Chapter 31: Interviews

A quick call to the clubhouse on Monday morning got me a practice round tee-time at 11:45am. I gathered up my dad and we headed for the clubhouse to get registered and me some desperately needed time on the practice range.

“Welcome to the Wichita Open. We’re glad you’re here. I hope that you are able to make it past number seven today,” said the young man who signed me in. I did a double-take as his snide comment registered on my brain. He was obviously referring to my early withdrawal in Fort Lauderdale.

Dad pulled on my arm before I could respond, or worse, fry the smart aleck’s ass. Obviously, this week was not going to be as smooth as I had hoped.

“Alex, you are going to have to work hard to keep your temper under control this week,” my dad reminded me quietly as we made our way to the practice range. I still didn’t know most of the other players who were warming up, but it appeared that some of them knew me.

I saw Nara Ipowhani, the tour player from Bangladesh that I had played with in the Bahamas. He didn’t return my nod or my smile. Of course, he hadn’t smiled the entire round back then either.

I just put it all out of my mind and focused on starting my warmup routine. I then went through all my clubs, just like I used to do, keeping a close eye on my natural shot shape. Most pro golfers learn to shape their shots on purpose depending on weather conditions, obstacles, and hazards. I was aware that I was hitting the ball as far as I ever had, but I could feel that I was getting better shape on the ball than ever before.

Finally, I looked down and discovered that all my range balls were gone. That’s when I realized that my dad was standing some ten yards behind me and holding a whispered conversation with Sam Peterson. Sam ran the tour’s instructional league and had been my practice round partner twice before.

“Your dad was just explaining what happened in Fort Lauderdale. I didn’t know about your yacht being blown up and killing your girlfriend. Or that the assassin was after you. The official withdrawal just said that you had become ill and were taken to the hospital. What happened on seven?”

“I was on the green in three, and my playing partners had putted out. I was just about to sink a four footer for birdie when my two playing partners screamed, jumped in their cart and took off like a bat out of hell, going the wrong way back down the seventh fairway.

“I looked up to see what they were screaming at and happened to look over at that big monstrosity of a house, you know the one on seven, where this lady screeched
“IT’S HIM” and pulls out this big assed gun aiming right for me. Thankfully, my security team had been following me and were able to taze them while Andreza pulled me into the golf cart and we lit out of there. We didn’t stop until I was back in Zurich.”

“That must have been upsetting,” Sam said.

“It was! I had a great round going and was about to putt for my fourth birdie in seven holes. The way I was playing, I felt like I could have played my way into the Open come Monday! I was so upset about missing out on the chance.”

“But what about the assassin? And the gun?” he asked.

“Oh ... that. That all happened so fast that I didn’t see much, really. My security team had it all under control before I could blink. Like I said, I was playing really well and felt like I had a shot at the next round.”

“Well, why don’t you head over to the putting green and I’ll go get us a cart,” Sam told us, still shaking his head at my story.

After he walked off, we headed for the practice putting green and I whispered to dad, “Whatever you do, don’t discuss anything about Florida with anyone else. Just tell them you weren’t there and refer them to me.”

Thirty minutes later, Sam showed up with a cart and we headed for hole number one. As before, Sam had us a couple of official yardage books and a detailed map of the course. Dad and I listened as he explained about some of the features and traps on the course and then I teed up my ball.

Hole number one is a Par 4, 457 yard slight dogleg right to a tiny green surrounded by four bunkers. The pin was on the front left today. I took a deep breath and launched a 335 yard slight fade that rolled another 20 yards and left me with a 90 yard pitching wedge to the green. Dad road in the cart with Sam as I walked the fairway to my ball. Dad passed me my wedge and I nailed it to within ten feet and sank that putt for a birdie 3 on the first hole.

<Author’s note about yardage: 457 yards is normally the distance from the center of the black or professional tee boxes to the center of the green. The actual distance to the pin depends on where the tee markers are placed in the tee boxes and where the pin is placed on the green and varies for each day of the tournament.>

As we approached the clubhouse after the first nine, Sam looked at me and said, “I have never in my life said this to a player, especially on this tour, but I want you to ease up on the back nine.”

“What do you mean, Sam?” my dad asked.

“What I mean is that he shot a 28. Alex shot a legitimate, witnessed, 8 under 28!” he almost screamed in excitement. “Don’t you get it? Alex just beat the front nine course record with six birdies and that eagle on number 6.”

“Oh!” my dad said as it sunk in. “OH...!”

“And if I turn this in, it will put a major target on his back for the rest of the tournament. So what we’re going to do is act real cool and go inside for a couple of bottled waters. Alex you stay with the cart,” Sam explained as he tried to calm his excitement. “And Darrel ... whatever you do, don’t say a word to anyone. Just let me do the talking if necessary.”

Dad and I both did as Sam said. We were all silent as we headed to the tenth tee. As soon as there was no one around, Sam looked apologetically at dad.

“I’m sorry if I came across looking foolish, and I assume that you lack the proper reference for my excitement. However, in my over thirty years around golf, as both a player and an instructor, I have only seen two other golfers with your son’s skill set.”

“Who might that be?” Dad asked.

“Well, bear in mind that there have been many great players who played before my time, and a few who play today that I have not had the opportunity to witness. But the two that came to mind are Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods.”

Dad and I just looked at each other.

“Now understand, Alex is nowhere near Nicholas in polish and finesse, and he hasn’t played enough to exhibit Wood’s mental toughness and creativity. However, if he were to play them when they were 19, I wouldn’t bet against Alex.”

“Damn!” said my dad. “We had no idea!”

“Thanks! I guess...” I said.

Suddenly, Sam pulled us away from the tee and waved for the approaching group to play through. After they hit and walked away, Sam quickly told me to take it easy on the back nine and he would explain as we went along.

I did as he said and after two holes, I was shooting one over for the back nine. I also began to understand what Sam was getting at. He called it course strategy. I called him a genius.

“Today, your ball is going exactly where you are aiming,” he started. “But if you play this game long enough, you will have days that your ball will just not cooperate. When, and notice I don’t say if, but when, that happens, you will need to know how to scramble. Now I don’t want you to ever do this in a match, but see if you can put your next shot in the left bunker. The downhill bunker.”