Category: Drama Publisher: Xlibris
ISBN-10: 1479786845
Type: Fiction
Pages: 472
Copyright: July 1, 2010
ISBN-13: 9781479786848
A young man battles through family tragedy, an aimless future and a sudden love interest to play in the final round of America's greatest golfing event---The Classic.
A night of teenage passion leads to an unplanned pregnancy followed by a lower-middle-class struggle to make ends meet.
Like most mothers, Rayelene Purler envisions great things for her child. In an attempt to introduce her son to a slice of life the family can ill afford, she arranges for the stuttering Owen, Jr. to get free summer instructional lessons at Prairie Winds Golf Course on the east side of St. Louis.
After the first ball is struck on the driving range, head pro J Dub Schroeder senses a child prodigy in his midst. The lad becomes known as Opur for his propensity to sink putts with an old, worn-out putter that was gathering dust in the lost-and-found barrel.
Follow the action as a young underdog fights for his dream on the hallowed grounds of America's greatest golfing event---The Classic.
Excerpt
J Dub walked out the door with Owen following. They headed for the cart barn. “We have to clean out the carts when they finish,” the pro explained. “If a golfer calls back and we have what they describe then we’ll give it back to them. But if we don’t get a call then as far as I’m concerned others can have what’s been found and gone unclaimed.”
“L…L…L…Let’s hope a p…p…p…putter is in there.”
An old wooden barrel sat inside the cart barn. In it were head covers, mittens, gloves, windbreakers, a sweater, an old pair of golf shoes, one tennis shoe, a pitching wedge, a six-iron, several golf towels, four ball hats and an old putter.
“Looks like we’re in luck,” J Dub said as the duo went through all of the
items one by one.
“Th…Th…Th…That’s beautiful,” Owen said as J Dub handed him the putter. The putter was an old Bull’s Eye model manufactured by Titleist. The grip was badly worn. The head was weathered and had a few nicks on the top of it. It was the style that had a thin gold-plated face with the rear end of the putter curled upward like a pair of shoes on a troll in a fairy tale. The shaft came into the club face at almost a ninety-degree angle.
“I don’t know about the beauty of it,” J Dub replied, “but it will get you started on the practice green.” He examined the club. “It looks like it has seen better days.”
“I…I…I…It looks p…p…p…perfect to me,” Owen said as he admired the club.
“Then we’ll go with it. We’re heading to the part of the game that separates the players that can score well from those that don’t.”
“Wh…Wh…Wh…What do you m…m…m…mean?”
“This game is all about getting the ball in the hole,” J Dub said as the pair headed back toward the clubhouse. “The guys that can putt are the ones that win golf tournaments.”
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