by Pat Flynn
Dr Graham looks smug. ‘Bogey it is.’
Before the last hole, Kane tells me that Dr Graham is winning by one shot. By the looks on their faces both players are either really nervous, or constipated.
Dr Graham slices his long drive and ends up zigzagging his way to the green, getting there in four shots. Dr Edwards hits the ball shorter but straighter, and is on the green in three.
Putting first, Dr Graham curls the ball down the long, downhill slope. It’s a perfect putt, except the ball doesn’t go in the hole – it stops at the very edge of the cup.
‘Unlucky,’ says Dr Edwards, grinning.
Kane is squatting down beside me, and suddenly I hear a whooshing sound coming from his direction.
The ball drops in.
‘Yes!’ says Dr Graham.
‘Unbelievable!’ cries Dr Edwards.
Kane smirks.
Dr Edwards takes a long time to line up his putt. As he stands over the ball, he says, ‘This is the exact birdie putt I saw in my mind before the round. All I have to do is nail it and I’ll force a tie. I live for moments like this.’
At the moment, I’m living for the chance to have a drink and a rest. I’ve been carrying a heavy bag around a paddock for three hours and my back is killing me. There are sandflies and mozzies everywhere and they love my blood. It must taste like red cordial.
In fact, there’s a mozzie buzzing around me now and it’s ticking me off. I can’t kill it because I’m holding the flag in my right hand, and it keeps landing on my left arm.
Dr Edwards is still standing over the ball. He’s taking forever.
The mozzie lands on me and sinks its teeth in. I shake my arm but the bloodsucker is too busy drinking to care. I can’t resist.
Smack!
My hand moves with lightning speed and I squash the mozzie dead. Blood splatters over Dad’s white shirt. Gotcha!
Clack.
It’s the tap of a ball against a putter.
I reach back for the flag quickly, but it’s not there. It’s started to fall! I make a grab for the thin metal rod, but I miss it.
‘Get in the hole!’ yells Dr Edwards.
Clink!
The ball stops dead as it …
… hits the fallen flagpole.
‘No!’ screams Dr Edwards.
‘Uh-oh,’ I say. This can’t be good for my tip.
*
After taking his head out of his hands, Dr Edwards unhappily signs the official scorecard, and opens his wallet to pay a beaming Dr Graham.
Then Dr Edwards calls me over. His wallet’s still in his hand, which might be a good sign. ‘Tony, I need to give you your tip,’ he says.
Really? I wasn’t sure if I’d get one, not with the sneezing, peeing, and dropping the flag on the ball. But it looks like old Dr Edwards isn’t such a bad bloke after all.
‘My tip to you is …’
I hold out my hand, hoping for a twenty. Or maybe a fifty.
‘… never, ever, ever step on a golf course again! You are the worst caddy in the history of the world!’
Hmmm, I might only get a tenner.
‘You have no talent for golf, which probably means you have very little talent for life. I expect to see you one day as a patient, in which case I’ll refer you to someone else so I don’t give you an overdose of antidepressants.’
I reckon I’d need an antidepressant just to be in the same room as him.
‘My job is to help people with major problems,’ he says. ‘You, however, are beyond help.’
He starts walking away.
Hey, I think. He said he was going to give me a tip? And then it hits me.
He’s just given it to me.
I’m about to yell, ‘Loser!’ but Dr Graham’s already walked up beside me.
‘Tony, what can I say?’ he says.
I don’t know. Knowing my luck he’ll probably call me stupid as well.
‘You’re a genius,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘You see, I’ve never beaten that jerk.’ He points a finger at Dr Edwards. I can think of a lot of better words to describe him. ‘And when I asked Kane to find a caddy who’d put him off his game, he said he knew the perfect person.’
‘He did?’ This is getting confusing.
‘You’re a professional actor, Tony. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that you really were the most stupid bloke alive.’
Really confusing. ‘Yep, that’s me,’ I say. ‘Pro actor.’
‘I know that Kane said that he’d give the money to you later, but you did such a great job I wanted to hand it to you personally. Here you go.’
He gives me 100 bucks!
‘Thanks!’ I say. ‘Thanks a lot!’
Before I can figure out what’s going on, an idea pops into my head. It mightn’t be the smartest one in the world, but who cares? That’s never stopped me before. ‘Hey, George!’ I yell.
Dr Edwards is packing his golf clubs into the back of his car. He turns around.
I hold up the cash. ‘Hundred bucks says I’m better than you.’
He pauses, then looks away. For a moment I think he’s going to drive off, but as they say in the movies, money talks.
He saunters back to me. ‘What are you proposing?’
‘One hole. Winner takes all. What do you say, psycho-man?’
He points a finger at my chest. ‘I say you’re on.’
Lacey suddenly appears. She must be finished her $100-an-hour lesson. ‘I heard that! What are you doing, Rossy? You’ve never played golf.’ She almost looks worried for me.
‘I know. I might need a few tips,’ I reply.
‘There’s something else you’ll need.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Clubs.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I’d forgotten about those.
She shakes her head. ‘You can use mine. But only if I can caddy for you.’
