| General Fiction posted March 8, 2023 | Chapters: |
1 -2- 3... 
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The hustlers are introduced.
A chapter in the book Lucky Eddie
Lucky Eddie - Chapter 2
by Jim Wile
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
| Background Two young men meet as opponents during the finals of the golf club championship and soon become lifelong best friends. It is their great friendship that helps them navigate many of life's challenges. |
(See the Author Notes for the definition of any golf terminology used as well as a description of the main characters.)
Recap: The story is narrated by Kenny Payne and begins when he is 22 years old. With a phenomenally lucky shot on the 18th hole, Eddie Phillips beats Kenny, whom he had just met that day, in the 1975 club championship at Brentwood Country Club in western Pennsylvania. Kenny and Eddie become best friends and begin golfing together regularly. Eddie is an inventor working on putter designs, and Kenny, who is a mechanical engineer, begins helping Eddie figure out why his current putter works so well.
(A continuation of the chapter: The Hustle)
The following Saturday afternoon, Tony, the caddie master, approached Eddie and me and said there were a couple of guys who were thinking about becoming members at Brentwood and were here this weekend to check it out. They were looking for a game on Sunday, and Tony was wondering if Eddie and I would be interested in playing with them. We both agreed, and Tony told us they were sitting in the bar and to go introduce ourselves.
Their names were Jimmy Fairbanks and Bucky Welborn. They were older than us—perhaps mid-forties—but looked like they knew their way around a country club. Jimmy was tall and rather handsome, while Bucky was kind of chunky and had a crew cut. They seemed like nice enough guys, and we made arrangements to play in the morning around 10:00 o’clock. They said that they both had a 10-handicap and wondered if we’d like to put a little money on the match. Without hesitation, Eddie told them sure and that we could work out the details in the morning.
We left then, and as we walked out I told Eddie I had a funny feeling about this. He said not to worry and not to stay out too late with Abby. “Sleep well, Sport. We’ll knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”
The next morning, I woke up around 8:00 and made myself a breakfast of eggs and toast. I didn’t feel quite right—kind of a heavy feeling and bloated. Abby and I had been eating out a lot—mostly burgers and fries, but not many fruits and vegetables—and I was beginning to pay for it. I spent some time in the bathroom before heading to the club, but to no avail.
When I got there, I met Eddie coming out of the clubhouse, and together we started walking to the pro shop. “How ya doing this fine morning, Sport?”
“Not so good, Eddie. I’ve been kind of blocked up lately, and it’s a bit painful down here,” I said, pointing below my navel.
“Well, that’s more than I need to know. Did you try a laxative or something?”
“No, not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.”
“Alright, Sport. Let’s go see if those two jokers are here yet.”
We went into the pro shop, and Tony Colosi told us that Fairbanks and Welborn were in the dining room having breakfast. We thanked Tony and headed over to the dining room, where we found them seated at a table in the corner.
“So, fellas, what do you think of Brentwood so far?” I asked them, trying to sound friendly, though my intestines were clearly asserting their displeasure by now.
“This is a terrific place,” said Welborn. “Care to join us for a cup of coffee before we play?” Eddie and I both declined.
“Alright then, let’s discuss the terms of our match,” said Welborn.
“What sort of game and wager did you have in mind, boys?” asked Eddie.
“Well, we asked Tony what your handicaps were, and he told us one and four,” replied Welborn. “Since Jimmy and I are both a ten, how about best-ball match play, and we’ll all take strokes based on the handicap rankings for each hole. For stakes, what would you say to two large?”
“Is that two hundred?” I asked.
“It’s two thousand,” said Eddie. Welborn nodded.
“Fellas, did you happen to bring some proof of your handicaps?” inquired Eddie. With that, Fairbanks pulled out a copy of the handicap sheet from his previous club, anticipating that we might ask. It was dated two weeks ago, and sure enough, both Welborn and Fairbanks were listed as having a 10-handicap.
“Uh, Eddie, can I talk to you outside for a moment?”
Out we went, and I guided him over to the bag rack where our four bags were sitting side by side. “Eddie, I’ve got a real bad feeling about this. I think they’re only here to try to find a couple of patsies to hustle. Look at this,” I said, pointing to the wear pattern on Fairbanks’s 7-iron. It was perfectly round and the size of a nickel. “No 10-handicapper has a wear pattern like that. I’m guessing this guy’s at least a 2, maybe scratch. That handicap sheet he showed us has got to be a fake!”
