Final Round

The Day Before . . . Monday "It's Silly Putty," Conner Cross said with an air of finality that defied anyone to disagree with him. "I'm certain of it." "It is not," John McCree replied. He'd been defying Conner since they were kids and had no trouble doing it again. "It's a specially treated ball of monofilaments, packed and compressed for maximum durability and flexibility." "Monofilaments! Give me a break. It's Silly Putty." "You're wrong." "I'm not. This is a subject on which I have a certain expertise." "You can't even spell expertise." "I'm telling you, it's Silly Putty. I was reading a magazine article about this just last week." "I find that highly unlikely, unless maybe it was mentioned as some playmate's pet peeve." Conner raised his hands to his mouth and shouted. "Fitz!" An older man sporting a shoeshine-boy cap and toting a large bag of clubs strolled toward the two men at the first tee. "You called, Master?" Conner Cross smiled. "Look, Fitz, we need you to settle an argument." "Caddies don't settle arguments." Fitz, ever the dapper dresser, was attired in a Lacoste golf shirt, a Lyle & Scott cashmere sweater, and Italian gabardine light wool slacksquite a contrast to Conner himself, who sported a bright floral Hawaiian shirt, yellow bicycle shorts, and a tattered Panama straw hat. "We counsel. We strategize. We tote. But we don't settle arguments." "Be a sport." Fitz folded his arms across his chest. "No," Fitz said emphatically. His full name was Daniel Fitzpatrick, but he'd been caddying forever, and everyone had long ago reduced his name to the single syllable. "C'mon. For me?" "Definitely not." "What, are you afraid you'll be fined by the caddies' union? Lookif you'll just settle this dispute, I promise I won't make fun of that silly yellow sweater." "What a charmer." "Puh-leeze?" Conner wheedled. Fitz twisted his craggy, weathered face. "I caddied for Gary Player for six years and he never once asked me to settle an argument." "Then you're overdue. Here's the thing: what do you think they put inside golf ballsSilly Putty, or super-compressed monofilaments?" Fitz rolled his eyes. "I assume you stand in the Silly Putty camp." "I shouldn't say. It might prejudice your decision." "For your information, you dimwits, they put rubber inside golf balls. That's all it is. Rubber." Conner Cross and John McCree looked at each another. "Rubber?" "That's right," Fitz said emphatically. "Plain ordinary rubber." Conner and John continued staring. "He says it's rubber," Conner said. "I heard that," John replied. Conner's eyes crinkled. "Nah. Can't be." "Definitely not," John agreed. "No way." "Can't be,"Bernhardt, William is the author of 'Final Round' with ISBN 9780345449627 and ISBN 0345449622.