Written by Stephen F. Moloney “Alright, there you go …” said Jeanie, carefully placing a glass of soda down onto the table in front of Kiko. “One Diet Coke.” “Thank you,” replied Kiko, smiling politely. “You’re very welcome, honey,” said Jeanie, smiling warmly back as she wiped her hand off...
“Byron?!” said Mustang, the mere act of saying his name sounding as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Are you serious?!” “I’m afraid so,” replied Ray, still not relishing the fact it had fallen to him to deliver the news as he plonked his weary body down...
Written by Stephen F. Moloney “They didn’t!” gasped Jeanie, sounding as shocked as Ray had when he first heard the news but endeavouring to keep her voice down so as not to be overheard by the other customers. “That’s what Tess told me,” replied Ray, looking across the diner counter...
“Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome to the green … from Orlando, Florida … Mustang Peyton!” Though they couldn’t yet make out who exactly was announcing his arrival amongst the shadowy mass of applauding people surrounding the 18th, whoever he was, his loud, foghorn of a voice was a welcome sign...
There are some moments in your life that are so utterly surreal when they’re happening that you can’t help but feel as though you should be pinching yourself every five minutes just to make sure that it’s all actually real and not just some terrific dream you’re hoping against hope...
“So, I’m afraid that’s how this whole regretful situation came about,” sighed Fr. Breen, still lamenting the fact he’d allowed Mustang’s first meeting with the rest of the Pirates to go so poorly. “I see …” said Ray, still trying to fully digest how everything had taken such an unexpected...
With a trail of footprints left in their wake after walking through what remaining morning dew had yet to be burned away by the sun, Mustang, Ray, and Beau arrived next to Dallas’ plane. After using the time it had taken them to cover the 190-yards between the green and...
“Ok, page 331 … 331 …” Mustang said quietly to himself as he flicked backwards from the index in search of the page he needed, the faintly musty smell emanating from the paper reassuringly familiar. “Ah, ok … the Walker Cup.” Despite his insistence that they didn’t need to make...
Written by Stephen F. Moloney “THACKETT?!! THACKETT, WHERE ARE YOU?!!” An exasperated sigh escaped Ray’s lips as he heard Mr. Denby’s voice echoing around the lofty interior of the machinery workshop. “Back here!” answered Ray, wearily peeling the baseball cap off his head and tossing it into his battered, metal...
After a hectic thirty-second spell wherein he’d barely had enough time to grab his driver from his bag, tell Ray that he’d be hitting the opening tee-shot, and slip on his glove, a slightly dizzy-feeling Mustang now found himself standing alongside Byron and the Riggs Brothers as they all looked...
“Kid! … Wait up!” Mustang, though, had no intention of listening to Ray. His gut had told him to run. To get as far away from the practice green as possible. Away from the crowd of people staring at him. Away from the sight of a bleeding Fletcher still reeling...
Having been the first to reach it, Ray pushed open the door of ‘Renée’s’ and held it for Mustang. After striding inside without so much as glancing at him, however, Mustang just marched straight past Ray and carried on moving in the direction of the restroom at the rear of...