A Golfer's Dream

A Golfer’s Dream
By
Richard Vance


    It was silly really, believing in that nonsense!  After all, he wasn’t a kid anymore and he didn’t even remember believing in that kind of thing even when he was.  Still somehow, he did feel different.  He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but his swing did  feel smoother.  Standing just off the first tee, waiting for his turn to tee off, his practice swings just felt good.
    “Come on Sam,” said Zac. “We haven’t got all day!  It’s your turn to tee off. "
With a laugh, he said, “You think you might be able to break 100 today?”
    The rest of the guys in the foursome just laughed.  Sam knew it was just going to be another day of ball busting with his regular Saturday golf foursome.



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    Sam had never been a particularly good golfer.  He had been playing this damn game for almost thirty years now and, well, if he hadn’t been able to improve in all these years, he didn’t have much faith that a chance meeting with a supposed retired golf pro was going to make any difference.  After all, he had probably read just about every book ever published on how to play the game.  He subscribed to four different golf magazines that were always filled with tips and instructional sections to help those afflicted with bad golf.
A lot of those tips made sense to him – seemed so easy to incorporate into his own game -  but nothing he had ever tried seemed to work.  He had even ordered a number of golf training aids off of those constant golf infomercials that played on the Golf Channel.  Many of these devices looked promising as well, but when he tried them, they just didn’t work for him.
    He truly loved the game.  He was addicted, in fact.  But he hated being called a “duffer” or a “hacker” by some of the guys he played with.  His buddy Zac who he played with every Saturday was the worst.  He dreaded having his balls busted when he hit bad shots.  It was embarrassing!  Even though a lot of his other friends didn’t say anything out loud, he could see it in their faces.  He knew that behind his back, they felt sorry for him.  He could hear them saying to themselves, “If I was as bad as Sam is, I’d just give up the game.”
    Some of those guys, although seemingly not any more athletic or coordinated than he, just seemed to make the game seem so effortless.  A lot of them didn’t even have what anyone would describe as a mechanically sound swing – they didn’t look like good golfers.  But, by somehow keeping their drives in the fairway, getting on to the greens in regulation, and putting pretty well, their scores at the end of the day were pretty damned good.  They key, he thought, was simply staying out of trouble; something that he didn’t seem to be able to do.  Even though he did have a few good shots, and even a few good holes every round, on the rest of the holes, he screwed up.  He always managed to end up in the woods or in several of the water hazards on the course.  His best round ever was a 95, and that was probably a fluke.  He pretty much always hit in the 100’s. 



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    He had met Bill in the book store he often frequented.  He had been browsing the “sports” section in search of that one elusive golf instruction book that would finally trigger an epiphany.  Some secret in the grip - some thought – some tip – some secret “move” that would finally sink in and then everything would just fall into place. He would suddenly and instantly become a scratch golfer.  Right!  Deep down he knew that it was ridiculous, but he also knew he wasn’t alone.  Most all golfers read some of these books at one time or another with the hope of finding that one thing that would make them better.  Even a lot of the very good players were always trying to improve their games.
    Browsing beside him, another patron had causally asked him what kind of book he was looking for.  This stranger joked that he himself had constantly sought out instruction books from the masters to try and find their secrets.  He admitted that even though he had been a teaching pro (before retiring), he never quit trying to improve his own game.
    “The name’s Bill,” he had volunteered casually.
    Although somewhat embarrassed, Sam had admitted that he was just a hacker – that he usually wasn’t able to break 100.
    “I’ve read so many of these books and tried so many things, I’m afraid it’s hopeless.  I’ve even taken lessons and nothing has helped.  I’m just cursed to be a bad golfer for the rest of my days, I guess.”
    Through the conversation that ensued, he remembered Bill telling him, “I know that you may find this hard to believe, but I guarantee that I can help you out!  With a couple of lessons, I could show you exactly what you’re doing wrong”.
    Sam had thought that he certainly looked like a golfer.  He judged him to be in his late sixties, but still tall, thin and athletic looking.  He had short cropped white hair and a closely trimmed mustache.  He wore a dark colored pair of expensive dress slacks, a vibrant red Izod golf shirt, with black patent leather loafers.  He looked like he walked right off of the PGA tour.  But why would he just offer to help him out of the clear blue?
    “I’ll tell you what,” Bill had said. “If I can’t cut at least twenty-five strokes off of your handicap in two or three lessons, they’re free.  How’s that for a deal?  If you’re satisfied, I’d ask for $50.00 per lesson.  Sound fair?”
    Sam didn’t really believe it was possible for him to improve that much, especially in just two or three lessons, but hey, what the hell did he have to lose?  He had tried so many other things that it was worth a shot. 
    He had agreed to meet Bill on the following Saturday at 9:00AM sharp, at the Sands Driving Range.  He was skeptical, but excited as well.


