Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius

Hello, Angus.

Is that really you, Bobby Jones?

Where is everybody?

My Lord.

- How have you been?

- Fine, Bobby. Just fine.

We're on our way to the Olympics in Berlin...

and I couldn't be this close

to the Old Course...

Good Lord.

I only told one person

there was a reservation for an R. Jones.

Angus, my game is...

Your game is always fine here.

Welcome back, Bobby.

- Great to see you, Bobby.

- Smile for the front page.

- You were terrific.

- Thank you, Bobby.

Watch this one, boy.

Sh*t fire!

You looking for this?

- I'm sorry, Camilla, I hooked it.

- You best take care...

you don't hook none of these windows

in this house, young man...

or your daddy will tan your hide.

- How is your tummy today?

- It's okay.

Think you can eat some lunch for me?

I got some leftover chicken and biscuits.

I was gonna make a pie.

Okay.

- Robert, are you all right?

- Yes, Mama.

Come on in.

I want to see how much you weigh.

Look at you. You've gained another pound.

Can I play baseball

with Frank and Perry now?

Soon.

Poppo!

Hey! There he is.

I have something in my pocket.

And I wonder what it could be?

You got it. Come here.

Let's go see your mama.

Why did you tell Camilla

this is monkey year?

Not monkey year, honey.

I said it was the Year of the Monkey.

In the Chinese zodiac...

each of the 12 years

is named for a different animal.

So each animal contributes

its own characteristics to that year.

So if you are born in that year,

you take on those traits.

Like a monkey or a horse or an ox.

- What animal am I?

- You, my dearest, are a tiger.

Tigers are born leaders. They are loners.

They have a short temper...

but they go after their ambitions

no matter how hard the opposition.

- What animal are you, Mama?

- I'm a dragon.

- Can you breathe fire?

- Yes, I can.

Especially if I find out...

you've been playing with Frank Meador

while he's still coughing.

You are my little man.

I don't want anything bad to happen to you.

Don't worry, Mama. I'm a tiger.

- Good night.

- Good night, dear.

You're a frightful long ways

from Carnoustie.

And my ass is painful to prove it.

It's a beautiful course.

And some nice people, too.

Free with their money.

- Can any of them play?

- Not really.

If they could,

they wouldn't need you, would they?

They make their whiskey out of corn here.

- You're joking.

- No, I'm not.

We're gonna miss you, Jimmy.

It's great that your brother

could take your place.

It's an honor to have him here.

So, Stewart,

what do you think about my stance?

Go on.

You cannot keep it in the policies,

you're craving for the byre.

Come more down on the left hand.

Sh*t fire!

Show him, Stewy.

Baseball was my game.

I had a contract after I graduated

from Georgia...

with the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers.

But my father put the quietus on it.

Threatened to disown me.

- I went to law school instead.

- Good idea.

Probably.

Is that lad touched in the head?

- Wee Bobby?

- Yeah.

No, he's just sickly.

He nearly died as a baby.

Couldn't eat, he's allergic to everything.

They just bring him along for the exercise.

Dirty rotten bastard!

Oh, dear.

Good afternoon, Camilla.

Are you here by yourself?

Yes, Mr. Jones,

they are all yonder playing golf.

Ought to be back directly.

Playing golf on the Sabbath. Blasphemous.

Won't you have a seat and wait?

Let me get you a Coca-Cola.

There's nothing in the Bible

about Coca-Cola.

I will not permit it in my house.

- Just bring me a glass of cold water, please.

- Yes, sir. Coming right up.

Golf.

Big Bob. Those cost 20 cents apiece.

- Great round, Stewart. Terrific.

- Thank you.

Well done.

Tell me, Mr. Maiden, how did they decide...

that there should be 18 holes

in a round of golf?

Ma'am, a long time ago at St. Andrew's...

they had a meeting

to try and figure that out.

One of the clan stood up and said:

"There's 18 shots in a bottle of whiskey...

"and I reckon when the bottle's empty,

the round is done. "

Grandpa!

Be careful.

Hello, Bobby.

Son, you are growing like a weed.

- You get bigger every time I see you.

- Papa, how nice of you to visit.

I had to come up on business.

Meeting some buyers here from New York

in the morning.

Is this the way you spend your Sabbath?

- Setting a bad example for your son?

- Getting Little Bob outdoors...

has done wonders for his health.

Excuse me, Papa,

I have to go inside and change.

Come along, Robert.

Go upstairs and dress for dinner.

You spend so much time playing golf

out there, I can't help but wonder...

if it's for your son's health

or your own amusement.

Papa, I meet my biggest clients here.

The Coca-Cola people are keeping me

so busy I'm looking to take in a new partner.

And why?

Because I play golf with Asa Kindler

and Bob Woodruff.

So you're telling me that it's not

your merit as a lawyer...

that's advancing your career?

How encouraging.

Grandpa, look at my windmill.

I built it myself.

That's just fine, Bobby.

Maybe you'll grow up to be an engineer...

and not fritter away your time

playing worthless ball games.

Son of a b*tch!

Isn't that your house over there?

I bet your poor mother's missing you.

Don't you think?

Go on, now. Go home.

Red, do you have to play golf?

- What about me?

- Take two weeks off from the game.

And then give it up altogether.

What can I do for you, laddie?

- What are those?

-20 cents apiece.

Did you get any of them

while they were still rolling?

No, sir.

Cheeky wee rascal, right enough.

- Good morning.

- It is.

You know, I was thinking...

if wee Bobby's gonna be tagging about...

he may as well play a bit,

if he can keep up, that is.

I made him a few clubs.

Wee Bobby, hit the hell out of it.

Bobby.

Hey! Bobby, wake up.

Come on, Bobby, he started at six.

That's him, that's Harry Vardon.

Five British Opens.

Did you see that?

Aren't you children

supposed to be in school?

It has been my impression if you shoot

over 100, you have no business playing.

If you shoot under 80,

you have no business.

Rob, why don't you show us all

how Stewart Maiden hits the ball?

Go ahead, son.

Yeah, pretty good?

Now why don't you show us

how Judge Broyles swings?

Son of a b*tch!

Little Bob. You want to play with us?

We tee off in 10 minutes.

You go ahead, son.

- Be careful out there, now.

- Thanks.

You see, Colonel?

Thank you. Keep the change.

- How you doing, Milt?

- O.B. How are you, sir?

Who's your opponent?

Oh, my.

- He's just a boy.

- It's embarrassing, O.B.

They mustn't let children

play in adult tournaments.

Now on the tee, Mr. Milt Saul...

and Mr. Robert Tyre Jones, Jr.

Mr. Jones, you have honors.

- Would you like to go first?

- No, you go ahead, son.

Good grief. What a swing.

Little Bob Jones, a tow-headed boy

from East Lake Golf Club...

was born on St. Patrick's Day.

But luck is not an issue...

when you have a golf swing

that can only be described as heavenly.

I'm going on record.

Bobby Jones is destined for greatness.

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