Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins (eBook)

Tales from the Caddie Yard

Bo Links (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2001 | 1. Auflage
304 Seiten
Simon & Schuster (Verlag)
978-0-7432-1352-3 (ISBN)

Infos

For nearly as long as there have been golfers, there have been men walking alongside them, carrying their clubs, holding the flagstick, offering advice, smelling not so faintly of old sweat and very new wine. We knew them by their nicknames and little else, we called them Pinehurst Bill, Shorty, Rags, Preacher, Front Lip, Big Red, Fog City, Cemetery, Shotgun, Stovepipe. They described their profession in their own distinctive way: they shipped the trunk, pulled the strap, hauled the load. They were with us every step of the way -- although, to be honest, they usually quick-hopped a few paces ahead or lagged a couple behind. But they were always there when we asked for help. We called them caddies.

Today the Caddie is disappearing from the emerald ocean that is the golfer's territory. He has been replaced by machines that carry us and our bags down concrete ribbons or onto the greensward itself, by radar scopes that give us precise distances to any object, by meters that gauge wind, and by polarized lenses that filter out the sun and detect the slightest hump or ridge. But no machine can read a sidehill putt or sense the fear in a man's eye when he's standing over a short pitch across the water, when the cold facts mean far less than the confidence expressed by a fellowman who says, 'Smooth it in there, champ, you got that shot.'

Caddies are the griots of golf, the storytellers who carry centuries of lore along with the bags, tees, and headcovers. Bo Links has listened to their tales, and in Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins he has created two of the most memorable yarn-spinners you'll ever meet. Riverbank, young Harry Tweed, is a boy searching for his place in the world and for a place to hide, Roadmap, so named for his uncanny ability to read a green (and not, as some surmise, for the capillary tracings in his aging eyes), has found his place on the fringes and in the shadows, where anonymity and invisibility mean safety and survival. Roadmap takes Riverbank under his wing and teaches him the particulars of the profession -- but more important, shows him how golf can be the window into a man's soul. The lessons Riverbank learns are drawn from his experiences in the game, but have applications far beyond the out-of-bounds stakes.

The stories that make up Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins take us on a tour of some of the most renowned real estate in golf, including The Olympic Club, host to four U.S. Opens, and Cypress Point, the ultra-exclusive masterpiece where beauty, danger, and imagination combine to create the world's most unforgettable golfing terrain. The matches that take place on these courses range from an enterprising little game between two priests bent on glory at all costs to a variation of golf played under one simple rule -- you may not touch or replace your ball no matter what -- to a perfect round, played on the perfect golf course, in the most imperfect conditions imaginable, by a player who cannot hear the sound of the barriers he is shattering.

By turns comic, thought-provoking, moving, and entertaining, Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins will forever change the way you look at the game of golf, and at the men who walk with you while you plumb-bob its mysteries.

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For nearly as long as there have been golfers, there have been men walking alongside them, carrying their clubs, holding the flagstick, offering advice, smelling not so faintly of old sweat and very new wine. We knew them by their nicknames and little else; we called them Pinehurst Bill, Shorty, Rags, Preacher, Front Lip, Big Red, Fog City, Cemetery, Shotgun, Stovepipe. They described their profession in their own distinctive way: they shipped the trunk; pulled the strap; hauled the load. They were with us every step of the way -- although, to be honest, they usually quick-hopped a few paces ahead or lagged a couple behind. But they were always there when we asked for help. We called them caddies. Today the Caddie is disappearing from the emerald ocean that is the golfer's territory. He has been replaced by machines that carry us and our bags down concrete ribbons or onto the greensward itself, by radar scopes that give us precise distances to any object, by meters that gauge wind, and by polarized lenses that filter out the sun and detect the slightest hump or ridge. But no machine can read a sidehill putt or sense the fear in a man's eye when he's standing over a short pitch across the water, when the cold facts mean far less than the confidence expressed by a fellowman who says, "e;Smooth it in there, champ; you got that shot."e; Caddies are the griots of golf, the storytellers who carry centuries of lore along with the bags, tees, and headcovers. Bo Links has listened to their tales, and in Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins he has created two of the most memorable yarn-spinners you'll ever meet. Riverbank, young Harry Tweed, is a boy searching for his place in the world and for a place to hide; Roadmap, so named for his uncanny ability to read a green (and not, as some surmise, for the capillary tracings in his aging eyes), has found his place on the fringes and in the shadows, where anonymity and invisibility mean safety and survival. Roadmap takes Riverbank under his wing and teaches him the particulars of the profession -- but more important, shows him how golf can be the window into a man's soul. The lessons Riverbank learns are drawn from his experiences in the game, but have applications far beyond the out-of-bounds stakes. The stories that make up Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins take us on a tour of some of the most renowned real estate in golf, including The Olympic Club, host to four U.S. Opens, and Cypress Point, the ultra-exclusive masterpiece where beauty, danger, and imagination combine to create the world's most unforgettable golfing terrain. The matches that take place on these courses range from an enterprising little game between two priests bent on glory at all costs to a variation of golf played under one simple rule -- you may not touch or replace your ball no matter what -- to a perfect round, played on the perfect golf course, in the most imperfect conditions imaginable, by a player who cannot hear the sound of the barriers he is shattering. By turns comic, thought-provoking, moving, and entertaining, Riverbank Tweed and Roadmap Jenkins will forever change the way you look at the game of golf, and at the men who walk with you while you plumb-bob its mysteries.