 
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    When Saturday arrived, Sam made sure he was at the driving range early.  He arrived at 8:30AM so he could warm up a little before actually taking the lesson.  He wanted to be loose.  He grabbed his golf shoes out of his trunk and laced them up, and then took a couple of his irons out of his bag to swing.  He also took out his putter and a few balls to use on the practice green.  He wanted to be ready.
    As he was finishing up his warm up, Sam saw Bill pull up and get out of his car.  It certainly was unusual.  Bill was driving what Sam thought was a 1955 Cadillac convertible.  The car looked like it had just come off the showroom floor.  It was jet back, and shinned like a mirror.  There couldn’t be too many cars like that still on the road.
    Also strange, Sam noticed, was that Bill himself was dressed in all black – Shoes, slacks, shirt, and a black golf hat.  He looked like a taller version of the professional golfer, Gary Player.  Player had always worn black when playing in PGA tournaments – it was his trade mark.

    When he noticed Sam, Bill walked over to the practice green where he was standing.
    “Well, are you ready to get started?”
    “Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Sam.
    Sam also noticed that Bill had a small goatee. Hmmm, strange. He thought back when they had first met at the book store.  He hadn’t remembered seeing that goatee at all.  In stark contrast with his white hair and mustache, the goatee was black – something that Sam didn’t think he could have missed when they had met.  But it had only been two days – certainly not enough time for him to have grown it, if it hadn’t been there.  Hey, he must of missed it, that’s all.
    Sam also noticed his eyes.  They were jet black.  Something else he hadn’t remembered.  Not that he could really remember what the color of Bill's eyes had been, but the striking dark eye color just stood out!  To be honest, it was a bit unnerving.  Although when they had first me, Bill seemed especially friendly and warm, for whatever reason, he now seemed a little odd.  Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on it? 
    He just decided to ignore his feelings.  After all, what did it matter?  If Bill could straighten out his golf game, that was the important thing.  Who cared if the guy was a little weird.

    After a quick greeting, Bill said “Why don’t you head over to the far end of the driving range, and I’ll grab a bucket of balls.  I’ll meet you over there.”
    Sam watched, as Bill walked into the pro shop.  There really didn’t seem to be anything to lose.  Hey, give the guy a shot.  Picking up his golf bag, he headed over to the practice range.

    When Bill arrived, he said, “Why don’t you just warm up a bit and hit some easy shots with your 9 iron.  I’ll watch your swing”
    Sam dumped out the balls and teed one up.  He hit the first ball off the toe of his club and it sliced wildly off to the right.  The second ball wasn’t much better.  He topped it and it dribbled off the tee, only going about ten yards.
“That’s my usual shot. I just can’t seem to make good contact with the ball”.
He thought to himself that there was just too much wrong with his swing for anyone to fix it.

    Bill seemed unconcerned with the bad shots.  He simply told Sam to swing slower and smoother.  He also suggested that he change the grip on the club to be a bit stronger – moving his hands to the right on the club.  He also had Sam change the position of the ball in his stance for each of the different irons he hit, and for the driver.
    As Bill continued to watch him hit golf balls, Sam just hit one bad shot after another.  He made the changes that Bill suggested, between shots, but nothing seemed to be working.  After hitting the entire bucket of balls, Sam didn’t think there had been any improvement at all.
    “It’s just no use.  I stink”
    “I still think I can help you,” Bill quipped.  “Why don’t you step over to the car and I’ll give you something that I think will work wonders”
    Although the tips and instruction that he was given made sense to Sam, none of it was anything that he hadn’t heard before.  With all the books and magazines he had read, he had tried all of these potential “cures” at one time or another.
    But still wanting more than anything to improve his game, Sam followed Bill to his car.  What could he possibly have in the car that would help him?
    When they arrived, Bill opened the back door and pulled out a large black leather bound book.  It looked ancient, the cover nearly falling apart and the pages all yellowed and brittle.  On the cover of the book, there appeared to be a dragon embossed in the middle. It seemed Pretty strange.
    Bill turned and faced Sam, “I haven’t entirely been honest with you.  I’m not really who I let on I was”
    Sam was a bit confused, but continued to listen.
    “Look Sam, I’m not really a golf pro at all, although I guess I could just about be anything or anyone I wanted to be. You may have heard of me?  I’ve been call many things over the years I’ve been around.  You possibly might know me best as the Lucifer?”

