Bill is master of
ceremonies at the annual Mason County Chamber of Commerce banquet, and he
occasionally gets off a good one. But I thought that this one was his best.
"Sorry, partner, but I can't do it," I said. "Ain't no motels
between here and Brady."
"We're not going to walk. Nobody would expect that. We'll figure out some
kind of golf cart to ride."
aside," I said, "over at Brady, when I shoot my average 90 I'm
exhausted when I finish. And out of that 90 only about 50 are hard swinging
strokes. The rest are putts and chip shots. At best, even alternating shots as
you suggest, I will be hitting the ball at least 300 times before we make our
way to Brady. And all of them will be hard swinging shots."
"It'll be all right. Just don't worry."
"Bill, we're talking about high weeds along the right of way. We're talking
fatigue. We're talking pastures with cows and bulls. We're talking hills that
go up and down. We're talking about me swinging a golf club roughly 300
That was in May
when it was still cool, and June 11 was a long way off, so finally I said,
"Well, what can it hurt?"
I found out later
that it could hurt your arms and your shoulders and your feet and your hands
and even parts of the body you didn't know you owned. But at the time I
actually went away chuckling because it looked as if I'd found my One More
But then the
local papers started running stories, and the radio station in Brady wanted to
follow us tee to green. And there was a TV station out of San Angelo covering
the event. But worst of all was the Associated Press putting the story on its
sports wire, and the item being picked up all over the country. Sure I wanted
my Just One More Time, but I didn't want to do it in front of a packed
June 11 and Texas
summer arrived at the same time. We were to tee off from the courthouse square
at 10 a.m. By 9:30 the temperature was 96 and rising. Par had been determined
at 688 strokes. I don't know where that number came from. All I knew was that I
was afraid of three things: the plate glass windows getting out of Mason,
staying alive down the highway and the plate glass windows as we played through
Bill got us
safely past the Commercial Bank's huge windows with his first swing, a
beautiful seven-iron shot. But then it was my turn, and I hit a sort of
dribbling fade shot that ended up in the yard of Country Collectibles. That's
an outfit that specializes in old wagons and old farm machinery that, for
whatever reason, people from Houston and Dallas and San Antonio like to put in
their front yards.