Eddie and Todd had both played well by the time we reached the 15th hole; Eddie was at 2-over par, and Todd was 3-over. As far as I knew, I hadn’t screwed up yet. The 15th is a par-5 with a pond in the driving area on the right. On this hole, the caddies went up ahead while the players walked back and climbed uphill to an elevated tee.  My players both hit good drives into the fairway, but one of Rafe’s players, Jennings I think, hit a tee shot that dribbled into the pond. Rafe and I started looking for the ball on the edge of the pond while the players made their way down to help us look.

After a minute or so, I spotted a ball through the murky water. It barely showed, and when I fished it out, I could see why. As I picked it up to examine it, a tremor went right up my arm, which gave me a start. It reminded me of the feeling I’d had earlier after I’d left the snack bar and was looking out over the course. Then I remembered seeing that sudden glint of light, and come to think of it, it had issued from this pond here on the 15th. What was going on?

When I cleared some of the mud off the ball, I could barely make out the label that had mostly worn off. It looked like it said Lucky 1. I had never heard of that brand. I felt silly asking Jennings if this was his ball because it appeared to have been in the pond for some time, but, as no one had found another, I asked him if he was playing a Lucky 1?

“Say what, E.J? Did you say a Lucky 1? Never heard of that brand before. You sure it doesn’t say Titleist 1? That’s what I was playing.”

“No, it says Lucky 1,” and I showed it to him.

“Huh! Looks like that one’s been in there a while,” he laughed. “You might as well keep it, or throw it back.”

We looked for another minute or so but didn’t find another ball, so Jennings just dropped a new one, took a penalty stroke, and played on. As I shouldered my bags and left the pond, I almost tossed the dirty old ball back in, but something made me shove it into my pocket instead. It made me think of Bilbo Baggins from Tolkien’s The Hobbit, finding his magic ring in the dark underground tunnel and shoving it in his pocket. At least it didn’t turn me invisible when I held it.

Eddie and Todd both parred the hole, and we moved on to the 16th. This was a sharp dogleg-right par-4, bordered by trees on both sides, and once again the caddies went out in front on the right side to the corner of the dogleg while the players took their drivers and walked quite a ways back to the tee. There was a holdup here because the group in front was searching for balls in the woods on the left. Rafe and I had a little time until our players hit, so we stood there and shot the breeze for a while. I still hadn’t gotten over the tingly feeling that seemed to have settled in my chest, and I pulled the ball out of my pocket. Rafe saw me studying it.

“Say, E.J., I gotta idea,” said Rafe as he reached down into a side compartment of Parry’s bag and pulled out an old ball. “S’pose we try to hit dat practice green over dere in da woods wi’ dese balls? It look to be ‘bout a hunert fitty yard or so. You think you could hit dat green from here? You use ta play golf when you was younga, right?”

I hesitated for a beat. “I don’t know, Rafe. I’ve been doing good so far today. I’d hate for Eddie or Todd to see me using one of their clubs to hit a ball.”

“Dat don’t sound like you, E.J. What come ova you? Dey busy talkin’ back dere. Dey ain’t watchin’ us.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give it a try.” I looked at the green in the distance. It was an old green that belonged to the original 18th hole before it was redesigned to accommodate the new clubhouse. Rather than get rid of it, the club turned it into a practice par-3 hole that some of the members would occasionally use. The grounds crew mowed it once a week, and there was still a cup and a flagstick over on the left side of the green. From here we would have to shoot over some 6-foot saplings, but with a decent shot, we should be able to clear them easily.

Rafe dropped his ball and went first after pulling out a 5-iron from Parry’s bag. After a practice swing or two, he lashed at the ball and half-topped it short of the little trees in front. “Not too good. See if you could do betta.”

I hadn’t hit a ball in almost 20 years and didn’t expect much. I studied the hole a bit longer and pulled out a 7-iron from Todd’s bag. I set the Lucky 1 on a tuft of grass, flexed my shoulders a couple of times, then settled over the ball and made a few waggles to stay loose. As I gazed back at the green, everything slowly seemed to melt away. My focus became so sharp that it was just me, the club, the ball, and the green. Time seemed to stop, and all sound just receded into nothingness. It was like being in a vacuum or in outer space, except that it was bright out, and the distant green was as clear as could be. I felt weightless as I swung back and down and felt as though I was swinging in slow motion, but I could feel that ultimate, exquisite feeling as the center of the clubface contacted the ball. It shot away with a solid thwack that reverberated in my ears. The Lucky 1 was headed straight for the flagstick when everything came back into focus, normal time resumed, and the ball seemingly disappeared.

“Holy motha a god!” shouted an incredulous Rafe. “Dat ball landed right in da hole!”

I was baffled. “What? No way. It must have flown over the green.”

“Ah’m tellin’ you, E.J. Dat ball in da hole! Didn’t know you could hit a ball like dat.”

I still didn’t believe it, but there was no time to dwell on it, for right then I glanced over at the tee in the distance and saw that our guys were getting ready to hit. It was time to start watching their shots. I put the 7-iron back in the bag after wiping the face off and turned my attention to the tee.