      Sam was speechless.  What was this some kind of joke?
      Bill continued, “Hey, it doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not.  The important thing is that I can fix your golf game.  I can make you as good as you want to be.  You want to be a scratch golfer?  I can do that for you!”
      Sam wasn’t really a religious guy.  He wasn’t necessarily an atheist either, but maybe an agnostic.  He simply didn’t believe in this sort of thing.
    “What would I have to do?”
      “You don’t have to do anything really.  Just sign my book here as, how shall I put this, one of my associates.  We can work out the details later,” said Bill.
      Sam asked, “What?  I supposed next you are going to tell me that it involves promising my soul to you, right?"
    “Well, you see, this whole “soul” thing has really been all blown up over the years.  Besides, you don’t believe in all this stuff, do you Sam?”
    That was the truth.  He didn’t really believe any of it, Sam thought.  What the hell, it’s probably just a scam anyway.  He was sure that Bill was just some kind of crack pot. 
    “You’re right.  I don’t believe in Lucifer, or the devil, or whoever.  I think you’re just some kind of kook to be honest with you”.
    With a smile, Bill said “Well then, what have you got to lose?”



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    Sam was a little uneasy standing on the first tee.  He had just signed the book on a lark.  After all, it was all bullshit.  It was just like a kid believing in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.  He didn’t know what the hell Bill had gotten out the game he was playing.  It didn’t seem to make a lot of sense. He was sure that it wouldn’t work anyway. So, for whatever reason, he had just signed the book, mainly to get away from the guy.  He had enough problems.  He didn’t need to be followed around by some mental case.  After he had signed the book, he had just hopped in his car and gotten out of there.