“I know that, Sport. I’m not some rube from the country, you know. I knew these guys were here to hustle us when we met ‘em yesterday. Just trust me on this, will ya, and follow my lead here? We’re going to hustle them.”
“WHAT? How?”
“You’ll know when the time comes. Don’t worry!”
“Eddie, I’m not feeling so good. I’ve got to head into the bathroom.”
“Alright, Sport. I’ll go back in and tell them we accept their bet. You just go in there, and give it the old college try.”
Before I left for the locker room, I noticed Eddie pull his 2-iron from his bag and head into the pro shop. I wondered briefly what that was about but gave it no more thought as I made my way into the locker room and headed over to the stalls.
I sat there, miserably for about five minutes without any success. I was stewing about what Eddie might have planned and what this could potentially cost me, when all of a sudden, KABOOOOOOOOOM!!! It sounded like the whole room exploded. The bathroom was tiled throughout, and the explosion really reverberated. It literally scared the shit right out of me.
A few seconds later I heard Eddie’s voice. “Hey, Sport, what the hell just happened?”
“I think you know, Eddie,” I said—my heart still in my throat. “So what was that, a firecracker or a cherry bomb?”
“Cherry bomb. Did it work?”
“You bet! Feeling good now if I can ever get my heart to slow down!”
“That’s the ticket, Sport. Now let’s go beat those guys!”
We headed out to the first tee where Fairbanks and Welborn were already there waiting for us. We got our clubs from our caddie, a high school kid named Gary Latz, and strode onto the tee. I noticed that E.J. Budrowski, a notoriously bad caddie, was holding Fairbanks’s and Welborn’s bags. I figured Eddie had probably arranged that with Tony, and that it was part of his scheme.
We flipped a coin, and we had the honors. I hit a nice, low, piercing shot down the middle, and Eddie hit a surprisingly good drive down the left side of the fairway. Like me, Fairbanks also hit an iron. His swing was long and languid, and he hit a good shot down the right-center, but his follow-through was very awkward-looking with a funny, twisting motion and a sudden lift of the club at the very end. It seemed incongruous with the rest of his swing—as if he were trying to make his swing look bad. You can’t fake a backswing and downswing and expect to hit a good shot, but you can purposefully mess up your follow-through if you’re coordinated, which Fairbanks appeared to be.
“Well struck, Jimmy!” Eddie exclaimed and pounded Fairbanks on the back as he came and stood next to us.
“That was pretty lucky,” came back Fairbanks as he handed his club back to E.J.
“Yeah, right,” I thought. Now it was Welborn’s turn. He took a mighty swing with his driver and pushed it way right. It headed straight for the split rail fence that marked the out-of-bounds on the right side.
“Shit, shit! Stop!” hollered Welborn as he watched it helplessly scoot under the fence and O.B.
This guy had no class; you wouldn’t shout a profanity like that within earshot of members of a club you were thinking about joining. It further confirmed to me that these guys had no intention of joining, but were simply here to win some money.
Welborn teed up another ball, now shooting three, and hit a fairly respectable shot down the right side that ended up in the right rough. He was first to hit his approach shot and proceeded to dump it in the bunker on the right side of the green. Eddie was next, and he drilled a low one that came up just short. My 8-iron was a shade long and ended up in the back fringe. Fairbanks then lofted a beautiful 9-iron to the center of the green, twelve feet from the hole, finishing his swing with that affected, twisting motion of his.
“Another beauty!” shouted Eddie, beaming at him. “I think maybe we’re being hustled here, Kenny. What do you think?” he said conspiratorially, with a grin on his face.
I didn’t say anything, and Fairbanks just smiled as he strode toward the green. Welborn picked up his ball from the bunker because he was out of the hole. Eddie hit a mediocre chip to eight feet. My downhill 30-footer slid by on the right and finished four feet below the hole. Not a bad effort, but it left me with a knee-knocker. Fairbanks just missed his curling 12-footer on the pro side and left his ball a foot from the hole. We conceded him his par. Now Eddie and I had to sink one of ours to halve the hole which was not a handicap stroke hole. Eddie was first, and I noticed he was not using his ‘Enterprise’ putter, but just a normal-looking putter something like mine. He didn’t take much time lining up and stroked it rather jerkily—not his usual smooth, buttery stroke. As a result, he missed it on the right and picked up. “It’s all yours, Sport,” he said, which didn’t make it any easier for me. I hit that uphill four-footer a little too softly, and it just fell into the front of the hole on the last roll. Not a very confident stroke, but I got away with it for the halve.
