| General Fiction posted January 11, 2023 | Chapters: |
...38 39 -40- 41... 
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E.J. seeks Eddie's advice to cure his putting woes.
A chapter in the book Some Call It Luck
Some Call It Luck - Chapter 40
by Jim Wile
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
| 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 |
(See the Author Notes for a description of the main characters.)
Recap: Abby has returned to Brentwood CC to work at the snack bar again this summer to earn money for grad school. She meets Kenny, who is a member at Brentwood, and after a rocky start, they begin dating. They spend a beautiful summer together, but the end is marred when Kenny accidentally runs over Abby’s cat. They eventually make up with E.J.’s help, and she returns to school to begin her master’s program.
At Abby’s prompting, E.J. has decided to return to school, financed by his winnings on the golf course, but he starts losing as he has developed a problem with his putting. He has just lost a match then drank heavily to settle down before he has to play bridge with Abby. The bridge doesn’t go so well, and E.J. insults one of his opponents. Abby calls him out on it, and he goes home and drinks to forget about the terrible day.
At Abby’s prompting, E.J. has decided to return to school, financed by his winnings on the golf course, but he starts losing as he has developed a problem with his putting. He has just lost a match then drank heavily to settle down before he has to play bridge with Abby. The bridge doesn’t go so well, and E.J. insults one of his opponents. Abby calls him out on it, and he goes home and drinks to forget about the terrible day.
A continuation of the chapter: E.J. Budrowski - September, 1987
The next morning, I woke up around 9:00 feeling surprisingly refreshed. This would be a new day, and I made up my mind to expunge yesterday right out of my brain. I was hungry and decided to go to Maudie’s Place to have some pancakes. She made the fluffiest buttermilk pancakes I’d ever had. She said the key was not to stir the batter too much. A few lumps were okay.
While I was eating, Eddie Phillips came in. He saw me looking at him and came right over. “Mind if I join you, Sport?”
“Sure Eddie, sit down.”
Maudie came over to pour him some coffee and take his breakfast order, and we got right to talking about putting, his favorite subject.
“Listen, Eddie. You know anything about the yips?”
“Ah, don’t mention that word. It’s as bad as talking about the Sherman tanks [the ‘shanks,’ another dreaded golfing woe]. Why, you got ‘em?”
“Might have. I’ve been missing a lot of short putts lately—pushing them to the right. I can’t seem to control my right hand on the club. Kind of twitches.”
“Yeah, sounds like you got ‘em alright. Tell you what, I’ve known a lot of guys who had the yips, and I know how to fix ‘em. You want me to take a look at your stroke?”
“Would you, Eddie? God, I’d appreciate that! Getting so I get nervous even thinking about putting.”
“Well, we can’t have that. You doing anything after breakfast?”
“I was just planning to go to the muni and practice on their green.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you. I wasn’t doing anything special this morning. We can work on it together.”
“Thanks, Eddie. That’d be great.”
After breakfast we drove to the muni, parked, and walked to the putting green. Eddie spent the next hour with me watching me stroke putts and demonstrating his method of getting rid of the yips. He helped me develop a complete routine to eliminate them. By the time he finished his instructions, I was sinking the short ones regularly, using his methods, without a single yip.
“That’s it,” said Eddie. “Now all you have to do is practice it about a thousand times to ingrain it. If you do it just like that, you won’t be yippin’ ‘em anymore.”
“Jeez, Eddie. I can’t thank you enough. You don’t know how frustrating the yips can be, or maybe you do. You ever had them?”
“No, not really. There’s been times when I either pushed ‘em right or pulled ‘em left for a while, but I always managed to tweak my stroke or my grip or my stance a little and it always worked itself out. I’ve seen plenty of guys like you go through ‘em, though. They’re a nasty thing. Some golfers even quit the game because they can’t get over ‘em.”
“Well, I’ll stay here and practice the new routine about a thousand times and let you know how it goes. I’d like to keep playing matches, but I’ve got to gain some confidence back first. Thanks a million.”
“Hey, that’s okay. I’ll stay and watch you hit a few more before I take off—make sure I don’t see anything else.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
He stayed and watched me hit about 10 more putts, then gave me a thumbs up and left.
Over the next few days, I continued to practice what Eddie told me, and I never again yipped a single putt. Amazing! So simple! I was cured, or so I thought. I got so confident in my newfound routine that I was convinced I was ready for another match.
In thinking over who to call, I had a sudden brainstorm. Oh, this could be good if he agreed to play against me! I thought I’d call Jimmy Fairbanks—my archenemy—the guy who fired me off his bag just a few weeks ago—the guy who cussed me out right and left and nearly clobbered me with a golf club until Kenny Payne stopped him. I knew I could beat him if only he would give me the chance.
I drove back home, went inside and got out my phonebook. I looked up his number and found a listing for him—James S. Fairbanks. I wondered what the ‘S’ stood for. “Shithead” perhaps? I called his number, and a man’s voice answered the phone. “Is this Jimmy Fairbanks to whom I am speaking?” I could barely contain my mirth.
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s E.J. Budrowski calling. You may remember me from a few weeks ago when I caddied for you and Bucky Welborn at Brentwood?”
“E.J? The screw-up caddie who ruined that match for me? What the hell do you want?”
“Well, Jimbo, I’d like to challenge you to an 18-hole golf match at the course of your choosing. We’d play straight-up match play with no strokes given or received… for $5,000 dollars. Whadda ya say? Interested?”
“Is this some kind of joke? Who is this really? Is this you, Welborn, trying to pull my leg?”