    Looking around at his playing partners, they were all just standing around, busting balls as usual.  Just another Saturday round with the boys.
    Teeing up his golf ball, Sam didn’t feel any different.  He’d just play his normal round and prove that Bill was what he thought he was.  Just one more crazy person looking for attention. 
    Sam took a deep breath and took his swing.  The ball started out to the left, and then sliced viciously to the right, ending up in a stand of trees about 175 yards down the fairway. 
    There, Sam thought to himself.  See it is just a bunch of bullshit.
    The guys just looked at Sam.  Nothing they hadn’t seen before.  Sam was in the trees again. 
    When he reached his ball, Sam found that it had apparently bounced off one of the trees.  He wasn’t actually in the trees at all, he was in the rough just beside the trees.  But it still hadn’t been a very good shot.  Although he did have a clear swing, he was about 200 yards from the green.  Not an easy shot, even for the best of players. 
    He took out his 4 iron and prepared to hit his ball again, thinking he probably wouldn’t make great contact with it.  It was in pretty deep rough and looked to be in a shitty lie.
    Taking the club back slowly, he came down on the ball and made really good contact.  The ball flew up in a high arc, silhouetted against the clear blue sky.  The ball hit just before the green, took two hops, hit the pin and fell in.
    Sam was shocked!  He had just eagled a par four.  The first eagle he had ever gotten – that was 2 under par.  He simply couldn’t believe it!
    Sam’s friends were clapping.  “He great shot,” yelled Zac.  “What the hell has gotten into you?”
    “Hey, I’d rather be lucky than good,” remarked Sam.
    He didn’t really know what to think.  He was sure that it was just a fluke.  After all, there wasn’t any such thing as the Lucifer - or the Devil, or Satan, or whatever Bill was calling himself.  He had just gotten lucky, that’s all.
    Walking to the green with the rest of the guys, Sam continued to assure himself that it was just a lucky shot.  That’s all!
    When they finished the hole, Jim said, “Hey, hotshot, eagles are up.”
    Sam knew that in golf etiquette, the player with the lowest score on the previous hole had “honors”.  That meant that he would be the first on the next tee to make his shot.  Although he felt a bit weird, it certainly was nice to make the lowest score on the hole.  He hadn’t often had the honors.  He usually made a 6 or 7 on that hole.  He was entitled to hit a good shot now and then, wasn’t he?
      The second hole was a fairly difficult par three.  It was 180 yards long, with a pond in the front, and surrounded by bunkers on three sides.  He hated this hole!  It always gave him fits.  He was usually lucky to make it off this hole with less than a five or six, and that was on a good day.
      He stuck the tee in the ground, and placed his ball on top.  Feeling a pretty good breeze coming right back at him, he had chosen a five iron.  Hopefully he would make good contact with the ball and at least get over the water.
    Making a pretty smooth swing, he made solid contact with the ball.  Again, his ball flew in a magnificent arc against the sky, and landing about five feet from the pin, it rolled straight, striking the pin dead center and fell into the cup.  A hole in one!  Holy shit, what the hell was going on here?
    Sam’s friends just stood there with their mouths open, not saying a word.
Finally, Zac said, “ That’s unbelievable Sam.  First an eagle on the first hole, and now a hole in one?  What’s going on here, you got a horseshoe up your ass or something?”
    The guys began to clap and congratulate him.
    “You know what this means, Sam,” said Jim, “You’ve got to buy a round of drinks at the club house when this game is over.” 
    “That’s right,” Zac chimed in, “ That’s the rules them damn Scots made up when they invented the game.  You make the luckiest shot of your life and you have to buy the drinks.  Not right, I know, but hey, the rules are the rules!?"



                                                                 
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    After the round, Sam seemed to get mixed reactions from the guys.  It had been probably the strangest day of his life.
    From the second hole on (after his hole in one), Sam proceeded to play absolutely lights out.  As crazy as it seemed, he felt as if he could have actually beaten Tiger Woods.
    It was surreal.  A good feeling of accomplishment, but also very unsettling.
Throughout the round, he had literally stuck every shot almost perfectly.  Every shot had gone exactly where he had aimed it.  Exactly in the right direction, and exactly the right distance.  He had hardly had any putt over two or three feet on any hole.  And he hadn’t missed even one putt!
    When it was all said and done, Sam had gotten eight pars (on the toughest holes on the course), six birdies, the eagle on the first hole, and the hole-in-one on the second.  Totaling up his score, he had shot an unbelievable 62 – ten strokes under par.
    Throughout the round, his playing partners, initially content to rib him about his “lucky” play, began to quiet down and start to distance themselves from Sam.  They stood a little father from him on the tee, and he often caught sight of them whispering to each other as he was making his shots.  He had to admit that he was getting pretty freaked out himself!  Although it was fun in a weird sort of way, he felt strange – like he was possessed.
    Although he owed them all a round of drinks at the nineteenth hole (what the bar was called at the end of a round), his three playing partners all of a sudden had pressing engagements.  All had to run and didn’t have time to stop for drinks.  Sam guessed that he had simply shocked them so bad that they just didn’t feel comfortable around him.  They all just had to get away to reflect on what had happened, he guessed..
    For Sam himself, he didn’t know what to think.  He still didn’t believe in the devil, but what else could he think?  What other explanation was there?  It was like something right out of a Stephen King novel.


