It was bound to happen sooner or later.
He had come so very close in recent weeks. He was really starting to put the pressure on but the Old Man would only bend, not break. The older, gray-haired, balding guy held off a few furious charges at his pride by rising to the occasion or watching pensively as his younger challenger succumbed to nerves and a missed opportunity.
But then, before he knew it, reality set in. The kid finally did it. The little son of a gun beat me at my own game. I was staring at the card and a sight that filled me with two distinctively different emotions: pride and panic. Read it and weep Old Man — Ryan 84, Dad 87.
It happened at the Belles Springs golf course where I watched him make his first birdie in competition last fall during his freshman year on the State High golf team. He was a scrawny little guy last year still playing with junior clubs. Now he is slightly taller than me (still skinny as a post!) but strong enough to swing the stiff shafted tour blades that were once mine, and he hits the ball as far as I do. He has a soft touch around the green that I can only dream of and a calmer demeanor that he clearly got from his mom.
When your kids finally develop the skill and confidence to beat you at your own games, it fills you with a tremendous sense of pride. It also makes you feel really old.
How and when did all that happen? He is our youngest of three and just turned 16 so he is learning to drive and drive us crazy with his incessant thirst for knowledge. He asks question after question about things he thinks mom and dad ought to know instinctively. Our favorite response, of course is “Just Google it.”
I actually handled it pretty well when my daughter first whooped me in a 5K race on the Penn State campus. She worked out and I just hung out. So I could easily rationalize the fact that while I at one time lettered in cross-country in high school, it was simply a matter of being out of shape that allowed Brianna to beat me by a few minutes. OK, it was closer to 10 minutes. She would also beat me on the basketball court in one-on-one games or in a game of “horse.” Of course, I was a hockey player so I resembled a bricklayer on a basketball court. So I get a pass on that one too.
Our oldest son Jonathon is really the most naturally talented athlete in the family. At almost 6-foot-4 (yes, 6-foot-4), deceptively strong and about as flexible as Gumby, he can beat me at almost anything he chooses to do. The glaring exception of course, is my passion, the game of golf. In fairness, he rarely ever plays. Having said that, he will occasionally join us for a round while on vacation, pick up a club and hit the ball 275 yards straight down the middle of the fairway. If only I could do that so smoothly and effortlessly.
Jonathon is so easy going that very little fazes him and he is so humble that he simply won’t rub it in when he wins (unless it involves video games, with which he is scary good).
So it wasn’t until we got to our youngest and most competitive child, Ryan Joseph “Bubba” Battista, that the real competition with Dad began. He shares his father’s passion for golf and once we hit the links, it’s game on. Oh, I was still able to get in his head mentally when I wanted, and I knew it would take some time before he learned not to “turn a bogey 5 into a triple-bogey 7” because of his ego. Just like most of us duffers who started playing golf as teenagers, it takes awhile to learn not to turn one bad shot into two or three because you want to make up for your previous mistake in one mighty swing. Can you say stubborn?
To Ryan’s credit, he has plugged away at getting better at the game by practicing around the yard, getting to the putting green and practice areas at the local courses, and playing full rounds with his buddies. I will remind him about how my three best friends from high school and I would go to Meadowink Golf Course outside of Pittsburgh sometimes at 6:30 a.m. and play 36 or 54 and even occasionally 72 holes in one day, we so loved to play the game. Unfortunately we didn’t share that same passion for “practicing” the game and I am certain Ryan will sooner than later be better than I ever was as a result.
For the record, Ryan is not a golfing prodigy and not the next Phil Mickelson or Jordan Spieth. But he is a solid golfer who is improving all the time and he has learned the etiquette and good sportsmanship that goes hand in hand with golf. You know what the best part is? He and his dad will be able to spend 4-5 hours together enjoying a friendly competition and the shared love of the game of golf for many years to come. It is music to my ears when my wife says, “Why don’t you get Ryan and go golfing?” Gee, twist my arm.
Ryan had just played 18 holes at Centre Hills Country Club on Friday with State High teammates Max Walker and Tyler Nordblom and shot his lowest score ever for 18 holes, a very respectable 84. So I asked him if he wanted to join me at for 18 holes the next day at Belles Springs Golf Course along with some Lock Haven University alumni in town for the 20th anniversary of the nationally ranked physician assistant’s program.
I should have known it wasn’t going to be my day when Ryan outdrove me by 20 yards on the first hole. A quick double bogey 6 and a par by Ryan and I was two shots down after one hole. Game on! We went back and forth on the front nine and I was able to make up a stroke to trail 42 to Bubba’s 41. It was the first time he had beaten me after nine holes but he only slightly rubbed it in. He wanted it all.
No worries, I would get in his head and he would fade when the match was headed down the stretch. But a funny thing happened on the way to the clubhouse. We went back and forth until we got to the par five 16th hole, easily reachable in two for me. We both hit good drives and then came my chance when he mis-hit a 3-wood. I pulled out my brand new Taylormade M2 Hybrid, did my best Jason Day imitation and nailed it dead straight and watched as the ball landed on the front of the green. It rolled closer to the hole and my competitive juices were pumping. But wait, the ball rolled past the hole and kept rolling all the way off the back of the green. No worries, Bubba was laying three off the green and I was just a few feet off the green in two. I had him right where I wanted.
He hit a great chip shot to within three feet. He would surely miss under the pressure and settle for a bogey 6. I was going to nestle one up snug for a tap in birdie 4 and a two shot swing to take the lead. Or so I thought.
I went right under the ball on my chip, which went a whole six inches. Then I overcompensated and knocked the next one across the green a good 20 feet from the hole. Now I lay 4 and the pressure was squarely on me. I hit my par putt two feet past the hole. Ryan calmly and confidently stroked in a par saving putt and yep, I managed to lip out for a 7. Really clutch, Dad.
When we got to the 18th green Ryan had a chance to really rub it in by making a par and shooting an 83, which would be his lowest score ever. It was not to be. Save that one for another day. In the best golf tradition he took off his hat and shook my hand with a wry little smile. I pulled him close and hugged him and simply said, “Way to go Junior.”
On Sunday, Ryan played for the third day in a row at the Haywood’s Junior Open at Clinton Country Club. It wasn’t a prestigious tournament but it marks the unofficial start to his golf season playing against kids he will see again in varsity matches. He got off to a rough start, turned a few 5s into 7s on the front nine. But he rallied to shoot his lowest nine-hole score on the back nine and carded an 84 to finish second.
So after he received his second place trophy he wanted to start home and asked if I could drive so he could rest. I threw him the keys and said, “Sorry son, you need the practice. I get to win this contest.”
