Maximus Aurelius Callaway
(Yeah, I know—doesn’t exactly fit in the bun, does it?)
I will call him Maximus to his face and ignore the Mavrik. Mavrik sounds like something you clear up with a shot. “Yeah, well, he’s not sure how he got the Mavrik; Doc says it’s going around.”
Today I shot 36 on the front nine and added the first two pars on the back. Made me feel good, of course, but it was the visit to yesterday that made it important and much more relevant. Yesterday: A time when shooting a low score was expected and 80s left you wanting to punt a small dog. (Okay, before you start in on me about the small dog thing, it’s a figure of speech. Get over it.)
I attribute the scoring to the arrow, not the Indian … Shit, I’m not even sure I can say that now. Hold on while I think of another analogy. Fuck it! I bought a driver after demo-ing it, and believed it would improve my game.
Now, Coach would say, “It’s not the arrow …” (listen to the un-pc echo). And you bet your backswing Fred would say, “It ain’t the club, Raggio.” And I would have to stand there like a freshly admonished juvenile, head bowed down, muttering under my breath.
AHA!!!
All that changed. It was as if history changed! I actually did get lucky with Marion Goins in the back of my ‘56 Chevy during Doctor No!
Enter Frank, enter Maximus Aurelius Callaway!
Frank: So I just got in the new Mavrik demo.
Raggio: Not interested, Frank, don’t go there.
Frank: You should check it out. I’m calling in sick to play with it today.
Raggio: Frank, I have a row of drivers in my garage I have to walk by every time I pull into the garage. They remind me, “It’s not the arr …”
Frank: Don’t go there.
Raggio: I have a Titleist driver I paid an obscene price for, and that doesn’t include the “special” shaft I bought to go with it. Now it just sits there in that cocky lean and whispers “Plebe!” every time I walk by!
Frank: Try it. You want to try it?
Raggio: Wha … Am I speaking Chinese here?
Frank: We don’t get left-handed demos much; you should try it. I’ll wait.
Raggio: Give me the damn thing, you … drug dealer!
That was Monday.
First tee. I’m nervous because I actually left my driver in the car and replaced it with a Mavrik! It feels good to swing, and may I say nearly pretty … an observation from my feminine side, no doubt.
With nothing to lose, I swing the Mavrik. It would be difficult to explain the feeling off the face, the sound of the contact, and the obvious acceleration that followed. Had I still been a smoker, I’d have had the “one after.”
And so it went … and went and went. I hit drives I heretofore hadn’t imagined I could reach. On hole four I was down in the flats. Even when I didn’t make the best contact, the ball was where my “good” drive was with my old driver.
This is different. This changes everything. There are witnesses! The length was obvious and the accuracy was clearly another benefit.
I bought it.
This changes everything. I have a new driver. His name is Maximus … for good reason!
