The Prodigy by John Feinstein

Author:John Feinstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

21

Frank was marking his ball on the 11th green, looking at a 25-foot eagle putt. He was in excellent position to close the gap back to one-down. He’d made a long par putt at the tenth to halve the hole, and Anderson had hit his tee shot at 11 in the rough, laid up, and then hit a really poor wedge shot that left him with a putt for 4 just as long as the one Frank was looking at for 3. Frank could feel the momentum he had lost on the seventh hole turning back in his direction.

Then he looked down the fairway and saw three carts coming toward the green. It was the first time all week he had seen a cart in a fairway, and he couldn’t imagine what was going on. He didn’t recognize the two USGA guys in the first one, but, as they drew closer, he could see that Keith Forman was in the passenger seat of the second. There were two more men in the third cart he didn’t recognize, but they were both wearing shirts that said FOX SPORTS.

Clearly, Keith had kept his word and figured something out.

Anderson stopped looking his putt over when the three carts braked to a halt in front of the green. Frank heard him mutter, “What the hell?”

The two men in the front cart walked quickly onto the green.

Keith and his driver and the two Fox guys in the third cart trailed them. The entire thing felt surreal to Frank.

“Gentlemen, a word please,” said the man who had been driving the first cart. He was tall, with short dark hair under a red cap, one that said USGA. He didn’t appear to be very old, no more than forty, Frank guessed. The other man looked to be even younger. He was shorter, but dressed identically.

They walked to the middle of the green, indicating they wanted the two players and presumably their caddies to meet them there. There were no handshakes, greetings, or small talk. Clearly, the middle of a U.S. Amateur semifinal wasn’t a place for any of that.

“Gentlemen, I’m Thomas Pagel,” the taller man said. “I’m the USGA’s senior director of rules and amateur status.” He nodded at his cart passenger. “This is Ben Kimball, the director of this tournament.” He then paused as if deciding what to do next. “Mr. Anderson, I’m here to inform you that we have video evidence of a gross violation of the rules that took place on the seventh hole.”

Frank felt his heart starting to race. He looked at Keith, who simply put a finger to his lips.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Anderson said. The confident smirk that had been in place most of the day was gone.

“We’re talking about the search for your ball to the right of the fairway following your tee shot on number seven,” Mr. Pagel said.

He turned to Anderson’s caddie. “What is your name, sir?”

“Jared Hopkins,” the caddie said. “But—”

Pagel put a hand up to stop him.

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