2013 Penn Tower Classic, Part IV

Beebles, Funk, and Smits continued their strong play through the front nine.  Beebles managed to overtake Funk on the leaderboard at one point, only to watch Funk snatch it back at the turn.  Smits stayed within 2 strokes of the leader.

The battle between the three athletes in contention raged on as the PTC moved to the back nine.  Smits got his first taste of the lead at the 12th hole, but Beebles and Funk stayed right on his tail.  As if the drama of the PTC wasn't prevalent enough already, Beebles, Funk, and Smits found themselves in a three-way tie for the lead heading into the 15th hole.  The 15th was a short 132 yard par-3, an easy pitch for men the likes of the KeyPAP clan.  But a pond that sat in front of the green loomed heavily in the minds of the athletes.  Funk took a particularly long time eying up his target across the pond.  He changed his mind several times about which club to use and kept speaking of the water bazard as the critical factor in his decision.  The crowd could sense that he was rattled.

Funk's swing was a graceful as ever, but immediately a look of panic came over his face after he made contact with the ball.  Over and over he repeated the phrase, "O no!" escalating from a whisper to a bellicose scream, but words don't have the power to change a golf ball's trajectory mid-flight.  The crowd watched in terror as the ball plunged into the pond five yards from the far edge of the shore.  Several frogs scattered away from the area as Funk looked on at the ripples in the pond emanating further and further from the scene of the crime.  With only four holes remaining and Beebles and Smits not willing to give an inch, Funk became the PTC's second victim to fall out of contention.  Fez tried to comfort his fellow martyr, but Funk didn't even have the capacity to hear words at this low point.

Beebles and Smits remained tied heading over the 16th hole.  Only three holes remained in regulation.  Would the first annual Penn Tower Classic require a playoff to determine an outright champion?  Would one of them hole an impossible iron shot and take the lead with and eagle?  Or would yet another man crack under the pressure, leaving the last man standing as champion?

The 16th was short downhill par-4 with the Jackie Robinson Parkway running along the right side.  The first 20 yards in front of the teebox was crowded by trees, but then opened up to an ultra-wide fairway down below.  Beebles stepped to the tee first and roped a straight shot down the hill.  Smits stepped up to the tee next feeling like Beebles' drive left a lot of distance on the table.  His aim was to outdrive Beebles and lay up for an easy chip onto the green for his second shot.  Smits approached his ball, set up straight at the flag and swung.

VVVOOOOOOMMMM

The ball leapt off the clubface and immediately curled to the right and out onto the Jackie Robinson Parkway.  He pulled out a second ball from his pocket and proceeded to hit another drive without take a practice swing.

VVVOOOOOOMMMM

Smits' second drive attempt followed the exact same path as the first.  Once again he set up for a drive and once again the ball tore off onto the highway.  As a fitting sumbol of the PTC's third and final bombout, the last drive landed with a crash onto an unsuspecting citizen's windshield sending a spider web of cracks across the entire window pane.  The startled driver weaved the back and forth on the highway in the midst of an involuntary panic attack.  Luckily, he was able to regain control of his car in time to avoid a fatal collision.

A few spectators began to weep.  More drama had unfolded in front of their eyes in a matter of four hours than entire year's worth of Lifetime original television programming.  But this wasn't fiction; it was all too real.  How much can the human soul bear to see before it becomes overwhelmed?  For some, Smits' triumvirate of hooked shots onto the Jackie Robinson Parkway was the final straw.

And so Beebles took a commanding lead without having to even swing his club.  All he had to do now was hold it together for three more holes and the PTC Championship would be his.  Funk made a valiant comeback with a birdie on 17, but Beebles' steady play kept him in the lead.

Beebles' triumphant victory march on 18 will remain etched in the minds of all who witnessed the 2013 PTC.  The three who had knocked themselves out of contention struck up a conversation now that they were alleviated from the PTC pressure, but Beebles did not partake.  He remained quiet, calm, and focused as he hit his first putt to within 8 feet of the hole.  As he waited for the others to putt, he stared daggers into the cup, simulating in his mind the final stroke which would secure his championship victory.  Slightly downhill with a break from left to right, he needed to aim 3 inches left of the cup.  Just as he had done all day, Beebles walked up to his ball and made his vision a reality and ended the 2013 Penn Tower Classic.

When the ball sank in the hole he simply stood on the green and took in the atmosphere.  The crowd roared their emphatic approval and began to chant his name.  With supreme class he doffed his cap to the crowd and embraced his KeyPAP competitors with a firm handshake.  Physically beaten down and emotional scarred from watching Fez, Funk, and Smits eliminate themselves from contention, he had no energy left to celebrate.

The physical and mental strength, endurance, and intensity put on display by all four competitors was nothing short of remarkable given the magnitude of the PTC combined with the events which unfolded the night before.  What these men did with no gas in the tank, no wood on the fire, no coal in the chamber will live on for time immemorial.  The 2013 Penn Tower Classic perfectly defined both KeyPAP and America.

2013 Penn Tower Classic, Part III

Four alarms simultaneously shrieked as the clock tolled 7:30am.  Drunk, delirious, and cotton-mouthed, Beebles, Fez, Funk, and Smits arose from the floor with the swiftness of a zombie.  Try as they might, there was no more delaying the inevitable - the Penn Tower Classic was scheduled to commence in less than an hour.