“Way to go, Sport!” Eddie said, clapping me on the back. Fairbanks just shook his head as we walked off the green and headed to the second tee.
By the end of the third hole, the match was still even. Fairbanks continued to shake his head and marvel about his ‘lucky’ shots, and it was all I could do not to deck the guy. Eddie seemed unperturbed and kept complimenting Fairbanks’s (and Welborn’s) good shots.
To be continued.
Handicap: A method of allowing golfers of varying skill levels to compete against each other when betting. A number of strokes are given to the players with lesser ability. To have a 10-handicap means you will have 10 strokes deducted from your score in an 18-hole match.
Handicap ranking for a hole: The scorecard shows the relative ranking of each hole. The #1 handicap hole is the most difficult hole, while the #18 handicap hole is the easiest. If you are to receive 4 handicap strokes, you would get one on each hole marked #1 - #4 (meaning you would deduct 1 stroke from your score on each of those holes. Remember that in golf, the lowest score wins.)
Best-ball match play: A best-ball match means only the best score of each partnership is used to determine the outcome of the hole. Match play is a type of golf match where only the number of holes won is kept track of, not the score for each hole. Thus there's no difference in winning a hole by 1 stroke or by 4 strokes; it results in a +1 for that hole. A best-ball match play match combines these two criteria together.
Scratch: A zero-handicap.
O.B.: Out-of-bounds
Halve a hole: Tie a hole
Chip shot: A short shot from near the green
Fringe: The closely mown area immediately adjacent to the green
The pro side: To miss the cup on the pro side means to miss it on the high side on a breaking putt, rather than the low side. Pros tend to miss more putts on the high side while amateurs miss them on the low side.
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Kenny Payne: The narrator of the story. He is a mechanical engineer who recently graduated from college and joined Brentwood Country Club where he meets Eddie in the finals of the Club Championship. He and Eddie become best friends.
Eddie Phillips: Described by Kenny as "the loudest, most flamboyant, often obnoxious person--the kind you either loved or hated--that he had ever met. He is known for his phenomenal luck and his extreme prowess in putting.
Abby St. Claire: Introduced to Kenny by Eddie, she works at the snack bar and as a waitress at the club for a summer job while she finishes college. She is a smart and beautiful redhead who Kenny falls in love with and eventually marries.
E.J. Budrowski: A notoriously bad caddie who has a problem with alcohol.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Handicap ranking for a hole: The scorecard shows the relative ranking of each hole. The #1 handicap hole is the most difficult hole, while the #18 handicap hole is the easiest. If you are to receive 4 handicap strokes, you would get one on each hole marked #1 - #4 (meaning you would deduct 1 stroke from your score on each of those holes. Remember that in golf, the lowest score wins.)
Best-ball match play: A best-ball match means only the best score of each partnership is used to determine the outcome of the hole. Match play is a type of golf match where only the number of holes won is kept track of, not the score for each hole. Thus there's no difference in winning a hole by 1 stroke or by 4 strokes; it results in a +1 for that hole. A best-ball match play match combines these two criteria together.
Scratch: A zero-handicap.
O.B.: Out-of-bounds
Halve a hole: Tie a hole
Chip shot: A short shot from near the green
Fringe: The closely mown area immediately adjacent to the green
The pro side: To miss the cup on the pro side means to miss it on the high side on a breaking putt, rather than the low side. Pros tend to miss more putts on the high side while amateurs miss them on the low side.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Kenny Payne: The narrator of the story. He is a mechanical engineer who recently graduated from college and joined Brentwood Country Club where he meets Eddie in the finals of the Club Championship. He and Eddie become best friends.
Eddie Phillips: Described by Kenny as "the loudest, most flamboyant, often obnoxious person--the kind you either loved or hated--that he had ever met. He is known for his phenomenal luck and his extreme prowess in putting.
Abby St. Claire: Introduced to Kenny by Eddie, she works at the snack bar and as a waitress at the club for a summer job while she finishes college. She is a smart and beautiful redhead who Kenny falls in love with and eventually marries.
E.J. Budrowski: A notoriously bad caddie who has a problem with alcohol.
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