Two on One: A Man, a Shot, A Day, Immortalized

By Tim Fitzgerald

I am from the United States, and I have been fortunate enough to have played a lot of golf in my twenty years on this earth. In my eighteenth year, I left America and began attending college, or rather University, in a small, seaside town in Scotland, St Andrews. For some, this will immediately strike a chord as place of immense importance in the golfing world. For those who do not know, this small seaside town on the North-East coast of Fife happens to be the place where the great game I love was first played over 600 years ago. The town’s crown jewel, the Old Course, has remained largely unchanged in the centuries that have followed its inception, outlasting countries, empires, wars, pandemics, you name it. It has become a place of almost mythical stature. Many golfers consider one’s journey to this town as the game’s version of the Hajj.

Consequently, the first question that I am most often asked after sharing that I go to University in St Andrews is, “Have you played the Old Course?”. Now, two years into my studies at the University, and two years into receiving this same question, my internal tone has become less and less representative of the excitement I once felt being able to say that I have indeed played the pinnacle of the beautiful game. “Yes” is often all I mutter. Instinctively, I prepare myself for the most common follow up. “What’s your favorite course that you’ve ever played then? Is it the Old?”. Like clockwork, it is at this point, no matter how I am feeling, who I am talking too, or where in the world that I am, that a certain memory springs into my mind and resurrects the euphoria I once felt over the magic of the Old. Usually, a small smile will creep onto my face, “One hundred percent. It’s my favorite course in the world.” Although the conversation usually shifts to something else at this point, namely me asking them if they have ever gotten the chance to play the Old, my mind holds onto that euphoric feeling for as long as possible, reminiscing about the day that more than solidified my answer...

The Day: April 29th, 2022

“Ben and Chuck are supposed to show, yeah?” We had five minutes until our dark-time slot was up, until three of my closest friends and I were supposed to be marching off the first tee, ready to experience yet another Scottish afternoon out on a stretch of land millions of people worldwide may only ever dream of seeing, let alone walking. Standing by the tee and asking this question was a different Ben, a Ben that was physically present. Having not heard anything to the contrary, I shrugged and went back to ramming in three-foot putts, mindlessly waiting until the rest of the group arrived. Just then, the Old Course’s starter, a man with enough power to make individuals from any tax-bracket beg and cry, walked over to me. As the lead golfer for our group’s ballot, I was responsible for alerting the starter about any changes to our tee time. “Are your other two coming? I got a single who’s been waiting here since the morning and you’re his last chance to get out. Your boys don’t show, I’m putting him with you.” With that, he turned and walked back to his semi-circular hut that sits just outside the ever intimidating Royal and Ancient Clubhouse. I whipped my phone out from my back pocket and checked for any messages from either of our missing playing partners: nothing. I looked up and saw the present Ben ready his bag and walk towards the first tee. I followed suit while mentally redefining my expectations for the afternoon, for expunging any preconceived notion of a two vs two match.

As I put my bag down on the freshly cut grass, I once again looked up and was once again made to question who we would be playing with. Fighting his own bag while awkwardly jogging towards us from the opposing 18th fairway was Charles (or Chuck). As he got to the tee, we asked if he had heard from the other Ben, “Oh yeah, he can’t play today. He got called for his first caddy loop and didn’t wanna say no.” Present Ben and I shared our understanding before picking out clubs and readying our tees. With no time left before our shots were meant to be fired, and before our group was meant to be fully present, neither Ben nor I seemed to remember the starter’s words. As always, the starter himself did. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone hustling towards the tee while another behind him pushed a cart of clubs. “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, Chuck: evidently a single’s been waiting for hours and now that Ben is officially out, he’ll be joining us.” As Charles digested this information, our fourth approached the tee and introduced himself. Right away, it was clear from his accent that he was from America. Questioning led us to find out he was from New Hampshire. Somewhat skeptical up to this point about having a fourth “crash” our trio’s mojo, I immediately put any reservations aside as much of my extended family resides in that great green state. The conversation subsequently flowed, and we all soon came to find out that while our fourth had played a bit of golf in his younger days, ever since the passing of his late daughter, he hadn’t picked up a club. With that said, he had recently joined a Country Club near his home in New Hampshire and when invited on a golf trip to Scotland with a group of the club’s guys, he couldn’t say no. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the Old Course’s ballot, he didn’t think he was going to get a chance to play the Old at all. When the starter told him about our broken group, he was unbelievably grateful and more than excited to join us. With all this mind, Ben, Charles, and myself fired away our tee shots and joined our fourth at his chosen tee box. “Since I haven’t played in years, you might have to shield your eyes here, fellas. Wouldn’t want you sticks picking up any bad habits.” A few laughs ensued before a well struck straight ball led us to be by his side once again, watching him prepare to hit a shot into the first green of the course he had traveled thousands of miles to play...