               
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    The years flew by.  Although finally having gotten his wish for the perfect golf game, Sam was miserable!  He had lost all of his friends.  No one wanted anything to do with him.  He was haunted!!
    After the first few games of “perfect” golf, the news of his freakish behavior spread like wildfire.  In the beginning there were players that were willing to take him on.  Some of them thinking that the stories were all a bunch of crap.  That was until they played with Sam. After seeing it for themselves, they quickly had enough of him!  No one wanted anything to do with him.
    For a long time, Sam went out on golf courses by himself.  He frequented courses that were far from his home town; where no one would know who he was.  But it just wasn’t the same.  There was no one to share the fun times with.  No one to brag about his game – his perfect shots.  No one to bust balls with – this was probably what he missed the most - just being one of the guys.  Not some freak that no one wanted anything to do with.
    Sam had even gone out onto some of the courses and tried to hit bad shots.  It simply didn’t work.  Every shot he took, regardless of how bad he tried to hit it, flew long and straight to the hole. He didn’t even concentrate on his putts, but no matter where his hit his ball, somehow it just went in the hole.  As time went on, his scores got better and better.  Obscenely better.  Unbelievable!
      He thought about trying to play golf with the pros on the PGA tour but how would he explain it?  He would turn out to be a freak on a national -  no, on an international level.  He just couldn’t take it!  He hated himself.  He hated his life!
    He seriously thought of ending his life, but what fate awaited him in the afterlife?  Would Bill be waiting for him?  What would he look like when he saw him again?  Would he actually look like the devil?  He knew one thing, he didn’t want to find out!  He had to find a way to get out of this.  A way to make it stop!  But how?  He needed to think. 

    Not being able to sleep, Sam thought to himself that maybe a solitary drive would help him come up with a solution.  Hopping in his car, he drove through the dark night in silence.  After about an hour of randomly driving around, Sam found himself - where else -  but the golf course.  Getting out of his car, he just started to walk.  The cool night air felt good.  He could smell the sweet scent of the grass that had been cut at the end of the day.  The sad song of a whippoorwill echoed over the deserted course.
    Walking alone in the darkness, Sam thought of how he had lived his life so far.  He was 54 years old – how would people remember him?
      Although not a religious man, Sam prayed.  He asked God to forgive him – to help him get back to the way he was before – just an ordinary man.  He promised to change his life around and be the person he could and should have been.  He didn’t think God would help him.  Why should He?  After all, he had shut Him out his entire life.  How could he expect God to help him now?



   
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    The storm came up quickly.  Sam couldn’t remember how long he had actually been out on the course.  He seemed to be a little disoriented.  Had he fallen asleep?  The rain was coming down pretty hard, and the loud booms of thunder were all around.  The lightening lit up the sky like a fireworks show.  He thought about running off the course.  Running to his car and getting hell out of there; back home to his warm bed.  But it just didn’t seem to matter any longer.  He was on a golf course in a freaking thunderstorm.  Wasn’t that supposed to be the worst possible place to be during a storm?
    Maybe this was Bill’s way to sealing the deal.  Finally collecting his debt.
It didn’t seem to make much sense for Sam to run.  He was there.  Whatever was meant to be, was meant to be.  He began walking slowly toward the parking lot where he had left his car.  It was long walk.  Having wandered aimlessly, he found that he was at the farthest point away from the clubhouse and the parking lot.  He just gave up.   
    With a loud crash of thunder and a crack of lighting filling the sky, he didn’t really feel a thing, just a momentary jolt, and then blackness…




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    He seemed to be just floating.  Where was he?  He seemed really groggy, but tried to open his eyes.  As he tried to focus, he heard the noise of people all around him.  Sam looked out in front of him, and saw a car parked there.  He was sitting in his own car.  Looking around, he realized that he was in the parking lot of the golf course.  What was he doing there?  The last thing he remembered was being on the dark golf course in the storm.  Had he made it back to his car during the storm after all?  He remembered the flash of lightening and feeling a jolt.  He checked himself over, but he didn’t seem to be injured.
    Zac’s voice brought him out of his daze.
    “Hey Sam, what the hell.  Let’s go, we’re all waiting for you.  We’re on the tee.”
    “Ok, Ok,” said Sam, “I’ll be right there.”  He didn’t know how he had gotten there but it sure beat being dead.
    Arriving at the tee, the guys seemed a bit upset.  “Come on Sam,” said Jim, “We’ve already teed off.  We’re waiting for you. Let’s go!”
    Sam stuck the tee into the ground.  He put the ball on top.  Talking his club back slowly, he hit his ball down the fairway. 
    “Typical,” said Zac.  “You really suck, Sam, you really do!  You’re in the water again!”
    “I know,” said Sam with a big grin.  “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
    As they headed down the fairway on the first hole, Zac said, “Hey Sam, you think you might be able to break 100 today?”
    “I sure hope not!” said Sam.