Old Man Par by Ric K. Hill

Author:Ric K. Hill [Hill, Ric K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Golf Fiction
Publisher: Ric K. Hill
Published: 2021-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

FOR THE NEXT few weeks, Mike exercised religiously. He spent the extended Fourth of July weekend working feverishly on his fitness. Despite the fact that he was still in the early stages of his transformational routine, his efforts had already produced measurable results. One sure sign of progress was that muscle soreness that’d previously elicited moans and groans with even minimal movement had now abated somewhat.

Cindy was constantly on his case, forever reminding him of his age and the need for constraint, but Mike was resolute, preferring to focus on the possibilities he perceived for both his golf game and health.

On Tuesday, he joined the wolf pack on the first tee, feeling remarkably confident and loose as a goose.

Doc patted his slightly distended paunch and released a prolonged sigh.

“When you due, Big Fella?” Mike asked, barely able to contain his snicker.

Doc hoisted his belt, but to no avail, for the impasse was too great an obstacle to overcome.

“Oh, you’ll know soon enough when you make that first child-support payment,” he said while ambling up to the tee blocks.

Muddy nudged Barky in the ribs and simulated the above-implied act by moving a forefinger in and out of his hollow clenched fist.

“Everyone in for quarter skins?” Doc asked.

“Sure you can afford it?” Muddy wisecracked. “Diapers and formula—not to mention childcare—are awfully damn expensive nowadays.”

“Never you mind about that, Smart-ass. But you’d better be worried about this.…”

Doc threw the entirety of his weight behind a perfectly struck ball that boomeranged back onto the fairway from left to right.

Muddy expelled a shriek whistle. “Mercy me! Never underestimate the scorn of an aggrieved woman.”

“You’re up, Bitch,” Doc stated brusquely with malicious intent.

Not one to disappoint, Muddy hit a dying quail dead off the heel. He immediately snatched his tee and smiled.

“Some of you in this group would be disappointed with that shot, but I must say, ‘It came off just as I had visualized it.’”

“I suggest you get your eyes checked if that’s the best you can visualize your golf shots,” Barky blurted out.

Barky was in fine form as his duck hook jackrabbited toward the white stake.

“Bite, you sumbitch! Bite!” he screamed as his ball luckily ricocheted off a reed-thin sapling and rolled back onto the fairway.

“That bit, all right—the big one, that is,” Muddy snidely commented.

He then turned his attention to Mike. “Okay, everyone make way for the proud papa.”

“I’ve got your proud papa hanging,” Mike said impishly as he lightly tapped Muddy’s ruddy cheek.

As he stepped into position he wasn’t sure what to expect, but he felt invigorated by a profound sense of confidence, a serene affect he hadn’t experienced since his glory days way back when.

Was that blind, old coot really onto something? Could Mike actually be privy to ancient secrets passed down from the shepherds who roamed the hallowed grounds of St. Andrews long ago?

Mike couldn’t remember making the swing, but somehow he knew it was good. The subsequent silence was deafening.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Muddy exclaimed, practically breathless. “Where in the world did that come from?”

“Where’d it go?” Mike innocently asked.

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