Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius Page #2

"Dixie Whiz Kid Lights Up

Georgia Amateur. "

By O.B. Keeler.

Sheer delicatessen.

The winner of the Georgia State

Amateur Championship...

is Mr. Bobby Jones.

- Congratulations, Bobby.

- Bob.

- Congratulations, Bob.

- Gentlemen, from what I've seen today...

I believe your boys are ready

to play in the US Amateur.

The US Amateur?

Play, Colonel, I didn't say

I expected them to win.

"Half a league, half a league

Half a league onward

"Forward, the Light Brigade"

"Was there a man dismay'd

"Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd

"Theirs not to reason why

Theirs but to do or die"

He gets that from his mother.

What are you doing?

You gonna play in those?

I thought your dad bought you new shoes.

These are my lucky ones.

I have my four-leaf clover, too.

We're gonna need some luck.

Look who's in this field.

The current US Open champ...

three former Amateur champs,

two NCAA champs...

- and us.

- I heard the greens were like billiard tables.

Bent grass. It's like putting on ice.

You try to just tap your ball in

and it slides all the way across the green.

It's 18 holes, boys, just like home.

Come on, now.

Let's go get registered.

- Excuse me. Thank you.

- Why, of course.

Now on the tee, former Amateur Champion...

Mr. Eben Byers.

Remember what old Bob Fitzsimmons

used to say?

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall. "

Next up, Georgia State Champion...

Mr. Robert Tyre Jones, Jr.

Sh*t!

Damn! Son of a b*tch!

Damn it to hell!

Bobby Jones.

Sh*t fire! God!

Son of a b*tch!

- What a kid.

- Face of an angel.

The temper of a timber wolf.

Leave the damn thing.

Would you like some gum, Mr. Byers?

Congratulations.

That was quite a match, son.

Mr. Byers and I both played terribly.

He just ran out of clubs before I did.

Come on, let's call your dad.

If he keeps playing like this,

I'm telling you, he could win this thing.

I've never seen anyone putt like this.

That was quite a round

you played this morning.

- You have a beautiful swing.

- Thank you.

- You like ice cream?

- Yes, sir.

They give you as much as you want.

- Have a good time this afternoon.

- I will, sir. This is really fun.

Good morning.

Bob, that gentleman

you were just talking to...

that's Grantland Rice, the sportswriter.

He writes for American Golfer.

He likes my swing.

- Hey, Bobby, come on.

- Go get him.

- You have quite a following.

- I can't help it.

- Good luck to you.

- Good luck to you, sir.

And now on the tee...

Mr. Robert Tyre Jones, Jr.

Next on the tee, Mr. Robert Gardner.

"All square at the tenth.

"There came three holes in succession

that broke the kid's heart.

"But the Georgia schoolboy swung along

in his worn shoes and dusty pants...

"whistling an air

from a recent musical comedy...

"as jaunty as if he had won

his first national championship...

"instead of just having been beaten

in the third round.

"He was thinking about his ice cream. "

- How you doing?

- Fine, thank you, sir.

- Mr. Keeler.

- You can call me O.B.

- What are you reading, son?

- Just some stuff they wrote about me.

They make it sound like I didn't mind losing.

I did mind. I was mad as hell.

I know you were mad. I was there, I saw it.

A will to win, that's very important.

Why do they care about what I wear?

They even made fun of my shoes.

That's the price of fame, son.

I'm afraid you have to get used to it.

- I don't think I want to be famous.

- It's too late now.

Rob, all these people,

our club members, our friends...

they expect a great deal of you now.

Everybody here will be watching

every match you play.

- But I lost.

- In the future, you'll win.

You've shown everyone

just what you're capable of.

You must not let us or yourself down.

You understand?

- Robert, he's just a child.

- Yes, Clara...

but he's our child.

Son of a bitching bastard.

I can't believe you just did that.

You could have hurt someone.

I threw it over their heads.

It was a simple shot,

I've done it a million times.

There are some emotions, Alexa...

that cannot be endured

with a golf club still in your hands.

You know, that man paid $1,500

to caddy for you.

These people paid good money

to see you play.

- They paid to see all of us play-

- No, Bob, they came to see you.

- You're the star.

- I'm not a star.

You're the US Amateur Champion.

I haven't done anything.

But you're gonna do something,

and they know it.

Everybody knows it.

As soon as you get out of your own way.

Tough luck, sport.

This isn't our day, Bob.

He'll never make it over that tree.

Showoff.

I told you, you were a star.

- I don't want to be a star.

- Tell them.

Way to go, Bobby!

- Here he comes.

- Sir Walter has arrived.

- I heard he's quite the raconteur.

- And then some.

He's broken all 11

of the Ten Commandments.

Mr. Hagen?

They are waiting for you.

- Where is she?

- I took her to her home of residence.

- Where was I?

- Right there where you are now sitting.

Hagen, let's go already.

Genius deserves patience, my friend.

I'm afraid I'm a trifle soft in the treasury.

In case you have not been hearing,

so is most of this entire world.

You still owe me two 20s

and one 10 from last week.

And you have not been paying rent

on this motorcar.

This is a charity function.

If I don't make some side bets, we go broke.

Good man.

Morning, Chick.

Where you been, Walter?

Practicing a few shots?

No, but I've been having a few.

Young Mr. Jones, I presume.

- I'm Walter Hagen.

- I know who you are.

- How do you do?

- Better than most, son.

I assume I have the honors.

On the tee, US Open Champion,

Walter Hagen.

He swings like a wounded duck.

Just don't bet money with him.

They don't call him Sir Walter for nothing.

Nice putt.

Two threes in a row.

18 threes make 54.

Next hole.

Sh*t fire and damnation!

Mashie.

I think we're in trouble.

I asked my wife

what she wanted for Christmas.

She said a divorce.

I said I wasn't thinking of anything

that expensive.

Excuse me.

- You have quite a game.

- I played awful.

I never hit a good shot

after you mentioned that 54.

All I made was fives.

There's a lesson there.

You know...

I don't care if I start out with four fives.

I simply figure I've used up my quota,

and I forget about them.

And I go on.

I don't always hit the ball straight.

But you know what I've learned?

Three bad shots and one good one

still make par.

Golf is a game of recovery.

You're gonna make one hell of a pro.

You got that swing, and you got the name.

Crowd loves you.

With the war ending, the tournaments

will start up again, and sky's the limit.

I'm not gonna turn pro.

I signed up for Georgia Tech this fall.

Really?

School is nice, I guess...

but isn't the point of it all

to make a nice, big bag of money?

Not just. I want to get an education.

I think that's important.

Can I ask you a question?

Why do you play golf?

'Cause I love it. And I want to win.

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