The First Deadly Draft: Ch.2

          October, anywhere else is generally either getting cold, or well into winter. In the Bayou City, this is not the case. We can play off-season golf here just about year round. The wind here in the greater Houston area usually blows hot, or humid, or both, if it blows at all. It was not windy today. It was a gorgeous day, and since Alex and I had brought our own beer onto the course, illegally, the air was right for drinking.

          The guru's who run the Woodlands couldn't keep the TPC name brand, that means that we can also play this course relatively inexpensively. On the weekends the greens' fees had been somewhere around a hundred bucks, but now it is closer to fifty. Of course This is if we have to pay at all. My cousin Speedy works there while he is in junior college, so we get the "family" discount. That matters to me, I don't have a whole lot of extra cash just lying around.

          "You gonna press this one, Ace?" I asked Alex, in the middle of his back swing. He stopped his 6'6" 190 pound frame halfway thru his version of the reverse "c" of the golden bear, and turned to look at me. He smiled a big toothy grin, and gave me the finger. I started laughing, and took another pull off my orange and brown can of, what Robert Earl Keen likes to call, that ol' Shiner B.

          I never beat him. Almost never, anyway. When I do it is usually cause I have talked to him so much that I am in his "grill". Hell, I am so far in his kitchen, I am making breakfast.

          We were only on the second hole at the TPC in the Woodlands, but I was one up. We usually play for a dollar a hole and pushes carry over. We were playing from the whites, and I had eased a nice little drive out there that started left, but with my natural draw, it put me about 200 out on the right side of the fairway. I had a good lie and decided to hit a twenty degree five wood to the elevated green. Alex, however, blocked his a little left and caught one of the towering pines at the dogleg and his Strata had dropped straight down into the pine straw and scattered cones. He was pretty much in jail when he got to his ball. He had no shot at the pin. He chipped out and had to lay up short of the green. He ended up having to carry a bunker and the pin was placed up. He went over the flag on his third shot and three putted for a bogey. I ended up getting on in four, and made a curling twelve footer for par. and I could tell that he was already thinking. That is when I decided to pour it on.

          I 'complimented' his putting with a snide little congratulatory "Nice three jack."

          He threw a golf tee into my back and his putter toward the golf cart. He hates three putting. He hates is more when I bring it up. Today was shaping up nicely for me.

          He went thru his pre-shot routine, and then lined up on the ball again. Right as he was about to go into his back swing, I "noonen'd" him, mimicking D'Annunzio from the movie Caddyshack. He absolutely mashed the ball. It went into the neck of the fairway, just skipping over an arm of a bunker and stopped about 75 yards from the pin. "Fuuuck Youuuu!" and he dropped his driver at the end of his back swing and put both fists into the air. He swung around and pointed at himself with both thumbs hands fists still flying, and was mouthing “I am the man!”

          I could not help but just laugh. I grudgingly admitted that is was a decent shot, and he went to the cart and grabbed his first beer.

          "Well pahds, at least you got something to shoot for." That big South Texas grin he was wearing only accentuated that drawl. He then dropped his blue tinted, Arlo Guthrie style shades down into their rightful place, as if to say, 'I got ya now!'.

          I figured I had to carry a hundred yards of water, and another hundred and seventy-five to get to where he was.

          I went through my pre-shot routine, line up club head, line up feet, check grip, re-grip, look at the target, waggle, re-grip, look at target. "Ok," I thought, "left arm straight, easy back swing, head behind the ball, and then just swing." I took my swing, pulled my head up, lost my grip adn topped the ball about 20 yards right into the water. "Damn."

          "Man, that was amazing. I have never seen an octopus fall out of a tree...until just now."

          At the turn, he asked me how the book was coming along. I told him about how difficult the creative process is, making sure that the characters are just right, doing the research on the details, et cetera. I went on for a good three or four minutes, until he stopped me with one sentence.

          "Haven't typed a word, huh?"
          "Nope."
          "It's been two munts now." he slurred a little with his barley and hops thickened tongue.
          "Thanks, calander boy."
          "Anytime, Pahds", he smiled.

          I didn't win another hole and ended up losing ten dollars over all. I also lost by 19 strokes. I am not a good golfer, and golf is a hell of a lot easier than writing for a living. I need to find a job they pay you to drink beer.
          "Hey, you think they need a beer tester at the St. Arnolds Brewery over off 290?"

          He looked at me like I had lost my mind, or maybe he thought I needed a new career. I couldn't tell.

          We put our clubs into the bed of his big maroon Dodge, replaced our golf shoes with something a little more comfortable, and took the cart back to the drop off area. As we were walking back to the truck, he asked "You really looking for a job, or are you still working for that guy at the plant under the table?"

          "Yea, I still work for Vaughn out there. He wants me to move out to the deer lease and take care of it thru the season. Says he'll take care of all my expences, and give me a grand a week to make sure the salesmen have what they need to take care of the customers."
          "Don't sound to bad pahds."
          "You ever heard of Carlos, Tx?"
          "Nope."
          "Well the lease is just outside of there."
          "You should have plenty of time to write."
          "Maybe. You want to come up and hunt maybe on a slow weekend?"
          "Outside of Carlos?"
          "Yep."
          "Nope." and he never even cracked a smile.
          "Damn, that was rough." i said sheepishly.

          We both laughed. It was a really good day. It was going to change.