The Back Nine: A Novel About Life After Fifty

by E. A. Briginshaw

  “How’d you ladies do?” Max asked.

  “Oh, Marilyn won the match five holes ago,” Janice said. “We just played out the round for fun.”

  Marilyn put her hand on Max’s shoulder. “It’s just killing you, isn’t it? Imagine, playing the game just for fun.”

  * * *

  Max was relieved when the results of the ladies matches were posted. Riverview had managed to win four out of the six ladies matches and had put the overall competition into a tie with nine points each. There were six more points available in the men’s matches. But a tie in the men’s matches wouldn’t be good enough. If everything ended in a tie, Blackhawk Ridge would retain the cup as defending champions.

  As Max headed over toward the first tee, he heard the distant rumble of thunder. Storm clouds were starting to gather.

  * * *

  Bruce stood on the first tee waiting for his son to arrive for their match. He knew Josh was there because he had seen him earlier on the range. He heard a trunk slam in the parking lot and looked over to see his son approaching, carrying his clubs in his new Ernie Els Signature golf bag.

  “I figured this might bring me some luck today,” Josh said when he arrived.

  Bruce sensed the confidence in his son’s stride. It continued out on the golf course. Bruce was playing well, but Josh was playing better. If Bruce made a birdie putt, Josh would roll one in right after him. When they made the turn after nine holes, Josh was three up. It looked like Josh might actually beat his father for the first time.

  The first crack in the armour didn’t appear until the par-three twelfth hole. Josh hit his tee shot on the green and had about a ten foot putt for birdie. Bruce hit a terrible tee shot that barely cleared the water hazard. It hit the bank and the ball trickled back into the edge of the water.

  In a regular game, Bruce would have simply taken a penalty shot, dropped another ball, and pitched it onto the green trying to salvage a bogey. But in match play, holes were simply won or lost. It didn’t matter whether your competitor won the hole by one shot, or six. Bruce knew that Josh was going to make a par at worst.

  “It’s barely in the water,” Bruce said. “I’m going to try to play it.”

  He took off his right shoe and sock, rolled up the right leg of his pants, and then put his foot in the water.

  “Christ, it’s cold!”

  Bruce hovered his club above the water and then took a mighty swing. The ball came flying out of the water, landed on the green, took one bounce, hit the pin about a foot off the ground, and then fell straight down into the hole.

  “Here we go again,” Josh said.

  Bruce hadn’t even seen the ball go in. He was too busy trying to maintain his balance and not fall backwards into the water.

  “What happened? Where did it go?”

  Josh pulled the ball out of the hole. “You are such a lucky bastard!”

  Josh missed his putt, so Bruce won the hole with a birdie. On the par-five thirteenth hole, Josh hit his tee shot into the water and had to take a penalty shot, so Bruce won that hole as well. They both made pars on the next hole, but Bruce birdied the fifteenth hole to square the match.

  They heard the rumble of thunder behind them when they stood on the sixteenth tee. Bruce turned to see a huge storm approaching.

  “I’m not sure we’re going to finish before the storm hits,” Bruce said.

  * * *

  One hole behind, in the last match of the day, Cheech was also trying to mount a comeback in his match against Stryker.

  Since his performance on the driving range, Cheech had been worried about the shanks all day. Some people say the hardest shot in golf is the shot you’re faced with after you’ve shanked one and Cheech was in full agreement. Rather than being aggressive and attacking the course, Cheech just felt relief whenever he hit the ball in the centre of the clubface.

  Stryker was playing like a golfing machine, always playing the smart shot, always making solid contact. Stryker was three up in the match after the first nine holes. Cheech knew there were plenty of golf stories about triumphs and tragedies on the back nine, but he knew that Stryker was not going to wilt unless he started applying some pressure on him.

  On the par-four dogleg tenth hole, Stryker hit an iron into the middle of the fairway, the smart and safe shot. Cheech pulled his driver and aimed just to the right of the houses that bordered the dogleg on the left. When he first hit it, he thought for sure he was going to end up in someone’s back yard, but the wind slowly pushed it back on line. It landed just short of the green, but bounced forward leaving Cheech a thirty footer for eagle.

  This seemed to rattle Stryker, but only for a second. He calmly hit his second shot onto the green and two-putted for par. When Cheech hit his eagle putt up to within a foot, Stryker conceded the birdie and the hole to Cheech.

  “Pretty gutsy shot,” Stryker said as they walked off the green. “You probably only make that shot two out of ten times.”

  “Yeah, I got lucky,” Cheech said. He thought Stryker might have even over-estimated his chances of hitting the green with his tee shot.

  They both birdied the par-five eleventh hole and parred the par-three twelfth, so Cheech was still two down as he stood on the thirteenth tee. The thirteenth hole is a long par-five that sweeps to the left with a large water hazard bordering the left side, all the way to the green. Cheech took an aggressive line aiming directly over the water. He smoked his tee shot, but there was still some doubt as to whether it would clear the water. He breathed a sigh of relief when the ball landed on dry land.

  Stryker hit a three-wood to the middle of the fairway. On his second shot, he hit a three-iron leaving an easy wedge shot into the green.