Textauszug

Chapter One: Riverbank Tweed

If I was to sum it up in a single burst, I'd say that in my line of work, you basically come across two kinds of people -- the ones who remember and those who forget. The forgetful folks are downright plentiful, and they require the services of people like me whenever they wander onto a golf course. I may be a caddy with some mileage on me, but if there's one thing I'm good at it's remembering, once I see the line or learn a distance, I never lose track of it. Let me walk a hole and watch a man play it and I'll know things about him that he doesn't even know about himself. And once I know them, brother, they're with me for the duration.

When you see an experienced caddie, watch him close. You'll see he's got a feel for the land and the game, a sixth sense of what's about to happen when a man puts his club to the ball. I remember one gimpy old bag man the boys called Searchlight, he was weathered and stooped but he wouldn't quit looping. We called him Searchlight on account of his ability to see in the dark. He could read greens like they were books, and he could read them pretty good, even when the lights were turned out. One time, after his lamps got bad and he couldn't hardly see even at high noon, the boys called on him for help. He was just standing around inside the caddie shack at San Francisco Golf Club while a bunch of the big wads were putting for fifty dollars a hole. It came down to the end and the pot was something like $900. They were looking at a ten-footer for all the cash when one of them called over to Searchlight. It was nearly pitch black outside, but old Searchlight went out there, walking real slow, listing as he limped to the spot they led him to. Then he kneeled down and felt the damn green with his fingers. Couldn't see a thing, just ran his hand over the grass, felt it all the way from the ball to the hole. Then he looked up at no one in particular and said in a coarse whisper, 'Two balls out on the right.'

One of the guys looked at Searchlight like he was conducting a seance or something, then asked him, 'How hard do you want me to hit it?' Old Searchlight, he didn't even flinch, just answered him straightaway.

'Gonna take a firm stroke,' he said.

They all just stood there looking at him, not knowing whether to trust him. Then he said, 'You're puttin' uphill, into some grain with a hint of dew layin' on top of it.'

They trusted him then, and one of those boys, he stepped up and gave it a good hard rap, just like Searchlight instructed. Damn ball found the hole, all right. Sucker disappeared like a freight train going into a tunnel.

To tell you God's truth, they aren't all legends like old Searchlight. Some of the caddies I've come across are downright ornery, and if you look at them cross-eyed you're asking for trouble. You take Nitro Duffy, for instance, he was a man who acted normal most of the time, but then he'd just blow like a volcano and start doing things you'd shake your head at. One thing he couldn't tolerate was people who didn't listen to him. Every once in a while, Nitro would find himself looping for folks who could barely remember their home address, let alone how to play the game. For folks like that, you've got to just about tattoo the instructions on their body, or else they'll plum forget what they have to do.

Well, wouldn't you know it, one day Nitro Duffy found himself toting at San Francisco Golf Club. He was carrying for this doctor fellow, a bone man or something, who was so bad that Nitro ended up having to write the distance on the man's wrist. The trouble started on the 1st hole and continued all the way around the course, Nitro would slip the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 4.7.2001
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Themenwelt: Sport ► Ballsport ► Golf
• ISBN-10: 0-7432-1352-1 / 0743213521
• ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-1352-3 / 9780743213523