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8 Years Ago
The weather is as perfect as one can imagine. The sun is shining amidst a few stray cirrus clouds. It’s warm enough for short sleeves, but cool enough to make one barely sweat. A light breeze coming from the ocean blows through one’s hair, fluttering floppy hats and dancing through dresses.
Freddie Slater holds onto the wooden railing with Alfie right at his hip, staring out at the gorgeous coastline sprawling below them. Their father Adrian is taking photos somewhere, and their mother hadn’t come with them on this trek. She chose to stay behind in the city to meet with friends and would be out for most of the day.
There are about ten other people at the viewpoint, mostly clustered at the edge of the trail and taking pictures. The cliff where they’re at is steep and looks even steeper, so Freddie has his hand on Alfie’s wrist in case his brother gets any ideas. They stay far enough from the edge for Freddie to feel safe, but close enough to see almost everything.
“Are we done yet?” Alfie complains. He’s only seven and getting tired of walking. Their father promised to go straight back to the parking lot after this, so Alfie is starting to get cranky.
“Just a minute,” Freddie cranes his neck and stands on his toes to try to find their father among all the tall people.
“Freddie, I’m bored,” Alfie sighs. “And I want ice cream.”
Freddie wants something to eat too, but as the oldest he doesn’t want to complain in public. So he yells for their dad.
Adrian hurries over exactly twenty-seven seconds later, “Okay boys, let’s go!”
“Where next?” asks Freddie. “Alfie wants food.”
“I said ice cream!”
Adrian laughs a little, “No food yet, it’s too early for dinner. We’re going down the road to the golf course.”
“Why? What’s so special about it?” Freddie wonders.
“You’ll see.”
It’s a rough hike back but at least most of it is downhill. There’s so much sand and gravel caked into Freddie’s shoes that they leave prints on the car’s floor. He flops onto his seat, now hot and sweaty, and puts his seatbelt on.
Not even ten minutes later they’re pulling into another parking lot. The sign proclaims the area as Torrey Pines Golf Course. There’s a sea of parked cars so Freddie doesn’t even have a clue which way they’re going.
Thankfully, their father seems to know exactly where to go. He leads both of them through the lot and past metal poles designed to block cars from going onto the narrow cart paths.
All around Freddie, people are walking with golf bags slung around their shoulders or else pushing them on carts. Golf carts rush past, forcing them to the sides of the roads.
Between two large putting greens is a dark green analog clock on a pole. The three of them aren’t the only tourist non-golfers there, and there’s another group taking pictures with the clock before Freddie’s dad gets a chance.
After that, they round the clubhouse and admire the stretches of fairway leading up to the endless expanse of ocean. Paragliders in their red, orange, and yellow sails swoop and dance in the sky. The wind has picked up by now.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” says Adrian. “It’s even better at sunset, but we won’t be able to see it this time.”
“When can we then?” Alfie no longer seems tired. In fact, he’s holding onto Freddie now, watching the paragliders, as though if he were to let go he would fly into the sky with them.
“Who knows, maybe someday we’ll come back.”
—
8 Years Later (Present Day)
Freddie only vaguely remembers the first time he stepped foot on these grounds. It was after he got his first set of clubs, but before he started doing it seriously. Alfie was there, of course, and is still here, by his side, as they unpack their things from the trunk of the rental car.
Today is just a practice round and they’re taking a cart. Their father is coming with them, but he’ll just be walking and chatting with the other parents.
Once they’re all set, Alfie disappears, probably to find people they know. Freddie gets range balls and hopes his brother doesn’t wander too far. It’s not like they could get lost so Freddie doesn’t dwell on it.
He’s glad that there are plenty of familiar faces. Since he has a bit more time than he needs, Freddie goes to say hi to Brad Benavides and Yevan David, then flits to Bruno Del Pino and Hiyu Yamakoshi.
Alfie comes back surprisingly quickly with a friend in tow. Freddie guesses that it is one of the Ethans, though he simply gives Alfie a bucket and sends him on his way.
The sky is as clear as he remembers it all those years ago. There’s a breeze coming from inland, but later in the morning it will flip directions. On the range, Freddie is glad they’re hitting off grass because he swears his shoulders get phantom pains when he so much as looks at mats on concrete.