‘No worries.’
Kane’s hanging around, probably because he’s got the whiff of more money, so Dr Edwards asks if he’ll caddy for him.
Kane accepts. The traitor.
We walk back to the start of the last hole and Lacey sticks the little wooden thing in the ground and puts the ball on it for me. I could get used to having a caddy. It makes me feel rich.
‘Stand here,’ she says, lining up my body side-on to the ball, about a metre away from it. ‘I’m giving you a three wood, one of the easiest clubs to use. Don’t try to murder the ball, just stroke it nice and easy and let your club head do the work.’
I like that one. Let my club head do the work. Better than my real head doing the work.
I’m about to swing when I remember something. ‘Just one more thing, Lace. How do I actually hit it?’
Kane sniggers.
Lacey says, ‘Here, put your hands like this.’ She takes my fingers and curls them around the handle and each other. ‘All you have to do is count to three: One when you take the club back, two when you start swinging down, and three after the hit. Count nice and slowly and you won’t rush the shot.’
‘It’s as easy as one, two, three, hey?’
‘Yep.’
‘Okay, here goes. One …’ I stand very still and stare at the ball. It looks small. ‘Two …’ I take the club back. ‘Three!’ I swing down and actually hit the ball. It goes flying through the air. Yes! This is easier than I thought.
All of a sudden the ball starts hooking like a banana and heads straight for the trees. How did that happen? I didn’t mean to put any spin on it.
Thwack!
A bird squawks and flies away. I nearly got a birdie.
The ball rebounds off a branch, whacks a rock, hits a smaller tree and bounces back onto the middle of the fairway.
&nbs
p; ‘That’s the luckiest thing I’ve ever seen,’ says Kane.
‘What are you talking about?’ I say. ‘I meant to do that.’
Dr Edwards doesn’t hit his ball perfectly but it still goes a fair way past mine.
‘Good shot, sir,’ says Kane.
‘Crawler,’ I whisper.
Because I can’t use the little stick thing on the fairway, I can’t get the ball up in the air. My next two shots kill a few worms but at least they go straight, which is more than I can say for Dr Edwards. He hits his second shot a long way but it drops into a bunker that’s so steep it looks like a sand dune. He chucks his club to the ground.
Kane has to pick it up.
Sucked in, I think.
For my fourth shot I want to try a run-up like I saw on Happy Gilmore. Maybe then the ball will get some air-time. Lacey says it’s a bad idea.
‘It’s hard enough to hit a golf ball when you’re standing still,’ she says. ‘Just swing nice and easy with this and you’ll get it on the green.’ She hands me a nine iron. ‘Trust me.’
I decide to take her advice. I take the club back and … whack! The ball actually gets off the ground and goes high in the air, like I saw when I watched golf on TV that one time.
It lands on the green.
‘Great shot!’ says Lacey.
I pump my fist. ‘Yes!’ I’m a natural.
I’m even happier when Dr Edwards hits his next shot into the bunker. The same bunker. He gets on the green with his next effort, but he’s further away than me and we’ve both hit four shots.
I can’t believe it. I can beat him!
Dr Edwards putts first and the ball pulls up a few metres short of the hole.
‘Tough game, isn’t it, sir?’ says Lacey.
He gives her a dirty look, putts again and misses to the right. Finally his third putt drops in the hole.
Lacey gives me some advice. ‘The secret to putting,’ she says, ‘is to not think.’
‘I’m good at not thinking,’ I say.
‘Aim just past the hole, clear your mind and let your body take control.’
My body’s good at taking control. Especially my eyes when I walk past a pretty girl.
I line it up, take a deep breath, and hit the putt.
For a second it looks like it might go in the hole, but then it curves left and just misses.
‘Nice putt,’ says Lacey.
‘Thanks.’
This is so good! Only a piddly little half-a-metre shot left and I win!
As I’m lining up, Kane coughs into his hand. It’s a strange cough that sounds like, ‘Loser!’
‘Stop it, Kane!’ Lacey and I say.
‘Stop what? I’ve got an itchy throat.’
Kane is always trying to put me off, especially when we’re playing ping-pong or handball. It makes me so angry.
I back away to calm down and Dr Edwards says, ‘Kane, do you remember when Greg Norman missed a putt like this to lose the Masters?’
Kane nods. ‘I watched it on Foxtel Greats.’
‘Who’s Greg Norman?’ I say.
‘Ignore them,’ says Lacey. ‘They’re just trying to put you off.’
I know, but the thing is, it’s working. If some pro golfer with two first names like Greg Norman can miss a putt this close, then what hope has Tony Ross got? I decide I better concentrate for once in my life.
Get it in, I say to myself. Get it in. I step up and hit the ball firmly. I don’t want to come up short.
It goes in, all right. In the lake, right behind the green.
‘Tough luck, Tony,’ says Dr Edwards, taking my hundred. ‘In life there are two types of people: winners and losers. You’re a loser.’
‘Well, you’re a tosser,’ I say.
Dr Edwards holds the hundred in the air. ‘You know, I make more money in a year than you’ll see in a lifetime. I don’t need this.’
