Martha: "Can I sign for a sandwich?"
Mary: "You don't know how to write the order."
Martha: "Well, yes I do, but I don't know how to spell it."
Mary: "You don't know how to spell bacon?"
Martha: "Oh, that? Sure...BLT."
At moments like that, Hollis may walk out on the golf course alone and practice short irons and sand shots, the finest part of her game. Then she will play some monkey golf—zigzag around the course, skipping holes, crossing others, deliberately hitting into three traps before aiming for the greens, playing the course backward, for she hates to play 18 straight through.
Often she will set up situations—challenges to herself—as she did recently while playing the 9th hole of the difficult Harbor Town course on Hilton Head Island, S.C.
"Here she is, golf fans," Hollis intoned into an imaginary microphone while preparing to hit her second shot. " Hollis Stacy in deep trouble now after a bad drive. She is way off the fairway in weeds and dirt and has to come a long way over trees into a tiny green with the flag set back into the right. How to get it up and down for a birdie and her fifth open championship?"
Hollis skulled her second shot onto a hard mound and left it still 30 yards short.
"She hits and...whoops. A skull! Onto a mound in weeds, in between trees. What can she do now?" announced Hollis. "She needs a four to tie and force a playoff tomorrow. It's an impossible shot. Wow, what a situation to be in, going for her fifth open title!"