That day, he plays with Alfie. It’s mostly unserious and Freddie gets to enjoy the nice weather. It’s slow moving since everyone is taking their time, but he doesn’t mind even though he’s usually a fast player.
The next morning he has an 8 am tee time, which isn’t the worst considering they start at 7:30. It still means that Freddie wakes up at 5:45 on the dot since he likes having more warm up time. Alfie’s at around 11 and insists on sleeping longer (fair enough), so it’s just Freddie and his mum out early.
The greens have been rolled already by the grounds crew, so they’re already lightning quick by the time Freddie starts rolling some putts. As he warms up, he can see them mowing the grass in the distance. On the other side of his game, Freddie feels confident enough in his swing that he genuinely believes that if everything goes well enough, he can win this.
Before the first tee Freddie’s mom gives him a brief hug, “You’re amazing, don’t ever forget that, Freddie.”
He’s paired up with Mattia Colnagi, Taito Kato, and Louis Sharp, meaning none of them are locals. It doesn’t mean any of them are bad, far from it. Mattia has a wicked short game, Taito is extremely good with pressure shots, Louis is well-rounded, and Freddie excels in distance and distance control.
There’s a brief window of five minutes after they get the usual speech of notices and before they start. Freddie notices that Mattia isn’t carrying his bag like usual and asks why.
“I got a horrible sunburn,” Mattia pulls his collar to the side to reveal a large patch around his neck and shoulder. “So it chaffs to carry right now.”
“Sorry man, get better soon,” Freddie says.
Their starter calls for them to get ready. Freddie is first up.
He’s played enough tournaments to not have first tee jitters. But still, Freddie makes sure to ground himself with his breathing. He focuses on making a smooth, practiced swing. The first hole isn’t long for him, so there’s no need to switch from his stock shot.
He hits a slight fade down the middle, a tad low on the club face, but otherwise completely fine.
He breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not much, but as they say, one shot at a time.
The second hole is short with the pin in the front of the green. It’s an easy wedge in and Freddie birdies it with no issue.
They’re playing the South Course, so the par 3 hole 3 is the iconic hole. It’s a steep drop from the tee box down to the green. From that vantage point, Freddie can see all the way across the cliffs down south, where the greenery, ocean, and city make a picturesque scene. It’s a very photographable hole and especially on a day such as then, he really wants to get a picture. He hopes his mum does for him.
Even though it’s still early, the paragliders are out. They stay near the edge of the course, circling like birds in flight.
Maybe he’s been enchanted by the scenery, but Freddie nearly shanks his ball to the right edge of the green. It stays on, but it's surely a thirty or more foot putt back. Taito sticks his ball two feet from the hole, and Freddie can’t help but feel a slight tinge of jealousy.
The wind, while having been almost a non-issue, starts picking up as soon as it turns 11. They’re on the twelfth hole par 4 heading out towards the ocean. It’s dead into the wind, probably 12 mph or more.
Freddie hits a low tumbler into the first cut of rough, but it manages to find its way back onto the fairway with a lucky kick. His mid iron finds the green easily, and because of the wind, stops dead upon landing.
At this point Freddie hasn’t really been keeping track of everyone’s score. Sure, he’s been writing down Mattia’s after every hole, but he hasn’t been doing all the math and calculating where each stands in relation to each other. He thinks he might be a couple under par, while the other two could be even, but he really isn’t sure.
The atmosphere is easy-going. The three of them chat together while walking to their balls. Sometimes one of them has to scamper off to hit a wayward tee shot, but Freddie is really enjoying himself out there.
The last holes are unfortunately a bit of a tough stretch for Freddie. He takes a few unnecessary drop shots thanks to some poor chipping and a little bit of bad luck. It could be worse, he thinks, because Mattia’s ball straight up disappeared a few holes ago, possibly into a tree (but they’ll never know).
They’re all playing together the next day so the post 18 handshakes are brief. His mother is smiling as they enter the scoring tent, so Freddie guesses he still did well enough. He’s definitely a bit salty for all the shots he left out there, but there isn’t anything he can do about those now.
“Lunch first,” his mum orders as they leave the tent. “Then you can go practice.”
