Teased about being “at fault” and occasionally referred to as “the old man,” Fred Phelps at 75 has more of a chance of shooting his age than nearly anyone in the group. Always tied to his partner in crime, Ed “Coach” Hart, the true connection is their determination. That said, Fred’s focus excels for that simple cause: perfection—not so much in the score (that’ll happen or not); it is his attention to every swing, chip, pitch, or putt.
Example:
Yesterday on the 17th tee, he accused himself of over-clubbing as the ball hit the deepest part of the green and crept up the slope to sit above the hole. The slope was, as we all know, behind the green—nearly impossible to stop. Wade and I salivated as the assurance of at least a bogie appeared to be a promise. The chip now made, the ball increased its speed and clearly was going to run off the green—however, in this case, the ball struck the pin exactly at its center and dived in the cup.
Here’s the rub:
The measure of surprise is defined by the person who struck it. Yes, it requires some luck and certainly expertise; however, the man who chipped it, the man whose smile actually had a portion of expectation to it, always has us at a disadvantage. Our backswings contain a portion of hope, and our expectations are that, if you’re an opponent, his execution will come up short, don’t count on it!
Great birdie, Fred!
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