“What are you looking at?” Reid growled. “You gonna tell me you’ve never missed a ball?” “Easy, Reid, I’m sorry,” the golfer said. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just uptight.” Reid stepped away and walked to the far side of the range. He needed to calm down; this was one of the most important days of his life. He closed his eyes, tilted his head to the sky and said, “I don’t ask you for much, but I could really use some help right now.” He slowly walked back to his practice spot, teed up a ball, and said to himself, “Just focus and relax. You can do this.” Once again, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He hit the ball and it took off like a missile, straight and very long. He sighed in relief, thinking, Today’s going to be tough. I’m going to need extreme concentration on every shot. He proceeded to hit another six balls with absolute focus; he hit them all well. The knot in his stomach began to subside. He hit another 20 balls with various clubs. Whenever he allowed his mind to wander, he hit a lousy shot. He needed Buddy’s help today. Buddy would have to constantly remind him to relax. Otherwise, they were in for big trouble. Reid continued to practice like it was just another day. He chipped for a while, then went to the practice green. He needed to stay calm to hold his lead today. But he knew thoughts of the note were going to haunt him. It would be a miracle if he could think of anything else. He gathered all his inner strength and whispered to himself, “I can do this.”

In the middle of a putt, Buck called Reid’s name from the far side of the practice green. Several players hissed at him, “Shhh,” “Shut-up, will ya,” “Come on, Buck.” “Sorry,” Buck grimaced and raised his hand in apology. Reid walked over and said, “Let’s go get some coffee.” “What the hell is going on?” Buck asked as they walked. “Show him the club, Buddy.” Buck took the club and read the note. His face paled. “Oh shit. Who else knows about this?” “No one,” Reid answered. “Good.” He sighed. “I need to think about this for a minute.” After a moment, he continued. “Reid you’re not going to like what I have to say. First, this threat has nothing to do with this tournament; it says you can’t win after today. You need to let me do the worrying for now while you and Buddy take care of winning. Second, I’m calling the police and also Jay Scott. And last, I’m hiring you some bodyguards until we figure out who did this.” “No way,” Reid said quietly. “I don’t want them.” “Look, you just received a threat on your life. This certainly affects you most, but it also affects everyone around you. Saying no to protection would be extremely selfish. You may be arrogant, but you’re not selfish. We need to take every precaution for you, your family, Buddy and yes, even me. I’ve dealt with this type of thing before, trust me.”

“Alright, when you put it that way, I can’t say no. I didn’t think about others being in danger. Do what you think is right.” “Welcome to lifestyles of the rich and famous, my friend,” Buck said. “Wonderful,” Reid said sarcastically. “Gentlemen,” Buck said. “It’s time to try and forget this for now.

Think golf, guys, think green and think about $30 million. Now, go win.” “Yeah, right,” Reid said with a sigh. “We’ll see you at the turn.”

Reid and Buddy arrived at the first tee about 15 minutes before Reid’s time. He stayed behind the gallery and stretched.

Howard Brock, second on the leader board and Reid’s pairing for the day, was at the rear of the tee box, watching the competition tee off. Reid had been paired with Brock before. He liked the guy. Brock was fairly quiet and played a consistently good game. Unlike many on the tour, he never held up play. Brock usually took one practice swing and then hit the ball. He had been on the tour a few years longer than Reid. Although he had never won a major, he was in the top 10 regularly. Reid liked Brock’s style and usually stayed fairly cool and collected when he played with him.

Reid joined Brock and watched the golfers just ahead of them tee off. They were the last twosome of the day. They shook hands and wished each other luck. Brock was tied for second, only three shots behind Reid. His name was announced and he teed up his ball. True to form, he took one practice swing then blasted a great drive down the middle. After the applause died down, Reid was announced and the crowd erupted again. The announcer said, “Quiet, please.” Reid focused and did his best to relax, then hit his ball short, into the right rough. The crowd gasped; their expectations were shaken.

Unhappy, Reid took a deep breath, shrugged and exhaled. He walked over to Buddy, who was waiting for him in front of the tee box. They walked down the fairway together behind Brock and his caddie. “Not the way I like to start,” Reid said.

“Maybe not,” Buddy said, “but it could have been a lot worse. Don’t worry, you’re going to have a good day. You know what you need to do. I’m going to say the two magic words before every shot you take. If you relax and focus, you are going home with the Green Jacket. I’ll do my part, you do yours, and we’ll win, alright?” “Alright,” Reid answered skeptically. Walking down the fairway, the fragrant Tea Olive trees had a somewhat calming effect on Reid. They arrived at his ball before Howard’s. The rough was deep. “Looks like the grass grew two inches overnight,” Reid said. He had 190 yards to the pin. Buddy handed him his seven-iron. After a practice swing, Reid hit a beautiful shot. The ball landed on the green and rolled to within a foot and a half of the hole. Once again, the crowd roared. Reid smiled and said, “We’re gonna be all right.” “Damn right,” Buddy said. Howard’s second shot landed 12 feet from the pin. They were welcomed to the green by loud applause. Reid tipped his cap to the crowd. Howard’s putt broke sharply and rimmed the hole, leaving a six-inch putt. He tapped in for par. Reid read his putt, lined up, and knocked it in for a birdie. The crowd exploded once more. Reid and Buddy walked toward each other and tapped fists. Buddy quietly said, “Nice job. Now, go do it again.”

Reid stayed focused through most of the front nine. He was scoring well with five pars and three birdies. The ninth hole was a 460-yard par four leading back to the clubhouse. Howard’s tee shot, although straight, landed on the left side of the fairway, giving him a tough approach shot. Reid took a practice swing and lined up for his drive. Just as he started his backswing a heckler yelled, “Come on Reid, down the middle, baby.”

Stopping his swing, Reid backed away from the ball and gave a men acing stare in the heckler’s direction. Shaking his head, he turned to Buddy who mouthed, focus and relax. Instead of the desired effect, the words almost made Reid laugh. His mind then shifted to some of his usual stress remedies. Meditation? Not now. Hypnosis? Not here. Alcohol? Now there’s a possibility. He chuckled again, thinking, Okay, time to get serious. He took a deep cleansing breath and tried to clear his mind. Not a chance. He took his stance, swung and topped the ball. Never rising more than a foot off the ground, the ball hit the deep grass, took a few short hops and burrowed itself deep in the rough. All in all, it went about 40 yards, not even clearing the front tee box. The crowd sighed. Reid’s lead had already slipped to one shot and now it looked like he was going to finish the front nine tied for first, if he was lucky. He was upset about the threat and now the heckler had him blowing his lead. He walked to his ball with Buddy.

“Come on, get it together,” Buddy said. “You’ve been playing really well; don’t let one jerk ruin it.”

“I know you’re right, but this has been one lousy day. I just can’t stay calm.”

“Look, it has been an awful day, but you’re playing great golf in spite of everything. Don’t give up now. This is your tournament. Now go hit this shot like the champion you are.” Buddy handed Reid his club.