Page 2 of Putting Out
“You can’t pressure a master.”
This time Kenny rolled his eyes in disgust, which was what she’d been going for. Chuckling to herself, she once more focused on the task in front of her. Sink the putt. Win the tournament. Go home.
The gallery quieted like the professional golf watchers they were, and waited. With an eye that had been gifted at birth then honed to perfection to read greens like a fortune-teller reads Tarot cards, Reilly saw the path as if it had been outlined in chalk.
She steadied her feet. Checked the hole. Relaxed her body until she was still. Looked down over the ball, eased the putter back and …smack.
The ball started rolling, trickling along just as she knew it would. It got to the hole and right there at the end broke ever so slightly to the left.
In.
The crowd, already on its feet to watch the track of the ball, roared its approval. Reilly did an obligatory fist pump because it was the latest thing in golf these days. She was trying to come up with something new to show satisfaction. Something a little more original. Maybe a jumping jack.
She lifted the ball out of the hole, kissed it, and sent it into the crowd. Then watched as a tall guy snatched it out of the air. The jerk. He could have let it fall to the little girl in front of him.
Reilly went over and shook both her opponent’s hand and her opponent’s caddy’s hand. If this was the first major tournament of the year, she would have had to make the expected winner’s jump into the pond. She’d done it two years in a row and man, she hated it each time. The water in that pond was always murky and dark and she couldn’t help but worry if there were snakes or other little creatures floating around in the damn thing.
For this tournament, all she had to do was smile and wave to the cameras. After so many wins, the celebrations were starting to get a little anticlimactic.
Not that Reilly didn’t love winning. But given her obvious advantage over the rest of the field, it was becoming expected. Maybe even a little predictable.
Predictability was death for sports.
Considering where she finished last season, she hadn’t lost a tournament in twelve attempts. She’d set the record at six wins in a row and then had done nothing but add to it. This twelfth win was going to put that record all but out of reach. At least for a while. It should have thrilled her.
It did thrill her. She just wished she didn’t have to work so hard to remind herself to be thrilled.
Shaking off the strange melancholy she was suffering from, which made no sense because she’d won, Reilly made her way over to the man with a microphone, who was waiting for her at the edge of the green.
Dan was a former golfer on the PGA tour, who had gotten out of the game but was working his way toward being an analyst. Like other lesser-known golfers, he had to earn his way to the men’s tour by starting with the ladies. With most of these guys, Reilly found herself gritting her teeth as they tried to hide their condescension and failed. However, Dan was a pretty decent guy. He respected her game. That was something.
“Reilly, you did it again.”
He moved so that she was forced to step sideways, giving the cameraman a better angle. Reilly pushed up her baseball cap and removed the sunglasses she habitually wore as a boon to the cameras. Her bright blues flashing for the world to see.
“Thanks, Dan. It feels good.”
The words were canned and practiced. For the first time they were also insincere. This win didn’t really feel good. It didn’t feel anything.
“First event of the season for you. How does it feel to be back and winning?”
Amazing. Remarkable. Like I’m the queen of the world.At least that’s what she should be feeling.
“Uh… it’s amazing. I’m thrilled. I’ve worked hard in the off-season to take my game to an even higher level. I credit that to the other ladies on tour. I’ve had to chase down a lot of talented golfers and because of them it’s made me work harder.”
Only she wasn’t chasing anyone now. Hadn’t chased anyone since Annika retired.
“I know you’ve been asked this question a million times…”
“But you’re going to ask it anyway, aren’t you?”
“After so many consecutive and frankly dominant wins, are you considering playing one of the PGA tour events?”
“I’m a lady, Dan. And I’m happy on the ladies tour.”
The same boring answer she’d given a million times before. She was going to have to come up with a better response. Even she was getting tired with that line.
“Yes, but I’m sure you’ve heard there is going to be a change to the golf-ranking system this season to include all professional golfers including those on the seniors and ladies tour.”