  The smart shot would have been for Cheech to hit his second shot to the right, avoiding any chance of going in the water. But what was the point of making a risky tee shot if he wasn’t willing to go for it with his second shot as well? He pulled his three wood and aimed directly at the flag.

  “See it, feel it, trust it,” he thought to himself.

  He hit it perfectly and the ball cleared the water landing on the green. He got lucky. He got even luckier when it looked like his ball was going to roll off the back of the green, but it circled and came back down the hill, stopping just four feet away from the hole.

  No one was more surprised than Cheech when he saw Stryker chunk his approach shot into the water. He’d never seen Stryker hit such a poor shot.

  “You win the hole,” Stryker conceded.

  Cheech was now only one down.

  When they reached the fourteenth tee, Cheech noticed several people standing around the green watching. They were the golfers whose matches were already over. That must mean the overall winner still hadn’t been decided.

  Both Cheech and Stryker hit good shots onto the green and two-putted for par. As Cheech was walking to the next tee, Max pulled up in his golf cart.

  “How’s your match going?” Max asked.

  “I’m one down,” Cheech said. “How’s the team doing?”

  “It looks like it’s going right down to the wire. We need you to pull this one out.” Max gave him a fist pump before driving off.

  The fifteenth hole is a long par-four with a challenging tee shot over water. Cheech had the honour and took the head cover off of his driver. He knew he had to continue to apply pressure to Stryker. If we was going to win the match, he was going to have to make birdies. He doubted Stryker would bogey any of the remaining holes.

  Once again, he took an aggressive line over the water. He hit a perfect tee shot which easily cleared the water, leaving him an easy wedge into the green.

  Stryker played the smart shot and hit the middle of the fairway. He hit a seven iron on his next shot and found the middle of the green.

  As Cheech stood over his second shot, he noticed that the crowd behind the green had grown. He could see Max and his father in the golf cart. All of the ladies matches were over so they were all gathered beh
ind the green to see how everything would play out.

  And that’s when he saw Maggie. She was standing with her teammates from Blackhawk Ridge. He wondered if she had won her match. He wondered if she was cheering for her teammates, or hoping he would win. He wondered if she had thought about last night as much as he had.

  Focus, dammit. Focus on the shot.

  He was caught between deciding whether to hit his pitching wedge or his gap wedge. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. It’s probably better to pound the gap wedge rather than take a little off the pitching wedge. He didn’t think he’d be able to hit any kind of finesse shot at this point.

  He pulled the gap wedge and lined up the shot. He kept his head down and thought he had made a good swing, but the crowd gasped when they heard the sound, even before they saw where the ball ended up.

  “He shanked it,” someone from the crowd said.

  The ball careened to the right, took three crazy bounces sending it even farther to the right, and ended up out of bounds.

  Cheech just stood there, dumbfounded.

  Behind him, there was another rumble of thunder. In the distance, there was a flash of lightning.

  The horn sounded a few seconds later. That was the signal to get off the course. A golf course is the last place you want to be in a thunder storm.

  As the rain started to fall, Cheech continued to just stand there looking at the club in his hand. It was like he had just thrown a hand grenade and he was left there holding the pin in his hand.

  “Do you want a ride into the clubhouse or are you just going to wait there until you get hit by lightning?”

  Cheech turned to see who it was.

  It was Maggie.

  Chapter 26: Toward The Light

  Max sat in his office in the pro shop along with Darren, the captain of the team from Blackhawk Ridge.

  “I’m not sure we’re going to get this in,” Darren said.

  Max looked at the weather forecast that was displayed on his computer screen. “According to this, the storm is going to last another couple of hours, but then it’s clear after that.”

  “It’ll be almost dark by then,” Darren said.

  If this was the middle of the summer, they’d have several more hours of daylight. But now that it was September, the days were getting shorter.

  “So we’ll probably not be able to finish this until tomorrow,” Max said.

  “Our guys can’t play tomorrow,” Darren said. “I know all of your players are retired, but my guys have jobs. Stryker told me he’s in court first thing tomorrow.”

  “So what do we do?” Max asked.

  “Well, normally the matches would be scored however they stand when play is suspended. We were all tied up with three matches still on the course. Your guy, Ray Ferguson, was one-up coming down eighteen. Bruce and Josh were all tied up heading to the seventeenth. And Stryker was two-up with three to play. So, doing the math, we’d end up tied with twelve points each.”

  Max knew that a tie meant that Blackhawk Ridge retained the cup. “Not acceptable,” he said.

  “The only other option is to declare all matches still out on the course a draw, but we still end up with the same result overall. Look, I know the win is important to you, but you have to be reasonable.”

  Max stared out the window. It was still raining hard.

  “I think it might be starting to clear up.”

  * * *

  All of the players went to the clubhouse during the rain delay. Players who had already completed their matches could relax and have a drink or two, but the players from the last three matches were a nervous bunch. They knew that it was up to them to decide who would win the Challenge Cup when, or if, play resumed. Ray and Bruce were sitting at a table by the window watching the storm.