Fez and Funk collected themselves in time to dash across the street for a quick breakfast sandwich.  Smits and Beebles pillaged what was left of the chocolate chip cookies and pop tarts.  Everyone drank a cup of coffee hoping for the caffeine to jolt them awake, but the effects were negligible.  It is one thing for the body to repair itself after a night of binge drinking, but when combined with the mental stress caused by a looming, grueling athletic competition, no morning remedy will succeed.

Food and coffee consumed, the KeyPAP clan hastily dressed themselves and walked outside toward Fez's car.  The sun shone bright that morning, blitzing their dulled senses with tenacity of an NFL linebacker.  Smits put his forearm in front of his baggy eyes to allow them time to adjust to the sudden stimulus.

They hoisted their golf bags into the trunk and off they drove down Queens Boulevard toward Forest Park Golf Course.  No words were spoken on the ride.

As Fez pulled his Lexus into the parking lot, the KeyPAP clan was greeted by tumultuous applause.  A large crowd was expected, but nothing near this magnitude.  Cars filled every available parking space, many having to park on the shoulder of the surrounding local roads.  One space remained at the front, however, reserved for the Penn Tower Classic competitors.

They climbed out of the car, put on their golf shoes and walked briskly to the first tee.  The grounds crew had worked tirelessly all morning to bring the playing conditions up to a level suitable for the KeyPAP Tour's flagship event.  Their work was superb - the tee box on the 1st hole was cut tightly with not a single divot in sight.  A few droplets of dew clung to the tips of perfectly trimmed blades of grass.

Beebles was the first to tee off.  He slowly made his way to the first tee, set his ball then stepped back a few paces for three deliberate practice swings.  Two words repeated themselves incessantly in Beebles' mind:  solid contact.  Twenty years of experience had ingrained the correct pattern of movements into his musculoskeletal system in preparation for this moment.  Now all he had to do was execute.  Repeating this phrase was the cue which allowed Beebles to get his brain out of the way and let his body do the work.

Beebles took one deep breath and walked up to the left of his ball with the stealth of a lion closing in on an unsuspecting gazelle.  An eerie silence engulfed Forest Park as the crowd came to a hush for the first shot of the day.  Only the distant whirring of traffic and the songs of birds could be heard.  In this perfect moment, Beebles drew his driver back and swung forth on his ball with the might of Thor, Norse God of Thunder.  The ball took off over the tree shadows and carried over the fairway.  Its path stayed true and after a few seconds the ball landed and rolled onward, coming to a stop 300 yards from the tee in the middle of the fairway.

The crowd let out a deafening roar as Beebles reached down to retrieve his broken tee.  They had come expecting to see elite talent on display and Beebles had satisfied their appetite.  Little did they know that the next four hours would be a whirlwind of emotional toil and physical atrophy.

In similar fashion Funk, Fez, and Smits teed off.  The four men traversed the first hole with grace and class while the crowd marveled at their abilities.  When all four balls took their turn rattling into the bottom of the cup, Funk had taken the early lead.

For the next three holes the PTC competitors snaked their way through the crowd as they hit their shots.  All four competitors came out at the top of their game physically, jockeying for position while Funk clung to his narrow advantage.

The first dramatic even of the tournament occurred at the 5th hole.  After sinking a beautiful putt on the par-4 4th, Fez was set to tee off first at the 5th hole, a dangerous dog-leg right with a dense collection of trees encroaching on the right side of a narrow fairway.  Fez set himself to tee off just as he'd done thousands of times before.  But as he reached the peak of his backswing, a squirrel scurried across the teebox not ten feet in front of his ball.  The crowd cried out in collective shock as Fez, concentration lost only for a split-second in time, grazed the ball with the bottom of his driver.  The ball was pounded straight into the ground and only managed to bounce forward far enough to clear the ladies' tees.

Fez stood dumbfounded on the teebox searching for answers that could explain what had just occurred.  He'd spent hundreds of hours on the driving range with mis-hit golf balls crossing his path and loud ball retriever vehicles driving in front of his line, among a plethora of other distractions.  How could this squirrel cause him to lose control when he needed it most?

The three other competitors teed off with their balls in much better position.  Shaken, Fez walked up to his ball for his second shot.  The ball had landed deep in the thick, lush rough and he would need an absolutely perfect shot to get back onto the fairway.  But he could not evoke from his broken down body the necessary precision to accomplish this daunting task.  Instead the ball popped up and landed in the bunker at the edge of the woods 50 yards away.

Fez raised his face to the heavens and let out a howl reminiscent of a lone, wounded wolf trapped deep in the heart of the Canadian wilderness.  "Not again!" he exclaimed.

Confidence fully abdicated, Fez walked to the bunker for his third shot which he could only push a few yards further into the sand.  Smits looked away, vowing not to dwell on Fez's struggles while he took his second shot from the fairway.  All of the athletes were affected by this meltdown.  It reminded them what was possible if they failed to put every ounce of testicular fortitude into their efforts that day.  When the strokes had been tallied Fez was charged with a dreadful 11.

In the days that followed, Fez's performance on the 5th hole was succinctly coined "The Collapse." He went on to tally a second consecutive 11 on the 6th hole, all but eliminating him from the tournament from that point forward.

To be continued . . .