A Friendly Wager
“ Want to play the last three holes for lunch? ”, my playing partner asked as we finished 15th hole during my first round at Stryker Golf Course in the Spring of 1967. Being fairly new at golf and first time playing a regulation, par 70 plus, 18 hole course, I was not sure how to reply. Was this part of the game? Was this normal?
In essence, wanting to make a good first impression, and, since I had enjoyed playing with the “old sarge”, I agreed; telling myself it was not that much money, two or three dollars, besides it could be a free lunch. While, knowing deep down, on a E-2 pay of $67 per month, it was more than “pocket change” and losing could mean missing a meal or two before the next pay day.
Beer, burger and fries became our standing Saturday morning bet. And, as I discovered over the course of the next few months, our friendly wager helped me focus on the task at hand. No matter how I was playing, when we got to the last three holes, I played my best golf of the day. Always near par, sometimes a totally free lunch, sometimes not! And, even now, I remember those finishing holes as if I had played them yesterday; par 5 (beer), par 3 (fries), and a par 4 (burger) to finish.
A naif, for sure, that Spring, by the time I got to England in the Fall of 68, that was no longer the case. I truly can not remember playing many rounds that there was not a “friendly wager just to keep things interesting”. Most of the time, it seems the caddies had already worked out the details before I ever left the practice green. Sometimes, looking back, I am not sure who they were working for, me or another member in the foursome. That being said, it definitely was a lesson learned and one I would use to my advantage in the coming years.
As stated in other posts, 1970 and most of 71 was focused on building a more repetitive golf swing that could “holdup” against “Old Man Par” on any course on any given day. Therefore, other than a couple rare exceptions, my golf outings were always solo practice sessions. However, by the Fall of 1971, I met a man that would become instrumental in turning “friendly wagers” into my primary source of income for the next few years.
As many things are in life, “just a simple twist of faith”, I truly don’t remember how it all started, perhaps, over a beer, discussing the results of our “friendly wagers”, but sometime in the Spring of 1972, we agreed that he would become my banker and cover the losses for half of the winnings. So with a game plan in place, he started lining up matches, sometimes singles, other times as partners, at the different courses around Atlanta where he had memberships. Keep in mind, being recently discharged from the USAF, and going to college on the GI Bill at the time, these clubs were way outside my pay grade, as the saying goes. However, it did not take long to understand I could make more money playing golf couple days a week than any day job I was qualified to fill. For those of you that were not around, at the time the minimum wage was around a $1.25 per hour, monthly salaries were in the $800 to 1K for a collage grad, and if you were lucky enough, earning 10K annually was the entry threshold of a well paying professional career. Therefore, the opportunity to make as much or more in a week as most people would make in a month, without any “losing the bet” downsides, and just play golf, appeared to be a good deal for both of us.
And, for a couple of years, it was ! Before the end of 1972, sojourns to Callaway Gardens proved to be very rewarding financially. So much so, that the banker decided that to protect “our interest” we should include one of the assistant pros in our business opportunity. Therefore, in 1973, official introductions were being arranged by someone inside the pro shop to “fill out the group”. From an ROI -Return on Investment – banker’s point of view, the weekly $50 was the best $50 ever spent.
Although, the game was pretty much the same everywhere we played, having inside information , such as, how long the player(s) were staying, spending style, local knowledge, helped to insure each trip to the “Gardens” was rewarding. The banker took care of all the financials, all I had to do, for the most part, was to show up and play golf. Sometimes, we would travel in separate cars, then as part of the act, I would show up running late for my tee time, and be introduced as a single being matched up to fill out a foursome. Most of those times, he would already have established a “friendly wager” between the strangers, then as a courtesy, would ask if I was interested in joining “just to keep things interesting”. And, of course, before it was over, I was in!
The act, as I always thought of it as, consisted of playing with a set of Sam Snead Blue Ridge clubs that anyone could pick up at the local K-Mart store, and definitely not considered a premium model from your local green grass pro shop. However, my “serious money” set was made by the same company, Wilson, and, the Staff’s had almost the same playing characteristics, so transition between the two only took a couple of holes and only added to the “game” if I hit it all over the place early in the round while adjusting to the differences. Also, having long hair, a beard, and wearing bell bottoms, I did not fit the mold of the golfer of the day, dressed in bright polyester pants, white belts, and colorful shirts. The only thing that could possibly give me away was my top of the line Etonic golf shoes. And, if asked, was a Christmas present from Lucille, which they were. It was all part of the act.
And, the act ran for an extended period of time. Besides, the trips to Callaway Gardens, the bankers would fill in the weekdays with friendly little matches, sometimes just showing up at my door, and announcing we had a game later on that day. Although, the money was good, and as I said before, better than any day job I was qualified for at the time, for sure, it’s some of the golfers and the good times with them, I remember with great fondness.
Perhaps, not surprisingly, not the endless faces on the first tee at the “Gardens”, shiny new clubs in their bag, dress like a pro, and looking for a little action, but could not break 90 away from their home track if they had to “play it down”. But, the driving force, Jerry the Banker, that if not for him, the early 70s would have turned out differently. No doubt, it was the “Investment Banker – everything I do needs to make money for the little women (his wife and daughter)”, mindset that started us on our sojourn.
Then, there was our standing Monday afternoon outing with Nathan -“I got my par, P, how about you?” and his buddies. An older retired gentleman, that would bet on clouds crossing an imaginary line in the sky, doubling down on making that 10 foot putt again, $20 says you can not make it left handed, or anything else that had a “sporting chance”. And, the one I remember the most, Speedy Crawford, always good for a $100 or more on any afternoon, and never caught onto the game. However, without a doubt, had the biggest impact on the way I would forever looked at a “friendly wager”.
Yes, Nathan, I got my par !
