FanStory.com - Some Call It Luck - Chapter 26by Jim Wile

E.J. Budrowski

Fall/Winter, 1986-87

I did indeed continue to play bridge on Tuesday nights with Mrs. Olsen, Marj, another of their friends, and even once or twice with Mr. Olsen, who didn’t have a very high opinion of me from the time I’d caddied for him and dropped his bag of clubs in the pond. I got the feeling that he didn’t approve of my being there, but I was on my best manners, and it went well enough.

Occasionally I hitched a ride to Temple Beth Israel on a Thursday night and found a partner to play with, but none came close to Abby in their ability, and it just wasn’t as much fun as it was with her.

I also continued to practice my swing at Bud’s Driving Range, frequently under the tutelage of Bud, who got to really understand my swing and gave me some invaluable tips. He taught me how to hit the ball with different trajectories and curvatures and had me practice many different combinations of shots. He and I would often play golf together at a few different courses in the area on Fridays, and I began shooting around par and occasionally broke par for 18 holes, always with the Lucky 1 in my pocket. I never used it to play, for fear of losing it, but it stayed close to me in my pocket at all times.

By late October the weather started getting chilly. We’d had a pleasant Indian summer, but now the leaves were falling as the nights got colder. Fewer and fewer loops were available, so it was time to head south for the winter.

I had managed to save some money from caddying and, combined with a couple hundred from my savings account, I had enough to buy a dented-up Datsun B210 with 160,000 miles on it. It wasn’t much to look at, but it got good mileage and got me where I wanted to go.

So, the next morning I packed up the car and picked up Rafe who would accompany me to Fort Lauderdale where we both had caddied for a number of winters. We always shared a suite in a cheap efficiency motel. The suite contained a small kitchen area with a little stove and frig. We saved a lot of money by eating most of our meals in.

Following my loops in the mornings, I spent the afternoons both practicing and playing golf. These were money matches—sometimes for stakes as high as a thousand bucks. I did very well, and by the time we headed back north again in March, between caddying and my golf winnings, I had netted about 15 grand.

I’ve just got to relate one story because it typifies how I won some of this money.

I was playing in a match with a guy named Mo against two guys named Billy and Ricky. We were playing this match with no gimmes, meaning we had to putt everything out. The match was tied as we came to the 18th green. I was on the green in two. Everyone was in the hole already except me, who still had a 10-footer. If I holed the putt, Mo and I would win the match. If I got down in two putts, we would tie. Anything more than that, and we would lose.

We were playing this match for $1,000 dollars, so the pressure was on. I stroked the putt, and it started on a line straight for the hole. It looked like it might go in, but as it neared the hole, it slowed down and came to a stop six inches short. Now it would be a tie, and we would probably have to figure out some sort of playoff. As I walked up to tap it in, I had a sudden idea. In a feigned fit of anger, I swatted it with my putter over the green, down the hill in back and into deep rough where it sank down in the grass so deeply that you couldn’t even see it.

“E.J., what the hell are you doing?” screamed Mo. “Don’t you remember we have to putt everything out—no gimmes? You just lost the match for us, you idiot!”

I had, indeed. Anything more than a 4 and we lose. I already lay 4 and wasn’t in the hole yet.

I slapped my forehead hard. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Mo. Jesus, what was I thinking? I slapped my forehead again. I looked over at Billy, inquiringly. He just shrugged and said, “The rules are the rules.”

As I walked over to Billy and Ricky, I shook my head in disgust at what I had just done. “Okay then,” I said to them, not able to look them in the eye. “You guys win fair and square. We owe you a grand.”

Steam was coming out of Mo’s ears as he reached for his wallet and started walking over. I hung my head for a bit.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” I said suddenly, looking right at Billy and Ricky. “We’ll pay you the grand, but I’ll bet you two grand I can get down in two with that ball for a six on the hole,” and I pointed to the ball over there somewhere in the rough down the hill behind the green.

“What?” said an incredulous Mo, behind me. “You already lie four. You think you can get the ball in the hole with a six from that lie to an uphill green with the pin at the back and on a steep downhill slope? How are you gonna do that?”

“Look, Mo, I’ve got a great flop shot; I could maybe even hole it from there. You’ll see.”

Billy looked at Ricky and smiled. “You in?”

“I’m in!” said Ricky.

Then Billy said to me, “We’ll take the bet. $2,000 bucks says you can’t do it.”

“Okay, we’re on!” I said. Mo just shook his head and said, “That two grand’s totally on you, E.J. If you lose, you’re paying up—not me.” I gave him a nod.

I walked over to the edge of the green and looked back and forth from the hole to where the ball was in the rough. Then I walked down, found the ball, picked it up and walked back to the green.

“So, you convinced yourself you couldn’t make the shot, huh? You still owe us the two grand for the bet, ya know,” said Billy with a smirk.

“Not yet I don’t.” When I got back to the hole, I said, “I’m declaring that ball to be unplayable, and I’m going to play it from where I hit the last shot. I think it was right about here, wasn’t it?” and I proceeded to put it down on the green six inches below the cup. They were all speechless for a moment so I just tapped it in. “Okay, there’s my six.”

“Wait a damn minute!” hollered Billy. You can’t do that! Whadda you mean that’s a six?”

Mo started smiling as it dawned on him what I had just done.

I said to Billy, “Rule 28 in the Rules of Golf says that the player can deem any ball unplayable anywhere on the course except in a hazard, and that rough behind the green ain’t no hazard. One of my options under the rule is to replay the shot from its original lie and take a penalty stroke, so that’s what I did.”

Billy said with acrimony, “But you told us you were going to hit it from there!” and he pointed to the spot in the rough.

“I never said that. I said I could get down in two with this ball for a score of six, and that’s what I did.”

At that point, Billy realized he’d been had. He was a bit of a hustler himself, and his look of acrimony gradually turned into a broad smile as he shook his head back and forth, reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and handed me ten crisp hundred dollar bills—the difference between the match amount, which we lost, and this new bet amount of $2,000. He was a good-natured guy and knew when he’d been bested. He also vowed to put that trick in his repertoire of hustles.

As fun as that had been and as lucrative, I couldn’t picture myself doing this for the rest of my life. For now, it was just a means to an end.

I had been thinking a lot about Abby’s idea of returning to school to resume my education. We had talked a few times during the months I was in Florida, and I told her it was a serious possibility. She had been delighted for me. She also told me she had decided on grad school and would be back to Brentwood to earn money for it. I was equally delighted at this news.

Rafe had once asked me why I wanted to earn all that money I was raking in, and I actually confessed to him that I was saving it for a possible return to college. He hooted and laughed at that, thinking I was trying to pull his leg, but when I didn’t laugh along with him, he realized I was serious about it. I asked him not to tell anyone else because I didn’t want to be teased when we got back to Brentwood, and he promised he wouldn’t.

On our return to DuBois, I decided that this season would be different. I promised myself I would take my caddying seriously and no longer be such a screw-up. I would not drink on the job anymore. I would change my clothes more often and shower more often too. I would get regular haircuts. I was tired of being a laughing-stock around Brentwood and being imitated behind my back. I had a lot more confidence in myself, and this was going to be a good year for me. Abby and I would get to play a lot of bridge together, and I would continue to earn more through money matches and save more for my future plan of returning to school.

That was the plan anyway.