Bradford still had honors as the players approached the tough Par 3, fourth hole. The match was all square, but Dave knew he had to get his emotions in check. His concentration had lapsed on that little putt. In the back of Dave’s mind he had been thinking about Buzz’ little tantrum rather than his own putt. It had almost cost him the hole, and he couldn’t afford to give away holes to Buzz. He needed to be mentally tough or he had no chance.
The Par 3, 4th hole is 185 yards and almost all carry over water fronting the green. The pond was home to a pair of 6-foot alligators that all too often had feasted on errant tee shots. This was part of the mental game that Ken was always talking about, Dave mused. If you are confident that you can hit a good shot, you probably will. If you have doubts, you probably won’t.
Ken introduced various drills to improve Dave’s confidence. The key was to establish a positive routine, a routine that would work under pressure. The two friends worked on visualization, a key component in the routine of Asian golfers. “Create a picture in your mind of the ball landing on the green and rolling towards the hole,” Ken instructed. “Then allow your body to complete the picture.”
Dave followed his routine, took a slow practice swing, visualized a great shot, and watched helplessly as his 5-wood hung up in the wind, and came to rest in a watery grave. Ken never said you would hit a perfect shot every time.
As Buzz select a 5-iron and prepared for his tee shot, Dave’s thoughts drifted back to the early days of his equipment leasing business.
Sunday morning came too soon. Mary had spent the night with Dave as she often did on weekends. They had celebrated too much the night before and the celebration only had gotten better when they got home. It was after 1:00 AM when they finally curled up like spoons and fell asleep. It seemed like only a few minutes later when the alarm sounded and the clock read 7:00 AM.
They had 45 minutes to feed the kids and get to 8 o’clock church. Dave jumped up and took the covers with him.
“Stop it,” Mary screamed as she pulled the covers over her bare bottom and buried her head in the pillow.
“Get up and get moving or we’ll be late for church. Do I need to resort to cold water?” Bradford was in the shower when he heard her moving around, mumbling something about morning people.
Dave loved the morning. It was the best part of the day, particularly since he moved to Tampa where it reached 90 by 9:00 AM during the summer. Mary came into the shower and pushed him out. She looked pretty good, but when he reached for her all he got was; “Stop it, you better not get my hair wet or you will be going to church without me.” Wet hair is the one excuse that a man can never overcome.
Dave dressed quickly, and headed for the kitchen to turn on the coffee, and made a feeble attempt to wake the kids. All he got was moans. Pete and Lisa were both in the “wake me at noon” sleep, and Dave had no time to argue with them. Besides, they were good kids. Missing church one week wouldn’t kill them.
Dave devoted his energies to coffee, a bagel and a quick scan of the newspaper. Mary came out at 7:40 with five minutes to spare. She took the cup of coffee, a bite of bagel and was ready to go.
“The kids aren’t going?” she asked.
“Not a chance.”
“What did you think of our new best friends?” she asked, as we were driving to church. “You looked like you were having a pretty good time talking football.”
“I liked them, especially Fred. He has a good sense of humor. Everyone seemed nice, although it might have been the alcohol. How about you; what did you think?”
“I had fun too,” Mary replied. “It sounds like Jill might be a pretty good tennis player. We are set up to play Tuesday. Judy and Ginny were nice too. I didn’t get a chance to talk much with Gigi. She sure is a beautiful woman. She and Mario kind of kept to themselves until he came out of nowhere asking about your business. It seemed awkward, almost like he had something in mind. Did you notice?”
“I did. I wasn’t sure what he looking for. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do, that’s why I saved your butt.” We both laughed, recalling Mary’s IRS job description.
“I knew there was a reason I like you,” he said affectionately.
Monday, Dave was back to work. Business was good and getting better. He leased two offices in an Executive Office Suite including an office for his assistant, Sally. It was ideal for small businesses that did not want to hire a secretary or invest in office equipment and furniture, but needed a work place away from home.
Bradford checked his email. There was one item of interest, a request for lease rates for a $77,000 internet access system for a new hotel. The sender looked like a vendor and could be a source of ongoing business. Dave added 4% to his cost of capital and emailed back the lease rates. 4% of $77,000 would be a nice profit if they got the job, he mused. Dave was mentally spending the money when Sally stepped into his office.
“How did your Friday afternoon meeting go, Dave? Did we get the work?” Dave had met Friday with corporate representatives from Bally’s who were opening two sites in Tampa.
“I think so, Sally, and I’m pretty sure that we can get them approved. How are your deals coming along?”
The co-workers went over the status of each of the 14 deals in inventory, 15 including “Bodybuilders”. Business was good.
The sound of Buzz’ 5-iron jarred Dave back to reality. It was the crisp sound of a well-struck ball, and it was no surprise to see the ball feather softly onto the green, stopping 12 feet short of the flag.
There was no drop area so Dave was forced to hit a second shot from the tee. He was hitting three. This time he struck the 5-wood cleanly and landed on the fringe, 35 feet from the hole. He would need to sink this putt and hope Buzz 3-putted from 12 feet. Part of him wanted to concede the hole, but it was better sportsmanship to play the hole out and allow Buzz to try for birdie. Dave narrowly missed the bogey putt and tapped in for a five. Buzz sank his putt for a deuce. In stroke play, losing three strokes on one hole is disastrous. In medal play it’s no different than losing by a stroke.
Dave was down one again, with 32 to play.
Sam headed for the public telephone next to the bait house while Ron dry-docked the boat. This was not a conversation that was appropriate for a cell phone. He dialed the private number and waited. On the fourth ring the boss answered: “Hello.”
“It wasn’t there. We searched the area for three hours; nothing.”
There was silence for at least 30 seconds. Sam kept silent; there was nothing more to say. He could only imagine the rage building in his boss. They had already been paid 50% in advance for the shipment. Nobody wants to give back $16M.
“Stay by this phone until I get back to you.” Dial tone.
Sam hung up and wiped his brow. Florida was hot in May, even at 10:00 AM, but that was not why he was sweating.
While Sam was sweating, there were high-fives and smiles in the Tampa offices of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. Not only did they possess six canvas bags of uncut heroin with a wholesale value of more than $32 million, they were moving up the food chain to the big fish.
The phone tap on the public telephone had paid dividends.