating at school.
It wasn’t long before Bob Schroeder was buying golf clubs at a nearby garage sale for his son. And, as an added benefit, the driving range was located within walking distance of their home. The advantages of being a father as well as a basketball coach and golf instructor would promise to pay handsome dividends for his son. It was time for J Dub to learn to be competitive, patient, and to respect the property of others. That summer would be pivotal in J Dub’s life. He shook his head as he remembered all the times he badgered his father about golfing. A boy’s patience was about as long as the blink of an eye.
“Dad, when are you going to take me golfing with you?”
“You need to learn how to hit the ball first.”
“But that’s so boring.”
“You’re not old enough or experienced enough to handle the trees, creeks, sand, and wind that the golf course is going to throw at you,” his dad explained.
“I won’t hit the ball there.”
“Even the best do. You put your time in and practice how to hit the ball on the range. After that you can carry my clubs, caddy for me, and learn the game. When you finish reading “The Rules of Golf” then I’ll let you go to the course and play.”
J Dub got a chance to go to the driving range daily since his dad was teaching golf for a summer school class of kids. Each day of that summer began the same; after packing their lunch and putting some beverages in the cooler, father and son would head to the range. While some lessons are learned inside a classroom, J Dub received his education on the driving range from his father each morning. J Dub liked to think of them as “golf-isms” that were espoused with the same fervor as a preacher delivering a sermon to a congregation.
“Show up on time, son. You don’t want to be late for a tee time. Your playing buddies might get mad at you,” his dad would preach, “and good buddies are hard to come by.”
When J Dub got over that first ball at the driving range and took a relaxed, gifted swing, the “coach” knew he had something special. Equally as important, the “dad” realized that this could be the way for his youngest son to step outside the shadow of his older brother, Curt. Bob Schroeder was right. His multi-functional roles in J Dub’s life would make the differ
ence.
That first summer of golf for J Dub was the proverbial “necessary evil.” The heat was smothering and the long, tiring work in the sunshine was monotonous. At times, J Dub wondered if the heat and humidity or his increasing frustration with the methodical approach to golf would break him.
It didn’t take long for J Dub to settle into his designated spot. They had been at the range for only a few minutes when Coach Schroeder started to lecture his son.
“I want you to understand that it is unacceptable for you to behave the way that you have been at school. I won’t tolerate any of it. We’re going to use this summer to teach you some responsibility. You’re going to learn to work hard and face the consequences of your efforts.”
“But I want to play!” J Dub was exasperated. His father’s insistence of taking slow, deliberate steps in learning golf wore on his patience.
“First, you’re going to learn how to hit the ball. Secondly, you’re going to learn the rules of the game. When you learn proper etiquette and the basic tenets of the game, then we’ll take you to the course. One day you’ll realize that this is more about building your character than learning to swing a club.”
J Dub balked mildly, but he knew that it was useless to argue with his dad. He pondered what golf and life could possibly have in common.
“Now grab a bucket of balls and your clubs. Get the cooler and head for the side of the range,” Coach Schroeder barked.
J Dub found his spot at the far end of the practice area. An old oak tree that looked like it started sprouting during the Civil War was what saved him from the blistering sunshine. He became grateful for the shade and brief moments when a soothing breeze would blow.
J Dub’s regimented sessions with his father began to blossom into newfound diligence and discipline for the game. He practiced often and eventually wore all of the grooves off of his seven-iron. After that a hole started to wear through the clubface. Then the grip on the club wore out. Finally the blisters on J Dub’s hands turned to calluses. J Dub learned that perfect practice made for perfect shots and that he had to work hard for his success.
When the sweat would trickle down his face and sting his eyes, he would escape to the shade of the old oak tree. It was his savior that summer. It was under the shade of that old, oak that J Dub would read his first book on golf. By the end of the summer he could recite the rules of the game.
The watchful eye of the coach knew he was molding a winner. The proud dad knew that his little boy was learning how to be a man. The constant practice and the attentive reading began to show benefits beyond learning the game of golf.
“What did you learn today, J Dub?” his dad asked.
“I learned not to cheat, to count all of your strokes, and to trust your playing partners,” J Dub replied. “The game of golf is based on honesty and integrity.”
Those were pretty big words for an eleven year-old. But more importantly, they were values that would be instilled in an impressionable child.
“Plus you told me not to lose my temper or cuss on the course . . . and no matter what happened to never throw clubs.”
It was the swing, the swing that came whistling with dynamic force through the ball at impact! It became a thing of beauty. Time after time the ball would jump off of the club face. J Dub had molded something that could stand up under any amount of pressure. His golf years had surpassed his chronological years, tenfold. His experience hitting a golf ball would rival a veteran player. Greater still, he learned that with perseverance any accomplishment was possible.
And now, a dozen years later, the little boy had an opportunity to live his personal dream. All of the years of practice had positioned him to compete with the best young players that the game of golf could provide. That summer saw his transition from a boy to a man. This was the culmination of everything that he and his Dad had worked so hard for.
Chapter Two
PGA Q-School Tournament—Texas, Early December 1983 . . .
As J Dub grew older, he noticed that “the summer of his eleventh year” had become somewhat of a melancholy memory. It was much different now than when he was a boy trying to tame his bad habits through a disciplined practice session on the driving range. Time has a way of teaching deliberation to those who experience melancholy memories such as this.
