Chasing the Shark

It was the 72nd hole of the 2043 US Masters. I watched nervously as my opponent’s 20-foot birdie putt finished about 8 inches short and right. After he tapped in for his par, it left just me and my caddy, Bosley, alone on the 18th green, contemplating my birdie putt. If I could drain it I’d be Masters Champion again. A 12-footer. We assessed it from every possible angle and Bosley was adamant that the break to the right would be around 6 inches, and it would break late. The putt was downhill, so I had to be careful not to overhit it. “Around 60% power Nick. 6 inches outside left. It won’t break until late. What do you think?” My eyes darted up and down the proposed trajectory of the ball towards the hole as I visualized its journey. “Yep. 6 inches outside left. 60% power. Here we go.” I stood over the ball, wrapped my fingers around my putter and took one final look at my target. I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and realigned my eyes down my putting shaft towards the ball. One final wriggle of my fingers and I firmed my grip, ready to launch. “Here we go”. I drew the putter back, brought my shoulders and arms forwards and released the ball on its way. The speed felt about right and as I looked up, the direction was as hoped. As that putt traversed towards the hole it was as though my whole life flashed before my eyes. I saw a 12 year old kid with his Dad’s driver in his hands on the 14th hole at Long Gully Golf Club. I saw a determined young boy practicing his swing until the sun went down. I saw a nervous teenager moving away from his family to chase his dream in America. I saw a young man win Amateur Championships and achieve his dream by turning professional. I saw a bloke who’d fallen in love and started his own family. I saw Greg Norman take in this young lad under his wing and mentor him. I saw a guy surrounded by such a close and loving family network win his first major. I saw a man at the peak of his powers win the ‘Grand Slam’ of golf, all 4 majors in the same calendar year. I saw a guy who’d won 19 major championships, determined to secure one more win. And finally I saw a 47 year-old man, a grown adult, standing on the 18th at Augusta, where he’d experienced so much throughout his life, anxiously watching his ball approach the hole. Was this his final shot at glory, his last chance for another green jacket, one last attempt at chasing the Shark, one final shot at glory, one final opportunity to equal Greg Norman’s record of 20 major championships? The TaylorMade bobbled along, within a foot of the hole, now 6 inches, 3 inches….it slowed and turned slightly right, away from the cup. It caught the right edge of the hole and curled inwards. The ball circled the hole, slowing almost to a stop after a full lap of the cup, but it refused to fall into the hole. It hung desperately close to the edge, finally coming to a standstill, right on the very lip. Time stood still. Suddenly, after all the noise and mayhem of previous minutes, the gallery was hushed. I stood motionless, mentally willing the ball to drop in. It hung on the rim of the hole, seemingly defying gravity. “Get in the hole”.