The Shot: Hole 1, 150 Yards, 8 Iron

For those who may be unfamiliar with the Old Course’s layout, or for those who just need a refresher, the first hole presents the golfer with the widest fairway in golf. Over 100 yards across, there is no rough to worry about, no sand traps to try and avoid, only short cut green grass that all but assures one will have a good lie. With that said, once one has found the fairway, barring a dramatically mishit ball that somehow escapes said fairway, the players real work begins. To find the first’s green, one must battle often battle both wind and rain while ensuring they hit their ball hard and high enough to clear a small burn that runs before the entire green. Moreover, when a pin is placed in the front or middle of the green, one has that much less real estate to land their ball before it kicks to the back rough, resulting in an extremely delicate and difficult pitch down the hill. In short, when hitting into the first green of the old, no matter how long or straight one may be off the tee, there is never an easy or sure shot. For reference, during the 150th Open, played mere months after this tale took place, the Old’s opening hole had 80 birdies and no eagles. For the best players in the world, these stats are incredibly unusually for a dead straight, 375-yard hole that features the widest fairway in golf. For our fourth, considering his golfing history and experience on the Old, the idea of par or better was not necessarily something the three had in mind. In hindsight, none of us knew what to expect.

Loose and ready, our fourth stepped up to his ball. He gave the hole one last look then began his move. His eight-iron glided through the soft breeze and came down to strike the white ball in an efficient, and again, surprisingly pure manner; two shots into the round, two well-struck balls. “He hits the ball alright, I guess.” This was my exact, and only, thought as each of our heads turned to watch where his shot would end up. Again, due to the first’s design, “alright” with regards to strike, often has no bearing on where the ball will actually end up, on what one’s score will be while walking to the second tee.

Clearing the creek and landing on the green, we all relayed some iteration of “good shot” to our fourth. As we began to walk up the fairway to our own drives, we kept watching as his ball trundled along the sloped green, getting closer and closer to the hole. I stopped and began to squint, trying to figure out if what we were witnessing was actually going to happen. It did. The ball disappeared, falling into the hole. A two on the first. We all froze. Disbelief. Silence. Awe. Excitement. Praise. Love. A flood of emotions that’s tidal power could only be matched by the neighbouring North Sea. The three of us dropped our bags, threw up our hands, and ran to the side of the man who channeled the magic of the old and played it to perfection.

The Man: John C.

To say the rest of the round lay in the shadow of the first’s shining moment is unjust. Nothing in my many years of golf has touched the level of emotion I felt when first looking back at our fourth and witnessing his own reaction. Throwing up his hands and displaying the widest smile anyone has ever shed on that opening hole, the image of his pure joy will never leave my memory. Screams from passerby’s, tourists, and adjacent golfers finishing their own respective rounds, filled the air. To make it all that much more special, in preparation for the 150th Open Championship, the towering blue grandstands established a sense of indescribable importance and gravitas. My visual and auditory senses were perfect and complete in that beautiful moment.

The three of us finished the hole ourselves after our fourth strode up to the hole and picked his once-in-a-lifetime shot out of the cup. “We need a picture. My son’s not gonna believe it otherwise.” Holding up two fingers while being framed by one of the prettiest locations in golf, the four of us posed while our new friend’s generous caddy immortalized the moment through a camera lens. To this day, it remains as my favourite picture I’ve ever been in or taken on the Old Course.

Floating through the next eighteen holes, by the end of the round, our fourth had become more than a friend to us. Yes, his shot was magnificent and magical, but even without this feat, the genuine kindness, generosity, and gratefulness he directed towards all of us at all times made for more than a memorable round. However, considering that the shot did in fact happen, everything we experienced was amplified to an unbelievable extent.

In his first round on the most famous golf course in the world, our fourth embodied everything that makes golf and St Andrews so damn magical. More than that, he made the day unforgettable. He made an already indescribable place that much more extraordinary. For the three of us who were lucky enough to be apart of that remarkable day, there is only one thing that is appropriate to say: Thank you, John. Thank you for giving essence to a feeling that is otherwise indescribable.

Written and Shot by Tim Fitzgerald