The Auld Game
A Trinity Sitch Interlude starring Ron Stoppable
Ron held his weapon with both hands firm on the grip, the long metal shaft drawn back over his shoulder, ready to strike his target. His eyes stared straight forward, never wavering once they found their mark. He swung with all his might, knowing what could befall him if he failed. He could feel the strike and he hoped against all hope his aim was true.
Turning for just an instant, he could see the expressions on his companion's faces. It didn't look too good.
His gaze went back out into the large field. He saw nothing. He kept his eyes on the spot he was aiming for, but there wasn't even the hint of movement. Finally a hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"Ronald, I think it landed right over there."
He followed where Dr. James Possible was pointing. Sure enough, sitting not twenty yards away was a small white ball. Not only had it not traveled very far, it had sailed about forty five degrees off course.
"That is one wicked slice." Monique's father said as he pulled a club from his own bag.
"Need a mulligan?" Dr Possible asked, smiling at Ron.
"No, MrDrP. I think I need a miracle."
Ron actually had a job waiting for him when he got back from his honeymoon. He knew it would be largely ceremonial at first, but the bigwigs of Bueno Nacho wanted a familiar face heading up their new Tri-City territory. Who better than the inventor of their two most popular dishes ever? Who better than the heralded partner and new husband of the world famous Kim Possible?
Ron Stoppable, creator of the Naco at fifteen, the genius behind the Naked Molé Wrap at Twenty, the savior of the company both physically and fiscally was going to spend a lot of time having his picture taken. He was going to be the new, fresh face of the company.
Booyah! Ron was in the house! Yup! Yup!
Then his bosses dropped a biggun in his lap. Hey, why don't you come out to the Upperton Country Club next week and we'll discuss your future over eighteen holes?
Okay. Sure. See you then!
I'm doomed!
See, the problem is, Ron had never swung a golf club in his life unless there were windmills and castles involved. Yes, maybe he could acquit himself well on the green, but getting there, well, he didn't have a clue. He no more knew the difference between a three wood and a sand wedge than his wife knew between a spatula and a bowl scraper.
That afternoon he had a conversation with his father-in-law the older man said brought him the second most joy that Ron could possibly bring him (the first, which James Possible was not quite ready for, would be when Ron came to tell him that he would be a grandfather!)
They were on the grounds of the Middleton Links within the hour! Thirty minutes later Ron was on his way back to the Pro Shop to get another dozen balls.
James shook his head. He knew this wasn't going to be easy for the boy!
"Maybe we should have started with the driving range." Monique's father suggested.
"Well, we've paid for our tee-time, let's make the best of it." James said.
Ron was determined to play by the rules, so he marched right up to the ball to 'play it where it lay.' He sized it up and got ready to swing. "Be the ball. Be the ball." He repeated, over and over. Now where had he heard that before?
He let loose with a mighty swing. The two older men in his group whistled, their heads following the impressive trajectory down the fairway.
"About a hundred yards?" James asked.
"I'd say so." The other man replied.
Ron looked down the fairway, but he couldn't see his ball anywhere. Had it sliced again, or had it hooked this time?
"I've never seen a divot go that far before." Monique's Dad finally commented.
"Where did my ball go?" Ron asked, still squinting into the distance.
"Um." James said, pointing at Ron's feet. Lying there, in the exact middle of the hole his club had dug, was his ball. It hadn't moved an inch!
"Aw, man!"
"Look, Ronald, this hole is Par 3. Why don't you play a five iron or something. It'll be easier for you to hit the ball than using a driver." Helpfully, he pulled the indicated club from Ron's bag, noting it must have been twenty to thirty years out of date.
Noting James' quizzical look, Ron explained. "My dad's clubs. Never been used."
"Ron, don't worry so much about hitting the ball so hard. Concentrate on just connecting with it. It's better just to march the ball down the fairway than to try and get on the green in one shot. Don't worry, it'll come to you." He gave his son-in-law a huge smile.
His friend turned to him and said in a low voice. "He's doomed, isn't he?"
Yep. They both watched in awe as Ron finally got on the green. Too bad it wasn't the one at their hole.
Kim and Ron may have just moved into a nice new townhouse condo, purchased with money from Ron's Naco trust fund, but Pizza night at the Possible house was still "Required attendance." (over the last nearly eighteen years James was certain he could count the number of pizza nights Ron had missed on one hand!)
"So, Ronald, how did the golf game with your bosses go?"
"Actually, MrDrP, it didn't go too bad, but let's just say I'm not in any danger of making them look bad."
"Ron's just being modest, Dad. He was only five strokes behind the rest of the group."
"Well, I'm impressed. Very impressed. So, Ronald? How did you learn that much in just a week? Did you hire a course pro to give you some pointers? Did Wade come up with some immersion program to teach you to swing?"
"Well, I didn't go to a course pro, and somehow I think using Wade's stuff would be just a bit cheatish, but, yes, I did have some help?"
"Really. Would it be anyone we know? Maybe a tour pro Kimmie-cub helped out in the past."
"Uh, er, no, though it is somebody Kim and I have dealt with in the past." He started picking pepperoni off his pizza, a sure sign he suddenly wasn't hungry.
"Oh?" James' eyebrows went up.
"Well, I've asked it before and I'll ask it again, how many times does somebody have to force feed me sheep's lungs cooked in its stomach before they realize I don't like it!"
A/N – just a little silliness to clear my head, especially when all sorts of people are getting really deep!
Yes, I'm a lot like Ron. I do not play golf well. Fortunately I've never been put in a position where I'd have to go play with my superiors, and I hope I never will because, yes! A hook and a slice really can be that bad!