Terry DiCarlo (Treasury Wine Estates) and Mike Lynch’s backs were against the proverbial wall. For 12 holes they had been bruised and battered by ragtag team of sandbagging reprobates named Peter Heyworth (Independent Distillers USA) and Mark Merrion (Treasury Wine Estates). Though they were slowed and bloodied, they had had not been defeated.
Since skill had failed them on the front nine, the plucky duo made a strategic shift that would cement their names in the anus of local history. Rather than rely upon well-struck woods, laser-like irons and deft putting strokes to win their match, the ham-fisted linksters would pin their tail on a different donkey – a donkey named hope. If skill was a cold, distant memory never to be tasted again, then hope was the warm, unsterilized needle of optimism that would vault them to the promised land.
A warm, dry wind rolled through the Valley of Golf as Mike tossed a few blades of grass purposely in the air and glanced to the north. A distant white flag flapped ominously back and forth. While some might have interpreted it as a dark force bent on destroying humanity, Mike saw it to be a cosmic sign of surrender by the gods that ruled the links. He pulled a seven-iron from his bag knowing that an extra club would be needed to temper the force of the mighty wind. He took his stance like a punch-drunk pugilist preparing to deliver a final knockout blow against a younger and more virile opponent. He drew the club back slowly, making sure to implement the 27 adjustments needed to propel the scarred Pinnacle in the proper direction at the proper speed. As the club struck the ball, Mike, as did Siddhartha so many years before, reached full enlightenment. He was in a state of divine oneness with the universe.
No one saw the ball go in the hole, but like the yellow sun that rises in the east each morning, it was there. Mike reached down into the 4.25” cup and withdrew the magic orb. He held it modestly in the air and accepted the worship of his triumphant playing companion and his vanquished forlorn competitors.