  “Think we’ll be getting back out there?” Ray asked.

  “It’s not looking too promising,” Bruce said. “Probably just as well for me. I’m lucky to be still tied in my match. Josh is playing really well.”

  “I hope we do,” Ray said. “I’m one up, and I’d already hit a good tee shot on eighteen when the horn blew. I’m pretty sure I can make par from there so it’ll take a birdie to beat me.” Ray looked around the room. “Have you seen Cheech?”

  “No, but I’ve heard people whispering that he shanked one on fifteen and he’s two down with three to play. He’s probably hiding somewhere. If it was me, that’s what I’d be doing.”

  “Me too, but that’s probably the last thing he needs. We should go find him.”

  Bruce nodded his agreement and they both headed off in search of their golfing buddy and teammate. They checked the pro shop, the men’s locker room, even the pool area, but didn’t find him.

  * * *

  Cheech and Maggie were still sitting in the golf cart. They’d driven the cart down the ramp into the cart storage area underneath the pro shop to get out of the rain. Maggie had tried to get him to head up to the clubhouse, but Cheech didn’t feel like being around anyone in his current state of mind. Maggie decided to stay with him.

  “It’s just a game, you know,” Maggie said.

  That was about the third time she’d said it. In fact, she’d been doing all the talking. Cheech was just sitting in the cart with his cap pulled down over his eyes, not saying a word. The silence was deafening.

  Cheech finally raised the peak of his hat up, just a bit. “Where do we stand?”

  Maggie looked over at him. She knew he wasn’t asking about the match. “I’m not sure.”

  “What about last night?”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly last night,” Maggie said. “I don’t think you were either. I think we just got caught up in the, um, heat of the moment.”

  “So what do we do now?” Cheech asked.

  Maggie thought for a few seconds. “How about we just take things slow and see how it all plays out?”

  Cheech sat up a little straighter in his seat. “Are you saying you’re going to give me another chance? That there’s still hope for us?”

  Maggie smiled. “You know what they say. It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Max pushed the button to give the horn two quick blasts. That was the signal to resume play. Although it was still raining a bit, the threat of a lightning strike had passed.

  Because it was so late in the day and they were afraid of running out of daylight, both captains had agreed to forego any warmup time for their players. The three remaining matches headed back out onto the course.

  Max jumped into his cart and headed out to the eighteenth hole with his father, Arthur, in the passenger seat beside him.

  Ray did as he had predicted. He hit his second shot onto the green and had an easy two-putt for par. When his competitor missed his birdie putt, it meant that Ray won his match. Riverview was now one point ahead with two matches still on the course.

  “We’re going to run out of daylight before the other two matches finish,” Max said to his father.

  “Why don’t you just light it up?” Arthur asked.

  Max shook his head at his father. “This isn’t a baseball stadium, Dad. You can’t just turn on the lights like you’re playing a double-header.”

  “No, but you can do what we did back in the ’78 Invitational.”

  “What are you talking about?” Max asked.

  “I can’t believe you don’t remember,” Arthur said. “The 1978 Invitational in Ottawa. That’s the first tournament you ever won. Don’t you remember the finish?”

  Max recalled his first win as a professional. “That just might work!” He leaned over to hug his father. Then he picked up his walkie-talkie.

  “Scott, I need your help. Get as many people together as you can.”

  * * *

  Josh was tied in his match against his father when they came to the seventeenth tee. Josh knew that his dad had been lucky on the twelfth hole when he won the hole by pitching in out of the
hazard, but there was no excuse for letting him win two more holes to square the match. It was time to put the hammer down.

  The seventeenth hole was a long par three, down in a valley running alongside the river. With the failing light, it was getting more difficult to see the green.

  Bruce played first and hit his shot on the green about ten feet from the hole. The old man was not going to go down without a fight. The pressure was all on Josh now. He mumbled something to himself as he took his practice swings. Then he hit a high draw that landed on the green and rolled up toward the hole, about eight feet away.

  “Nice shot,” Bruce said.

  Bruce hit a good putt, but it slid by the hole on the high side. In the dim light, it was getting harder and harder to read the greens.

  Josh only took a few seconds to line up his shot. Once again, he mumbled something to himself when he stroked his putt. The ball rolled into the centre of the cup. Josh was now one up.

  On eighteen, Josh crushed his drive. He knew his father would never be able to match that drive.

  Bruce took an aggressive line and hit a good tee shot, but he didn’t have the distance to clear the bunker. The ball buried in the trap, close to the lip. All he could do was pitch the ball back into the fairway.

  When his father missed the green on his third shot, Josh knew he had him. Keep your focus. He pulled his wedge and took dead aim at the pin, then hit a beautiful shot that rolled up to within a few feet from the hole. He saw his father’s shoulders slump.

  He’d been trying his whole life to beat his father, but now that he was on the cusp of achieving his goal, he felt a little sad. This was the man that had first shown him how to grip the club properly when he was ten years old, taken him to God knows how many par-3 pitch-n-putt courses until he was good enough to play on the bigger courses, and spent countless hours helping him search through the rough for his errant golf balls when he was learning to hit the driver.