Plaid Pants stood there by the edge of the water as the hot late morning sun beat down and seared his ultra pasty white skin. The same pasty white skin offset by the perfectly-safe-and-respectable-super-clean-rip-free-in-case-you’re-ever-in-an-accident pristine navy blue briefs. The crowd that gathered murmured and tried very hard not to snicker as Plaid Pants took enormous gasps of air in the hope of preventing him from fainting.
“Wow, did you see that?”
“It got his pants, whatever it was.”
“You know, you hear about and, and you read about it, but then when it really happens and the evidence is standing right there in front of you.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well, just that. There is nothing more to say.”
The two Bunker Boys were tying a jacket around Plaid Pants’ waist to somehow save any last shreds of dignity. As they were arranging the material in a modest fashion, On the Green Guy shook his head.
“I never thought it would come to this.” His exasperated sighs addressed in the direction of the ground still managed to capture the interest of the crowd which had grown considerably. Just about every golfer had ventured over to number thirteen. That is, except for James Elmore who was hard of hearing and occupied with his fifteenth attempt to sink his putt at number four, which was some distance away. He figured he could mark down a single bogey on this par five and no one would be the wiser.
“What are you talking about? What is going on here?” Mrs. Jamieson had dragged her foursome over to see what all the fuss was about. She was plenty peeved that her beautiful drive off the tee was thwarted by the little girl screams that had pierced the deep morning quiet only a few moments ago.
“They said this could happen again. They said that it was lying in wait for the next unlucky victim. They said it would seek its revenge someday and it looks like that day is today and that poor unlucky bastard is buddy standing here.” Bunker Boy number two kept shaking his head as if a wasp was circling around and planning for the kill.
“They? They who? And what is this business about revenge?” Mrs. Chang, one of Mrs. Jamieson’s fellow golfers, stepped forward and gently grabbed Bunker Boy Two’s arm.
Without even glancing her way, Bunker Boy number Two looked straight into the small pond. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Chang, the man’s eyes were wild with excitement that failed to match his calm monotone delivery that seemed to cast a sudden chill on the golfers. This despite the fact that the sun continued to grill everyone with the intensity of temperatures hot enough to fry bacon on the roof of a golf cart.
“They said that he golfed here and that this was the hole he could never beat. This was the one hole that challenged him, mocked him, betrayed him, and finally defeated him. He couldn’t stand the thought of being the man who wailed at the top of his lungs every time he played this hole. But for a long while he at least took some comfort in the fact that no one else ever succeeded here. That is until…”
“Until what?” Mr. Donaldson taught at the university and had no patience for anyone who believed in silly legends and myths. Instead, he taught his classes with an iron fist and an iron mind; he always insisted that everything had a logical explanation.
“Until the day that someone approached this hole as part of the threesome that was in front of his foursome…”
“Whose foursome?’ Someone called out trying to get the facts straight.
“His. His foursome. Well, the guy who played as part of the threesome shot a hole in one. That was never supposed to happen on this hole. But there it was. A hole in one for all to see and hear. Well, you can imagine what that did to him.” Bunker Boy number two continued his gentle droning.
All this time, Plaid Pants was shivering despite the sun, but that was likely the shiver of embarrassment over being cold.
“He watched from a distance as the threesome celebrated the hole in one. It was just too much to bear for him, so he cried out and began to charge in the direction of the threesome ahead.”
“Then what?”
“Then he jumped on guy, took his club and began to beat him with it. All the other golfers were trying in vain to separate them but no luck. The two men on the ground began rolling in the direction of the pond, which is quite deep you know, even though it doesn’t look it. Well, they just kept rolling on into the pond as though they were a sort of golf ball that was drawn to the water like a magnet. There was a lot of splashing and thrashing and it looked like they would both drown.”
“What happened?” Mrs. Chang’s voice was just a tad above a whisper.
“All of a sudden, it got very quiet. Then, very slowly, someone emerged from the pond. It was the hole in one guy. He scrambled over to sit on the grass and catch his breath.”
“What about the other guy, you know, the attacker?” Mrs. Meyerson had spoken up for the first time.
“No one ever saw him again. They tried to dredge the pond but there was never even a trace of him found. We’ll never know what happened to him or where he went. But they say he still haunts this pond and this hole. He will seek revenge on anyone that he thinks might just have a chance at beating this hole.”
“But this guy, the one without the pants, he hit the ball right into the pond. How could that be seen as succeeding at this hole?” Mr. Evans piped up.
“Besides, this sounds like a lot of hogwash.” Mr. Donaldson lit up a cigar and puffed on it with enough strength that he just might suck the entire stogie down his throat.”
“Oh I forgot to tell you the one other detail about that guy who came back out of the pond. He was in the same state of affairs as our friend over here.” Bunker Boy number two moved his head with a sharp nod in the direction of Plaid Pants. At this point, it makes sense that these golfers had been thrust together as an impromptu foursome that morning. Otherwise events might have been very different thanks to a wardrobe consultation.
“You mean?” A couple of voices gasped, almost in unison.
“Yep. The poor bugger, just like this guy, had been wearing plaid pants.”
Meanwhile, back on hole number four, James Elmore tapped his ball into the hole on his twenty-sixth putt. He marked his scorecard with a six.
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