Mattia decides to eat with him while Taito and Louis go to find some of their friends who have already finished.
“So what do you think?” Freddie asks Mattia.
“Could’ve been so much better,” Mattia crumples the slip of paper with his score and tosses it into a trash can. “Nice day though,” he says after a bit. “But it’s worse knowing I shot that score on a perfect, sunny day than a day like last time when it was twenty mile per hour gust winds and hail.”
Freddie laughs, remembering the round Mattia had mentioned. It had been only a few degrees above freezing and exceptionally windy due to the course’s location. Even a simple task like putting on gloves had been excruciatingly painful. “And they didn’t even pause it to let the clouds move through!”
He practices on the chipping green while waiting for Alfie to finish. It feels a lot better, but then again there isn’t the inherent pressure of ‘every shot counts’ weighing on him like it was that morning.
“Freddie, Alfie’s on 18 now,” his dad says over the phone.
“Coming!”
He arrives just in time to watch Alfie’s ball hit onto the slope below the green and trickle back down into the water. Freddie stifles a laugh at his brother’s expense even knowing that Alfie can’t see his expression from far away.
At least his brother takes his time on the next shot after taking the penalty. His chip hits the pin and bounces about six feet away, but at least Alfie is able to make the putt for a six.
“Why’d you have to see that?” Alfie grumbles as they trek together towards the scoring tent.
“Why’d you hit it into the water in the first place?” Freddie shoots back.
—
It’s day 2 and significantly windier.
Part of it is because of Freddie’s 12:30 tee time as the wind is significantly stronger in the afternoon. Part of it is just because of the weather.
Either way, it’s into the wind on hole 1. His second shot drops into the waiting maw of a greenside bunker. Unfortunately he’s not able to save par, which seems to be the motto of his front nine.
Freddie tries his best to minimize the damages. When he’s in a bad spot he does his best to reposition himself for the greatest chance to par out. Still, luck isn’t really on his side and he ends the nine two over.
It’s hard to not pay attention to how others are doing. Freddie is sure Mattia has made up three strokes on him, and Taito and Louis have probably done the same. The numbers come too easily and Freddie gives up trying to block out the calculations. He reminds himself that he has to focus on the things he can control. Else, all you’re doing is wasting your energy.
Hole 11 is a par 3 into the wind. Freddie hits just as the wind suddenly dies down. His ball soars past the pin, hits the back of the green, and runs over. Freddie swears.
His dad points to his ball, which is sitting down in a clump of weeds. The pin is in the middle, so Freddie has some green to work with. He manages to get the ball up and lands it a foot onto the green. There’s almost no spin, and the ball blows past the pin to give Freddie a fourteen foot putt back uphill.
It’s a slight right to left and Freddie knocks it into the center of the cup. It doesn’t look like much, but for Freddie, it’s a massive confidence boost. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his dad clapping.
The rest of the round goes a lot better. Freddie only gets one more drop shot and compensates it with four birdies, ending his second day one under par. It puts him in a long tie for third. Mattia is in twenty-first with Louis, and Taito is eighteenth. Considering there are over two hundred players, it’s not too shabby for the four of them.
Alfie, who had a late tee time the first day, has a much earlier one today. He comes running as Freddie finishes. “What happened out there?”
Freddie gives him a deadpan stare and replies, “Golf.”
Under further questioning, Freddie learns that Alfie is somewhere in the fifties, which is really good considering his age.
“It was so much longer today because of the wind,” Alfie chatters. “But my short game was so much better. I was hitting low pitches a lot and I holed one out today.”
“Impressive,” Freddie replies earnestly. Sibling rivalry or not, he knows to acknowledge Alfie’s growth.
—
Day 3 returns with another twist to the weather. It’s blisteringly hot now and the wind is almost nonexistent.
Freddie is playing with tournament leader Ugo Ugochukwu, second place James Wharton, and Fionn Mclaughlin, who’s one of the seven people tied for third along with Freddie. Unlike the chill, light-hearted pairing he had the past two days, the atmosphere is tense.
James and Fionn share some quiet jokes while waiting on the second hole, but Ugo stays completely stonefaced. The intimidation is real, and Freddie knows that since everyone is so close in skill level, the mind games can make differences. The small things each day matter more.
