Page 117 of Putting Out
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Saturday – Moving Day
“We are kickingoff our continuing coverage of the American in beautiful Georgia,” Steve said into the camera, then turned to his co-commentator. “The sun is out. The course looks great. It’s Saturday at a major, Dave.”
“That’s right. Moving day. When players do what they can to put themselves in contention for tomorrow. You can’t win the Royal Blue today, but you sure can lose it.”
“Let’s talk about the story unfolding out there on the course right now.”
“That’s easy, Steve. There’s only one person out there making any serious noise and that’s Reilly Carr. Let me tell you, she’s loud.”
“Four birdies on the front nine and three on the back so far.”
“Out in thirty-two was an amazing start for her. Her ball striking has been incredible. She’s making shot after shot.”
“Let’s go to the action as she makes her way to the tee box at 17.”
* * *
“You are on fire.”
“I’m on fire,” Reilly repeated as they walked through the separated crowd to the 17th tee. She had no worries of anyone hearing their conversation; the cheering that followed her wherever she went was too loud.
“I mean, smoking. I mean, you’re so ‘effing accurate today you can drop the ball on top of the flag and make it stay there if you want.”
Reilly watched Kenny walk in front of her, blazing a more secure trail as eager fans leaned over the rope lines designed to keep them away from the players. Hands stretched out hoping to get tapped, she had to fold in her shoulders to avoid being touched.
“We’re only three behind Staddler and only two off the pace of the six others bunched at minus six. SinJin is sucking our dust. The crowds are for us.” Kenny paused. “This is the coolest thing ever!”
Reilly stopped at the tee box and waited for her playing partner to drive first. She removed the baseball cap she’d chosen for the day to wipe her brow.Girls Rule and Boys Droolwas done in blue lettering on the pink rim.
“That cap is a disgrace,” Kenny grumbled as he handed her a bottle of water.
“Get over it.”
“Two more pars and we’re talking a sixty-five. Two more birdies and we’re talking a record- tying sixty-three!”
Reilly scowled. “Will you stop? You’re going to jinx me.”
“It’s like a clinic in golf. I’ve never seen you like this.”
She handed him the water back. “Your voice is cracking.”
“I don’t care. Reilly….you know what this means.”
It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. She knew what it meant. If she continued to play at this level, if she stayed focused and committed to each shot, every putt, then it was possible.
The dream. Every golfer’s fantasy.
Being in the hunt on the back nine on Sunday at the American.
“Let’s not think ahead,” she told him.
“Right!” he immediately agreed. “One shot at a time. One shot at a time.”
Exactly how Reilly played it. One shot down the fairway on seventeen. Another onto the green. A long putt and then a short one for par.
Last hole on moving day.
