FanStory.com - Lucky Eddie - Chapter 4by Jim Wile

We started our comeback right there on the tenth hole. We all hit the green with our approach shots, with my ball the closest at 12 feet from the hole. Fairbanks and Welborn both missed their birdie putts. It was then that Eddie uncovered his ‘Enterprise’ putter and limped onto the green with it to study our 12-footer. Just as he was about to take his stroke, Fairbanks called out, “Wait! What’s that you’re using there?”

“It’s my putter. Whadda ya think it is?” replied Eddie, a little annoyed at the interruption.

“That’s not the one you’ve been using.”

“So? There’s no rule says you can’t use two different putters.”

“Hang on a minute. Have you been playing with 15 clubs in your bag?”

“I’ve got 14, including this one. Go count ‘em if you don’t believe me.”

Welborn was already over at the cart counting the clubs in Eddie’s bag. “He’s got 14, Jimmy, like he says,” called Welborn.

“Is that club legal?” tried Fairbanks. “Looks illegal to me.”

“I happen to have a patent on this putter. I designed it myself. It’s been fully approved by the USGA, and I can show you the paperwork.”

“Never mind. Let’s just get going. Forget I asked,” he said with a shrug.

Eddie resumed lining up his putt. Now, with that silky stroke of his—the true Eddie stroke—he sent the ball right into the middle of the hole for a birdie three.

“Nice putt, Eddie!” I said. “Only two-down now.”

“Yeah, nice putt alright,” conceded Welborn, a moment of doubt crossing his face. Fairbanks just scowled.

On the 11th hole, Eddie sank a 20-foot putt for birdie to halve the hole with Welborn and Fairbanks’s net birdie.

After halves on the next two holes as well, with Eddie limping over from the cart and sinking putts of 8 feet and 16 feet, we were still two-down going into the 14th hole. Our opponents were beginning to sense that they had been taken, but they still had a comfortable lead and were not panicking yet.

The 14th hole is a long, tough par-3. I hit a beautiful 2-iron eight feet from the hole. Welborn and Fairbanks both hit the green, but neither one was particularly close to the flag. They both two-putted for par, while Eddie drilled in the eight-footer for birdie.

“You just never seem to miss with that thing, do you?” lamented Welborn. Fairbanks said nothing as Eddie limped back to his cart.

One-down with four to go.

By this time, E.J. was pretty wobbly on his feet. He had long ago finished his "Coke" and staggered a little as he picked up his two bags to follow his players to the next tee.

“Pssst! E.J. Come here for a minute,” whispered Eddie.

E.J. waddled over to Eddie’s cart.

“How’d you like that Coke Kenny gave you?”

“Liked it jus' fine, Eddie,” said E.J., putting his bags down again. “Ya wouldn’t happen to have any more in that cart of yours, wouldja?”

“No, I don’t, but I’ve got this,” he said as he removed the flask from his back pocket. It still held about eight ounces of 150 proof Jamaican rum. “Here, take it.”

E.J. thanked him profusely.

“Just don’t let ‘em catch you nipping from it, okay?” admonished Eddie. “And if they do catch you, don’t tell ‘em where you got it from. You got that?”

“No sir, Eddie, I surely won’t. And thanks again!”

E.J. took a quick swig then slipped the flask into his back pocket, picked up his bags, and staggered off to catch up with his players.

The 15th hole is a short par-5 down a big hill, with a pond at the bottom of the hill on the right side. It was also a stroke hole for the opponents, meaning we would probably need at least a birdie just to tie the hole. I still had the honors and smacked a long straight drive down the hill but slightly too far left, trying to avoid the pond. It probably just leaked into the rough. While Fairbanks and Welborn were hitting their drives, Eddie called me over for a chat.

“Hey, Sport. When you get down to the vicinity of your ball, start looking for it in the wrong place. We need to stall a bit to give E.J. a chance to finish that flask.”

“What do you have planned now?” I asked with a grin.

“Well, this part isn’t too well-scripted, but I’m hoping E.J. won’t let us down. We just need to buy him a little time to get good and wasted. He’s bound to screw up sooner or later.”

“Got it, Eddie.”

Meanwhile, Welborn hit his drive into the pond, while Fairbanks cranked another one down the middle. This guy really was good. His swing was long and rhythmic, and he was no longer affecting that phony follow-through or marveling at his "lucky" shots. I think he suspected that we might actually be hustling him, so no more need for all the pretense. Now it was a fight to the finish.

While Welborn took his drop and lined up his third shot, I started searching for my ball in the rough about 30 yards behind where it had really landed. Eventually, Eddie, Fairbanks, and Welborn all came over to help me look for it. E.J. saw his opportunity to partake and surreptitiously started swigging from the flask Eddie had given him.

After about three minutes of looking, we finally found my ball right where I knew it would be. It was in a terrible lie in the rough, and it was all I could do just to gouge it out and advance it 40 yards. Fairbanks, on the other hand, had a perfect lie in the fairway at the bottom of the hill. He chose a 5-wood and hit a beautiful, high draw to the very front of the green. On in two.

Welborn had shanked his third shot deep into the trees and quit even looking for it after Fairbanks’s second shot. My third shot landed on the right side of the green 40 feet from the hole.

E.J. was virtually reeling now as he climbed the hill up to the green to hand Fairbanks his putter. He lurched over to the side and lay his bags down, then staggered over to tend the pin.

“E.J., are you feeling okay?” asked Fairbanks.

“Just dandy, Boss,” he said dreamily as he grabbed the flagstick to tend it.

“Well stand still, would ya? You’re swaying all over the place!” Fairbanks called to him from the front of the green, 45-feet away. Fairbanks finished getting his line, crouched over his ball, and with a few looks at the hole, he made a long, steady stroke. The ball looked good from the start and was tracking right for the hole when Fairbanks hollered, “E.J., the pin! Take the goddamn pin out!”

E.J. woke up from his trance, but it was too late; the ball collided gently with the pin still in the hole and dropped in.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, E.J!” bellowed Fairbanks as he came running up, waving his putter. “Why didn’t you pull the goddam pin out, you moron?”

Of course, the reason for his anguish was the penalty, back then, for hitting the flagstick with a ball struck from the green. In match play it meant loss of hole. E.J.’s inattention had turned a pretty sure win for Fairbanks and Welborn into a loss of the hole. Match even!

Our opponents were fit to be tied. Their three-hole lead at the turn had vanished. With but three holes to go, it was now anyone’s match. They continued to berate E.J. and threatened to fire him if he screwed up again. Eddie and I could barely suppress smiles as Eddie’s plans were working flawlessly.