Miracle on the 17th Green: A Novel by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson [Patterson, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 078623315X
Amazon: B000R6TZRG
Publisher: Back Bay Books
Published: 1999-05-05T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-three

WHEN I LOOK BACK on what took place at the BellSouth Classic in Nashville, Tennessee, on the first weekend of June, I can see now that Earl was dropping one hint after another about how it was going to end. But fortunately at the time, I was too caught up in the events myself to understand any of them.

For starters, there was Earl’s slight, but detectable, limp. Maybe I wasn’t looking closely enough, but in seven tournaments, I hadn’t noticed Earl do that before.

Even more curious, however, was that Earl, who has never exhibited even the slightest tension on the golf course, and after a decade of being shot at in Southeast Asia considers the whole notion of athletic pressure insulting, was more nervous than I was.

Yes, I had just birdied three holes in a row and, yes, I was tied for the lead of a pro tournament for the first time. But still, it was only Saturday. The way I saw it, I should at least wait until Sunday to start choking my brains out.

And then there was Earl’s extreme urgency, which seemed a little misplaced under the circumstances. Even after I had birdied 15, 16, and 17, Earl was still riding me like a jockey going to the whip in the homestretch. “We got to have one more birdie, Travis,” said Earl as we approached the 18th green. “We just got to.”

Now, I appreciate the value of a birdie as much as the next person, and I understand the need for working a hot hand for all you can get, but why, I wondered, was it so important right now?

And finally there was Earl’s Cheshire cat grin when I did in fact sink that last ten-foot putt at 18 to take the outright lead, and the way he said under his breath, “Pebble Beach, here we come.” Pebble Beach, America’s most spectacular golf course, was going to be hosting the U.S. Senior Open a month later, but the only way I was going to get an engraved invitation to that dance was by winning a tournament before then, and despite my tiny one-stroke lead, this hardly seemed like a sure thing, or even close to it.

By that evening, all of Earl’s nervousness had vanished, and throughout dinner he barely said a word. In fact, he was so uncharacteristically quiet, I finally had to ask him if he wasn’t going to give me some kind of inspirational pep talk for the next day’s round. “You know,” I said, “something in the guru/sports psychologist vein.”

“The way you’re putting and swinging, Birdie Man,” said Earl with a smile, “you could win this thing in your sleep.”

“Oh well, then I’m not too worried,” I said, “al-though I’m beginning to get a little worried about you.”

“I know what you mean,” said Earl. “I worry about myself every day. That’s what keeps me sharp.”

Despite being a tad mysterious, Earl’s low-key behavior helped me relax. I had no trouble falling asleep, and once I did, I slept soundly.

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