Reid lashed out in heated irritation. “Carl, all I can do is be myself. I’m no good at acting; in fact, I’m lousy at it. I will be happy to represent Eagle in any way you wish, but I can’t, nor will I try to be, anything or anyone but myself. I will talk about and play with your balls. Please excuse the pun. But I will not portray an image of the bad boy or the good boy. What I will do is continue to win and act in a way I believe is morally and ethically correct, both on the course and off. I hope that’s acceptable to you and Eagle?”

“Whoa! Reid, of course it’s acceptable. I didn’t mean to imply anything to the contrary. Ethics and morals are the fundamentals on which Eagle is based. In fact, if you were to change anything, I’m sure it would have a negative effect on both our ad campaign and the obvious passion and intensity with which you seem to live your life. I’m sorry if you took that any other way.”

Carl and Reid stared at each other for a moment, then gradually both smiled. Buck and Buddy breathed very obvious sighs of relief. Buck said, “Can we eat now, before you two totally ruin my appetite?”

They enjoyed their meal. Carl asked, “Anyone up for cigars and after dinner drinks?” “Not me, thanks,” Reid said. “I need to get some sleep.” “Why don’t we all go back to the hotel?” Buck said. “We can relax out on the patio.” “Works for me,” Carl said. They all piled into Carl’s rental Town Car. “Hey, I know a great night club about 15 minutes from here,” Carl said. “Who’s game?” “Drop me off at the hotel first, please,” Reid said. “Let’s save the club for tomorrow night,” Buck said. “No problem,” said Carl. At the hotel, Reid bade them good night and went directly up to bed. The three others went outside to enjoy Cohibas and Port.

On Friday, the weather took a turn for the worse and the tournament was played in a consistent drizzle. Tour players were accustomed to foul weather golf. Some actually welcomed a very light drizzle. Fewer spectators came out in inclement weather, which allowed for faster play and fewer distractions. The day passed problem-free and the weather cleared by late afternoon. Reid played well and increased his lead by three shots.

Immediately following his round, he returned to the hotel for a soak in the hot tub and a hot stone massage. He ate an early dinner with the men in the hotel grill. Buck, Carl and Buddy went out to a nightclub after dinner. Reid hung out with a few players and some Eagle executives at the bar. He drank Diet Coke while trading funny stories and jokes. He took the ones about him, even those that stung, in stride.

Back in his suite around 8:30, he turned on the TV. Food Network only – no news. In no time, he was snoring away. The TV woke him as it got louder during a commercial. He dragged himself to his room, shed his clothes, called for a wake-up call and quickly fell back to sleep.

Saturday was an exquisite day. A deep blue sky was dotted with just enough cottony clouds to give periodic relief from the intense sun. The air was balmy and as expected, the crowds overflowed the fairways. One spectator constantly annoyed Reid with hoots and hollers, but was too stealthy to be caught. Reid had made a few mistakes on the front nine, but was recovering quite well on the back. That is, until the 14th hole when the rowdy fan wisecracked, “Nice shot, champ!” after Reid hit a poor second shot. All day, Reid had managed to keep his temper from flaring, but this pushed him beyond tolerance. He stormed toward the source of the heckling with Buddy at his heels. In front of the gallery, approximately where the shouts had come from, he said sternly, “Whoever you are, you better keep hiding because if I catch you, it’s gonna get ugly. Do me a favor, just like they often tell me, grow up. Better yet, why don’t you find a sport where your yelling is appropriate, and stay there?”

The gallery applauded as he walked back to his ball. Buddy said, “You scared the shit out of me, boss. Let’s just focus on the rest of the round and win this thing, okay?” “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” Reid barked. “Okay, okay, calm down, we’re on the same team, remember?” “Sorry, I’m just pissed off.” “Yeah, I noticed, but you’ve got to keep yourself together.” “Okay, just give me a second to calm down.” Reid made a show of inhaling and exhaling deeply. Then he nodded. “I’m ready.” As everyone settled down, they resumed play. Reid’s ball had landed in serious trouble. The crowd had jumped out of the way as the ball landed near them and ricocheted off something hard. It flew through some trees and came to rest in a small clearing. Reid and Buddy were not happy when they saw the ball’s ugly position. There was barely enough room for Reid to swing without hitting one of the exotic Chinese Fir trees the hole was named after. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had a long tunnel of trees to hit through to get back to the fairway, heading for the green. There was no opening that afforded a safe lateral punch shot. The only safe shot was backward toward the tee, and that just wasn’t an option, not for Reid. “Looks like we’re damned either way,” Buddy said. “Give me my two-iron.” “So you’ve already decided, huh? Glad I could be of help.” Buddy handed him the club. “Come with me; we need to study this shot.” They walked through the tunnel, out to the fairway. Buddy said, “You’ve still got another 65 yards to the green. If you keep it low and land it here,” he said pointing to an area on the fairway just past the rough, “you should have the momentum to make the green. You’re gonna have to come out hot.”

“Yeah, I know.” After taking a moment to study the approach, Reid said, “Okay, let’s do it.” They walked back to the ball in silence. The crowd stayed respectfully quiet.

Studying the shot, Reid took some practice swings. His swing was going to be awkward in order not to hit the trees with the club and yet keep the ball low and fast, or “hot.” Stepping up, he kept the ball at the back of his stance and angled the top of the club forward. Taking one last look at the green, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and swung. The ball sailed through the tunnel, landing almost exactly where Buddy had pointed. Then it ran all the way onto the green, broke left and came to rest, leaving a three-foot putt.

The crowd went wild. As Reid and Buddy emerged from the tunnel of trees, the roar of applause and cheers became deafening. Reid couldn’t help himself. Smiling, he put his fist out toward Buddy for a tap and said, “Not bad.” “Who are you kidding? That was awesome, even for you,” Buddy said. “True,” Reid said with a smile. Finishing the day with a two-shot lead, Reid was happy. On the way to the locker room Buddy said, “Okay, I’m off to pick up your sisters. Their plane lands in 45 minutes. We’ll meet you at the dinner party.” “Alright, see you later. Hey, take care of them for me.”

Reid had always been very close with his sisters. They were extremely pro tective of one another growing up. He had asked Buddy to pick them up at the airport so they didn’t have to take a cab.

Later that evening, Eagle hosted a buffet dinner at the club. Most of the players and caddies attended the affair, many with their wives or dates. The ballroom was extravagantly decorated. There were two large ice sculptures: a very realistic life-size golfer at the pinnacle of his swing and a sixfoot golf ball. The sign in front of the ball read, “Play Eagle’s newest ball, ‘Freeze.’ Use Freeze when you want to ice your competition.”

Huge silver bowls were at the center of each table. They were filled with a mixture of Freeze golf balls and similar-sized spheres of ice. Carl walked over and asked, “Well, gentlemen, what do you think?” “It looks like Reid’s first advertising campaign might be a little chilly,”