He might be going to give it back to me. At least that’d be one good thing to come out of today.
‘I’ll give it to you on one condition,’ he says. ‘Spend it however you want, but don’t give it to a loser.’
He points at me, and hands the money to Kane. Then he turns and walks off.
‘Sorry, Rossy,’ says Kane, pocketing the cash. ‘I was going to split it with you but I’m a man of my word.’
Lacey sniggers. ‘You never keep your word. And you’re definitely no man.’
I laugh. She just paid him out a good one.
As we walk off the golf course, Lacey links her arm in mine. ‘I’m proud of you, Rossy.’
I look at her. ‘Do you think he’s right? About me being a loser?’
She stops. ‘Well, I’ve known you a long time and I have to say … yes. But I’d rather hang out with a loser like you than morons like them, any day.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I think.’
Operation Get Rich Quick
Devo’s family has more money than a casino. Apparently they play Monopoly with real cash and whatever Devo wins he keeps. No wonder he won the school Monopoly tournament.
But if I can become richer than him, I’ll win. If he buys Ashleigh a milkshake, I’ll get her a milkshake maker. If he buys her a movie ticket, I’ll get her the pirated DVD. It’s a foolproof plan.
As long as I can pull it off, that is.
But getting rich can’t be too hard, I reckon. Plenty of people have done it, like the Queen, and that chick who wrote Harry Potter, and Bill Gates. The Queen gets paid to wave, that chick is JK rolling in it for writing books about a nerdy boy wizard, and Bill Gates is a kazillionaire for … umm, I don’t know. Maybe he invented gates?
Think about it, there’s money everywhere. Shops, post offices, banks – all full of the stuff. I just need to convince someone to give me a whole heap of it. Someone dumb, preferably. And according to Kevin ‘Brains’ McMahon, there’s only one place to find dumb people. The internet.
Here is the email I’m about to unleash on the world.
Dear Everyone
I am just an ordinary boy.
A while ago I had a girlfriend. It was cool. Then I dumped her when she got braces and now she goes out with a rich dude. This is not cool.
I want her back, and not just because she got her braces off, but because she’s hot and a good kisser and a pretty nice chick too. To do this I need to become richer than the rich dude and buy my girl everything she deserves. Like a gold ring, or if I don’t get enough money for that, a ticket to the Gold Class movies. But I need your help.
Would you please send me cash so that I can win my girlfriend back and be a happy boy again?
Five dollars would be okay, but $50 or $100 would be a lot better.
If you send me money and forward this email to seven people all your dreams will come true.
If you send me money and forward this email to one person then only one out of every seven of your dreams will come true.
If you don’t send me money or forward this email then your dreams will turn into nightmares
about a doll that throws knives at you when you’re asleep and it will definitely come true.
I show my little bro, Simon, and ask him for feedback. In other words, I want to hear how great I am.
He reads it intensely. ‘I can describe this in two words.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’ If I was a betting man, I’d put money on him saying ‘most excellent’.
‘Total crapola,’ he says.
I throw a pencil at him but he ducks.
‘Well, what would you write then, geni-arse?’ I say.
He picks up the pencil and puts it in his mouth. ‘You need to make people feel more sorry for you.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘You need to say you’re handicapped or something.’
‘In other words, say I’m you?’
He doesn’t give me any more advice after that. He throws the pencil like a spear at my head. Luckily for me I’ve got a hard head.
His idea isn’t a bad one, though, so I make a few adjustments and show Belinda.
‘For someone as untalented as you,’ she says, ‘it’s actually not that far below average.’
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a putdown.
‘But you should say something about true love because that’s what everyone wants,’ she adds.
I don’t know about that. I don’t really care if I get true love or false love, just as long as I get to kiss Ashleigh again.
‘You can’t really ask for money, either,’ Belinda says. ‘People who work at the post office will steal it. Ask for Instant Scratch-Its.’
Scratch-Its, ay? That’s a good suggestion – I could win thousands of dollars and get to scratch something at the same time.
After Simon and Belinda’s advice, this is what I come up with.
Dear Everyone
I am just an ordinary boy. Well, I was until a car sped through a red light and knocked me off my bike. When I woke up four weeks later the Dr told me I’d spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. But worst of all, I also found out my beautiful girlfriend had broken up with me to go out with a rich kid with two good legs. The only thing that will give me the will to live again is if I win her back. For this I need to buy her something she’ll never forget. A diamond ring. Please send me Instant Scratch-Its and with the winnings I’ll buy her a diamond ring and she’ll take me back, I know it. If that happens my life will be great. If it doesn’t my life will suck like it does now.
Please help me.
Mr Broken Heart (and back)
If you send scratchies to me and forward this email to seven people then you will find true love.
If you send me scratchies and don’t forward this email to seven people then you will get to kiss your true love but he or she will dump you afterwards like a ton of trucks.
If you don’t send me scratchies or forward this email then your true love will go out with your best friend and they will live happily ever after.
Okay, so it’s not exactly the truth anymore, but everyone lies on the internet.