On the fourth hole, Freddie slices his drive onto the next hole. Not only is he farther out than he’d like, but he has to carry over trees and the nasty greenside bunker smack in the middle of him and the pin.
He tries to play left of the bunker and get himself a smoother up and down. He carries the tree alright, but he miss-hits it enough for the ball to plonk right into the back of the bunker.
“It’s fine. I know what to do,” Freddie says to himself. He doesn’t really feel it, which is a much bigger issue.
Before he hits his bunker shot, Freddie takes extra time to make sure he commits to the shot. Any wavering or second-guessing could make it worse. It pops out, hits the green, and rolls through the fringe and into the rough.
He mentally curses, but doesn’t rush through raking the bunker and preparing himself for the next shot.
It would be so easy to rage, to give up, to lose it over a shot. Freddie’s done it in the past, he’ll admit it himself. It feels like everything he’s built up can come crashing down just as fast. But he’s made it this far and he can’t look back now.
Ugo has lined himself up nicely for a birdie putt. Freddie knows that, if Ugo makes it, then their gap will increase to at least three strokes.
His hands are sweating, his muscles are taut, and the sun is beating down so hard he fears he might be overheating. He carefully wipes his hands on his towel and tries to calm his breathing.
Since Freddie is still farthest out, he goes first. The ball skitters onto the green and follows the slope down past the hole to about six feet. Freddie thumps the side of his leg, he’s misjudged the slope.
Ugo putts, but his ball lips out of the cup for an easy par. James and Fionn also make par.
Freddie hits his ball square in the face. The speed is good but the ball hits the edge of the cup and does a 90 degree lip out. He all but storms off the green. The numbers are clearer than ever: he’s four shots behind Ugo, three behind James, and one behind Fionn.
The next hole is a real test for Freddie’s mental fortitude. All he wants is a birdie or better, but trying to force anything would unquestionably lead to further disasters. Instead, he focuses on putting his first shot in the fairway, then next onto the green. He’s about fifteen feet away with an uphill putt, so absolutely nothing is guaranteed.
The ball barely drops in. It clatters a bit before settling at the bottom. Freddie is so relieved that he’s speechless.
Freddie doesn’t count anymore. Even after par-ing 18 he has no clue where everyone else stands. He just hopes he did enough for something to count.
Alfie runs over, looks at Freddie’s face, and hugs him. They’re by the scoring tent, Freddie’s still carrying his bag, and everyone is staring. Alfie shrinks away and joins their parents, letting Freddie officialize his score.
Within the next five minutes, it’s clear. Freddie has tied with Ugo and Theophile Nael, meaning they have a three-way play-off.
As is tradition, hole 18, the par 5, is used. Freddie bombs his drive straight down the middle, putting him in a great position. Both him and Ugo make birdies, but Theo doesn’t, putting him in third.
Carts bring them back to 18’s tee box and they go again. Freddie puts his ball on the green in two while Ugo can’t. It’s a twenty five feet eagle putt, but still, it’s for eagle. Ugo puts the ball ten feet from the hole and Freddie knows it’s all up to him.
The ball approaches the hole, twirls around it, and stops for a tap in birdie. Freddie knows the pressure is now all on Ugo.
Ugo taps his ball and it skims across the edge of the hole but doesn’t fall.
Freddie thinks it’s Alfie who starts yelling first. He’s not sure, because his parents are equally loud in their clapping. In fact, most of his playing partners the past three days have joined in watching the spectacle.
Winner or not, Freddie still has sportsmanship to follow. He takes off his hat as Ugo finishes up, then shakes the other’s hand. “Great job, Ugo.”
“Not as good as you.”
The breeze has come back a bit as the awards ceremony gets underway. Alisha Palmowski won on the girls side and Freddie made sure to congratulate her too.
They stay for the sunset, just like their father wanted several years ago. There are a few stray clouds hanging around the dipping sun, but otherwise Freddie can see all the way to the horizon. The sky is a mix of red, orange, violet, and blue blurring together in streaks. The trees in the distance cast long shadows that Freddie thinks would look good in a painting.
“Next year,” Alfie tells him as they sit together. “I’m going to win this.”
Freddie glances at him, amused, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”