J Dub couldn’t help but feel a myriad of emotions. His dad, best friend, and mentor, had succumbed to a heart attack. Coach Schroeder had been buried a few months earlier. Yet, the circle of life offered poignancy as his young wife, Marcia, carried new life. In addition to that, she was on his bag caddying for her husband during the biggest moment of his golfing career.
With the practiced obedience of a professional, J Dub literally shook off the emotional distractions and surveyed the fifty-foot downhill putt. After all, this was the one-hundred-seventh hole of the demanding PGA Qualifying School Tournament. He was in the state of Texas for the first time. This was the last of six numbing days; each day had been crammed with eighteen pressure-packed holes. One bad swing or single mental collapse could signify disaster.
J Dub had reached deep and moved into contention for the sought-after Q-School card. The top twenty would make it. Staying focused for a few more minutes meant that all of the years of hard work, dedication and determination were about to pay off.
He squatted behind the ball to read the line of the putt. A very-pregnant Marcia wobbled to stand behind her husband. They conferred about the line and pointed to a shaded area of the green. J Dub shook his head in agreement.
As J Dub placed the ball and picked up his marker, Marcia returned to the flagpole. She attended the stick as he hovered over the ball. Come on now . . . just one good putt and I’m good to go. With a committed stroke, he started the ball on its path.
“Come on baby. Find the bottom,” J Dub shouted.
He walked after the ball knowing that he had kept his head down and had made a good stroke. Stay cool . . . one stroke at a time. You can do it.
“Hold your line,” Marcia yelled. Her eyes intently followed the path of the ball as she lifted the pin out of the cup.
“Keep your speed, sweetheart,” J Dub screamed as he tried to coax the ball into the cup.
While the ball inched toward the hole, the years and years of hard work came together in a single instant. The ball banged into the cup. As it rattled home, J Dub jumped with excitement. “ . . . Yeah! Thatta baby!” he shrieked.
With one hole left to play in the biggest tournament of his life, the sound of the ball bouncing into the bottom of the cup meant that J Dub had positioned himself to take the next step into life. Marcia had a grin from ear to ear. She squinted from the bright sun at her husband and smiled as she saw him go from giving himself silent pep talks to taking on a swagger of confidence at being so close to his dream. She instinctively knew that this particular moment was as important to them as her pregnancy.
Marcia also knew that she and J Dub were meant to be together. There was no doubt about it. From the time they met on a blind date as college freshmen, she was absolutely smitten with him. That’s not to say that she was the typical golfer’s wife. The phrase, “Dynamite comes in small packages” described Marcia Schroeder to a tee. She was small in stature, yet somehow bigger than life. Just like her husband, she was the youngest in her family and was fortunate to have had a “proper” upbringing. Her sisters paved the way for her; much like Curt had done for J Dub. Her spunk was what attracted J Dub almost immediately. He playfully describes his wife as “full of piss and vinegar.” Marcia was a pistol, and was used to getting her way.
Looking from the outside in, J Dub and Marcia appeared to be the “All American couple.” They were good looking and blessed with common sense and down-to-earth roots. Marcia was glad to have found J Dub. Most of the other guys that she had dated were “book smart, life stupid” as her father used to say. Intelligence was one thing, but having a partner that could think on his feet and pay the bills was much more attractiv
e to her than someone that could interpret the nuances of Socrates. Marcia knew she had a good man in J Dub and now it appeared he would be able to live his dream of playing on the PGA tour. That meant it would be time for Marcia to concentrate on becoming a mom and starting a family full time.
“Nice birdie, J Dub.”
“That should do it, Marcia.” J Dub’s confidence was growing by the second. He felt really good about his game today.
“Stay within yourself. One shot at a time,” she reminded him. Marcia knew how close they were. Easy does it she thought to herself.
J Dub handed his putter to the caddy as they walked off of the green. A smattering of applause greeted them as they walked to the next tee. Hearing the sparse applause meant he had a few fans following his round. However, his biggest fan wasn’t here to see the fruition of J Dub’s hard work. Although he liked to think his dad was with him, somehow.
His dream was just a breath away. J Dub walked to the center of the tee box and peered down the fairway. He reached into his back pocket for the yardage book and studied the hole. The years of practice, patience, and sound decisions were about to pay off. He looked up and winked at Marcia. “Par should do it.”
Marcia could see the confidence in his eyes. But, she knew that he needed to settle down, breathe, and relax.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Remember to just play one shot at a time.”
J Dub reached into his bag and grabbed his driver and pulled off the head cover. He teed the ball up. He took one more look at his desired destination then looked down at the ball, gripped his driver, and ripped a drive right down the middle. The ball seemed to hang in the sky forever as it split the fairway in half.
J Dub grinned from ear to ear and made his way to his wife’s side.
“Nice rip!”
“Caught it pretty good,” J Dub replied.
J Dub’s self-assurance was brimming over as they walked off of the tee box. He took a sidelong glance at Marcia and her growing belly and smiled.
“This one’s for you, me, and the little one,” he cooed as he patted her belly.
“Look, I’ll worry about that one. You’ve still got some business to do out here on the course.” Marcia was intent on keeping J Dub focused on the task at hand.
