A Handicap of Shades

Lyle Davenport golfs for memories instead of birdies. The old course's clubhouse has vanished. His arms and back turn too stiff for a graceful swing, and Lyle realizes more tee drives arc behind him than fly in front of him. Still, Lyle keeps to his weekly rounds. He shares tee-times with ghosts, and Lyle would never traverse the narrow fairways of his memory from the comfort of a cart.Lyle Davenport's golf game has not changed for years. He shares his tee-time each Tuesday and Thursday morning with Ken Sutton, and the numbers penciled upon their scorecards never delineate from one round to another. Birdie always fall on the same puts as before. Water hazards and rough claim their sacrifices on the same swings as ever. But though Lyle's rounds hold a terrible measure of sorrow and pain, those rounds hold ever more exhilaration and joy. For in all his years flaying at a small, white ball, Lyle has never witnessed a swing as graceful as Ken Sutton's. And the memory is enough to keep Lyle coming back to those manicured and cruel fairways of grass.