Article #11
To meet this week's teacher, or to purchase a copy of MUNIE ~ The Jitterbug Collection, go to www.bobbysteiner.com
To this day, when asked about my best round ever, I don't hesitate to say, "It was the eighty I shot during the second round of my PAT."
The Player Ability Test is not a tournament in which you finish first, fourth or very last. Rather, you gain acceptance into the Golf Professional's Training Program by shooting a pre-determined target score.
The score for this particular venue outside Winston-Salem was 154 for thirty-six holes, which meant a pair of seventy-sevens would be good enough to pass. Not such a difficult task normally, but playing thirty-six consecutive holes makes for a long day.
To add to the stress level, the weatherman predicted hard rain, and there was no way to know how much rain we would endure before play would be suspended.
We eventually found out.
On the first tee, Jitterbug, who agreed to accompany me, and I met my two playing companions. One, named Evan, had a great golf swing and wasted no time in sending a bullet down the middle of the first fairway.
The other gentleman, Cameron, had taken the PAT on eleven previous occasions, missing by only two shots on his last attempt. He said that near miss actually encouraged him since only thirteen golfers in a field of seventy-four made it through.
We came out firing, but the rain started only moments after making the first turn. I was one under par after thirteen holes, but felt my driver slip on the fourteenth tee. I looked up in horror to see my tee shot fly beyond the white stakes guarding the right side.
Boom! Triple bogey. Two over par and the heavy rain was yet to come.
I did my best to keep my grips dry. I went through all my handkerchiefs, wrapping the grip of my club before each shot. It worked well until the third hole of the second eighteen, when the rain became torrential. I walked to the third tee still two over par, but could no longer keep my clubs from slipping. I was soaked and so were my clubs.
"This is ridiculous!" I yelled as I squared up over my ball. I took a big swing and accidentally flung my driver into the ground, popping my tee shot some fifty yards into the rough. "We should stop," I said. "They can't expect us to play in this!"
Nevertheless, we kept going, praying someone would postpone play.
Walking off the thirteenth green, I only had one shot to spare, which meant I could do no worse than a bogey and four pars on the way in. Evan, too, had one shot to spare, and Cameron was exactly on the number, having just quadruple bogeyed.
As we approached the fourteenth tee, we saw a huge gathering of carts. Although nobody had postponed the tournament, all the players in front of us had stopped play in protest.
"It's about time we stop!" I said. "We shoulda quit a long time ago when we still had some shots left."
"What do you mean?" Jitterbug said. "You just gonna stop 'cause everyone else stopped?"
"It's no use playing in this stuff, Jitterbug," I said. "I've given away enough shots already."
Jitterbug approached Cameron, who was sitting in his cart, dejected as I. Smiling, he said, "You know, Cameron, I got an uncle who just celebrated his ninetieth birthday. His name is 'Smiley.' They call him Smiley 'cause he hardly ever smiles, but believe it or not, he likes his nickname."
Cameron listened attentively to Jitterbug.
"I remember the first time I saw Smiley play in a golf tournament. Oh, I couldn't have been more than about ten years old. Uncle Smiley went into the second round of a two-day tournament leading by a shot, but for some reason, couldn't get out of the box that day and made a ten on the first hole. That's right! He walked to the first tee with a one-stroke lead, and to the second tee five shots behind.
"But, you know what? Uncle Smiley made six birdies on the way in and only lost by two shots. Can you believe it? Smiley started with a ten and still shot even par seventy-two!"
Jitterbug's smile faded as he continued, "You know, before and after that, Smiley has shot sixty-threes, sixty-fours and sixty-fives, but to this day if you ask him about his best round ever, he'll tell you it was the day he started with a ten on number one. Now, I don't know why Smiley says that. I mean, makin' that ten cost him the tournament!"
Jitterbug paused before giving Cameron a penetrating stare. "But, I think it's because he didn't give up. I suspect when all is said and done, those kinda days are the only ones that mean anything."
Cameron, having hung on every word, nodded as he got out of his cart. He pulled the sopping wet cover off of his driver, sloshed through the maze of umbrellas and put his tee in the ground on the short par four fourteenth.
A player from another group said out loud, "Hey, we're all quitting. They should've called it off a long time ago."
Cameron didn't say a word. He had failed eleven times before and wasn't about to let another chance slide by. Without looking up, Cameron lashed a tee shot down the right side, just inside the fairway.
At that, Evan said, "We're back on, Bobby. Let's do it!"
Before we knew it, we were on the tee at the par five eighteenth. Unfortunately, Evan made a big number on seventeen and was completely out of it. Cameron and I were both on target, both needing par to make it.
The two of us played a game of follow-the-leader, both hitting three-wood off the tee, five-iron down the middle of the drenched, narrow fairway, and another five-iron to the front of the green. We were side-by-side every step of the way.
Once on the green, we found my ball only fractionally closer than Cameron's, which meant I would watch his seventy-foot first attempt.
As soon as he stroked his putt, I knew it wouldn't get there. We all yelled, "Go! Go! Go!" but his ball pulled up some eighteen feet short of the hole.
Seeing this, I hit my putt with everything I had, barely getting the ball to the hole, but leaving myself only six inches to shoot exactly 154. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted.
Even so, I couldn't yet breathe easily, as I hoped hard for Cameron to finally make it. He still had an uphill eighteen-footer left, and the rain was coming down in buckets.
Cameron squared up to his putt with the face of a cat preparing to pounce. As the rain dripped off his nose, ears, and eyebrows, he banged his putt up the hill and into the middle of the cup.
We all cheered as Cameron's face fell into his hands.
Walking to the scorer's booth, Jitterbug said from under his umbrella, "You three men have something to be proud of. It would have been easy to quit, but you finished."
He then turned to Evan. "Young man, you have a beautiful golf swing, and you're eventually gonna pass this thing. But today, you did better than pass it. You stuck it out. I don't worry about guys who stick it out, 'cause they always find a way to get there."
Because play was never officially suspended, all who stopped in protest were disqualified. Seven of us, out of ninety-nine, passed.