“No, it’s really me, Jimbo, and I can prove it. When I stepped on your ball on 16, you couldn’t read the label. You had to dig it out of the mud to identify it as yours—a Titleist 2. I’m the only one who saw that. Now do you believe me?”
Long pause. “Okay, so it’s you, E.J. Say, what’s that stand for anyway? ‘Extreme Jerk-off?’ That’s what you must be if you’re proposing a golf match between you and me. You can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious, Jimbo. Why don’t you pick a course and a time, let me know where and when, and I’ll meet you on the first tee with five grand in my pocket. If I don’t show, you’re out nothing, but if I do show, you might have a chance to win the five grand off me. Whadda ya say? You could even bring anyone you want as an observer with you to follow me around and make sure I’m not cheating or anything. Of course, I’ll have one too for the same reason. So, what’s it going to be, Jimbo?”
“Would you stop calling me ‘Jimbo’ already? I hate that. There’s gotta be a catch here. I don’t believe a moron like you even plays golf!”
“Yeah, well call up Eddie Phillips or Kenny Payne. They’ll tell you I play golf with them sometimes. Go ahead. I’ll call you back tonight after you’ve asked one of ‘em. Talk to you later, Jimbo…uh, excuse me… Jimmy.” And I hung up.
Oh, God that was fun! Let’s see if the asshole takes me up on it. I went back to my apartment and began drinking and enjoying myself the rest of the afternoon.
When dinnertime came around, I fixed myself a couple of hotdogs, opened a can of pork ‘n beans, and ate. After that I called Jimmy back. He answered right away.
“Alright, E.J. Seems like you’re for real. I called Kenny Payne—I can’t stand that other asshole, Phillips—and he told me you’ve actually got game. Hard to believe from an alky like you. Oh yeah, I’ll take the bet. How can I lose? You’ll manage to screw it up somehow. Probably step on your own balls this time!”
“Okay, where and when?”
“We’ll play at Ridgewood, where I’m a member, starting at 1:00 PM tomorrow if that ain’t too soon.”
“Ridgewood at 1:00 is fine, Jimmy. I’ll have Eddie with me to watch you.”
“Ah, Christ! Can’t you pick someone else? I hate that little turd!”
“Nope, I said we could bring anyone, and I’m bringin’ him.”
“Ah, shit! Okay, I’ll be there. This better not be some damn trick.”
“No trick. Five grand. Winner takes all.”
With that, he hung up on me. Success!
Now I had to call Eddie to see if he could make it tomorrow. He answered the phone after a few rings. “Eddie, this is E.J. I wanted to thank you again for the putting lesson last Friday. I’ve continued to practice my new routine and everything, and you know, I haven’t yipped a single putt since.”
“That’s great, Sport. Keep it up.”
“Hey, Eddie, I’ve got another favor to ask you, but I think you’re really going to enjoy it. Believe it or not, I challenged Jimmy Fairbanks to a golf match for $5,000, and he accepted!”
“You’re kidding! He’s going to play you for $5,000? How’d you get the creep to accept? I can’t believe he didn’t just hang up on you.”
“First I had to convince him it was really me calling, not someone like Welborn trying to pull his leg. Once he believed it was me and that I played golf (he had called Kenny to verify that), he accepted the challenge. He thought it would be real easy money. You know that asshole and his ego. We agreed that each of us could bring an observer to make sure no one was cheating, and I told him I picked you. That got his pantyhose in a wad. I know it was premature without asking you first, but I’m asking you now. Will you do it?”
“When’s the match?”
“Tomorrow, 1:00 at Ridgewood.”
“Okay, Sport, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see this. I think you can beat that guy. I still can’t get over that he accepted the bet. I’ll bet he still thinks it’s some kinda gag.”
“Thanks, Eddie. Yeah, I’ll bet he does, but we’ll show him. Okay—Ridgewood, 1:00 PM tomorrow. See you there.”
“You got it, Sport. See ya tomorrow,” and we hung up.
Abby St. Claire: Age 21. She has just graduated from Penn State University where she was a math major and has decided to go for a masters degree there next year. 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 and as a waitress at Brentwood Country Club during the summers. She is dating Kenny who she met earlier this year and is a member at Brentwood.
Kenny Payne: Age 22. Abby met him briefly at a frat party in her senior year and was intrigued by him, then she sees him again when he walks up to the snack bar several months later. Tall, good looking, and an all-around nice guy.
E.J. Budrowski: Age 38. 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 a 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.
Eddie Phillips: A young member at Brentwood known for his extremely good putting and ability to hustle his opponents. Eddie is friends with Abby and beats Kenny in the club championship with a miracle shot. He and Kenny become best friends after that.
Jimmy Fairbanks: A hustler whom E.J. caddied for a few weeks ago in a match against Eddie and Kenny. A drunken E.J. helped lose the match for Fairchild and his partner.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Kenny Payne: Age 22. Abby met him briefly at a frat party in her senior year and was intrigued by him, then she sees him again when he walks up to the snack bar several months later. Tall, good looking, and an all-around nice guy.
E.J. Budrowski: Age 38. 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 a 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.
Eddie Phillips: A young member at Brentwood known for his extremely good putting and ability to hustle his opponents. Eddie is friends with Abby and beats Kenny in the club championship with a miracle shot. He and Kenny become best friends after that.
Jimmy Fairbanks: A hustler whom E.J. caddied for a few weeks ago in a match against Eddie and Kenny. A drunken E.J. helped lose the match for Fairchild and his partner.
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