| General Fiction posted December 27, 2022 | Chapters: |
...26 27 -28- 29... 
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E.J.'s return to Brentwood Country Club
A chapter in the book Some Call It Luck
Some Call It Luck - Chapter 28
by Jim Wile
| Background A brilliant and beautiful but insecure, nerdy young woman befriends a going nowhere older alcoholic caddie. Together, they bring out the best in each other and collaborate on a startling new invention |
Abby St. Claire: Age 20. She is in her senior year at Penn State University where she is a math major. She is intelligent and beautiful, yet shy and awkward with most people her age, having been picked on quite a lot while growing up. She works at the snack bar at Brentwood Country Club during the summers.
E.J. Budrowski: Age 37. An alcoholic with a traumatic past (an abusive father and a mother driven to suicide) who is a caddie at Brentwood CC. One day he finds a dirty old golf ball on the edge of pond that seems to have unusual powers, for he makes two holes-in-one with it. He and Abby become friends when she encourages him to take up both golf and bridge again after long layoffs. Life is beginning to look up for E.J.
Tony Colosi: The caddie master
Eddie Phillips: A young member at Brentwood known for his extremely good putting and ability to hustle his opponents.
E.J. Budrowski
Spring, 1987
Spring, 1987
I returned to Brentwood Country Club the day after we got back from Florida, arriving there at 8:00 AM. I made my way over to the caddie yard and sat down on the bench. Tony Colosi spotted me and came out to greet me, still wearing his red cap and with a cigar in the corner of his mouth. Some things never change.
“That you, E.J? That don’t look like you much.”
I had shaved and combed my much-shortened hair this morning as well as put on some of the new clothes I’d recently bought in Florida—khaki pants and a collared shirt. I’d also bought a new pair of sneakers and a new jacket.
“Hey, Tone. Yeah, it’s me. Just decided to change my image some this year. Also thought I’d try a little harder to be a good caddie from now on.”
“You planning on staying off the booze too?”
“Absolutely. You won’t ever catch me drinking on the job, and I won’t come in drunk either.”
“Well, that sounds good. Let’s see if you can keep to that. You look good.”
“Hey, Tony, I’m going to start coming in earlier too—around 8:00. You think I could get some of those early loops? I’ve got some things I like to do in the afternoon now.”
“What kind of things?”
“Well, mostly practicing and playing golf.”
“You play golf?” he asked skeptically. “What do you shoot?”
“I play about scratch now, Tone. I break par maybe every third round.”
“No kidding! How’d you get that good?”
“I was always pretty good as a kid. Last fall I started working with Bud Hastings over at his driving range. You know Bud?”
“Sure I know him. He used to play out here several years back. Haven’t seen him in a while, though. Was a good golfer as I recall.”
“Yeah, pretty good teacher too. He taught me a lot. I also got to play quite often down in Florida.”
“E.J. Budrowski, a scratch golfer,” he said as he shook his head in wonder. “Sure, I’ll start puttin’ you out early. These early groups like to move, though. Think you can keep up?”
“Yeah, I can do it. I’m telling you, Tone. I’ve turned over a new leaf.”
“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it. I’ve got Nahles and Wynn going out at 8:20. Their bags are over there on the left. You take ‘em.”
“Okay, Tone. I won’t let you down. Nothing but good reports from now on.”
“We’ll see,” he said as he made his way back inside.
I lived up to my word, and my caddying took an immediate turn for the better. I was much more aware of where my players’ shots went and far better at anticipating their needs and performing tasks without having to be asked. Many good reports filtered back to Tony, and the frequent chewing-outs I used to receive from him became a thing of the past, replaced instead by an occasional compliment.
I resumed my sessions at Bud’s Driving Range, and Bud was impressed with my improvement. Before long, he told me there wasn’t really anything left for him to teach me. My swing was very repeatable now, and all my different shot shapes and trajectories looked good, he said. I just needed to find some money matches to get in. Bud couldn’t help me with that, but I knew someone who could.
One evening in early April, I gave Eddie Phillips a call. Since I’d become so flush with cash from all my winnings in Florida, I’d gotten my own phone service, and I no longer had to use the payphone outside the pharmacy. Eddie knew a thing or two about hustling and big money matches, and I was sure he’d have some suggestions for me.
He answered the phone, and I said, “Hello, Eddie. This is E.J. Budrowski calling.”
“Hey, Sport. What’s up?”
“I’ve been practicing and playing golf quite a lot lately and I'm shooting around par pretty regularly now.”
“No kidding! I didn’t even know you played golf.”
“Yeah, I made a lot of money playing down in Florida this winter, and I was hoping to start doing the same up here. Problem is, I don’t know anybody to play for big money. I figured you might.”
“You’ve come to the right guy, Sport. I know a lot of players around, willing to let me take money off ‘em. Did you want to team up on this or go it alone?”
“Yeah, I’d love to team up with you if you’re interested.”
“Alright, let me try to arrange something. Can you play this Friday afternoon?”
“Yep. That’s one of my days off.”
“Okay. Gimme your phone number, and I’ll call you later after I’ve set something up.”
“Sounds good.” I gave him my phone number then. “Thanks, Eddie. Talk to you soon.”
Over the course of the next few months, Eddie and I played often together. Our matches went well, and we won a lot of money together. I also played some solo matches against individual opponents whom I’d met. By the time Abby got back to Brentwood after her graduation, I was up about eight grand, not including what I’d also earned in Florida.
On E.J.'s return from Florida, where he caddied during the winter, he picks up where he left off--playing matches for money and earning money for a return to college.
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