As they approach the 18th tee, Topper has given his tall friend a chance. Now it is up to Edwin to see it through. But things do not look good. This final hole is the last par five on the course. Edwin has lost every par five today. But as Edwin takes the tee, Topper is heartened to hear his friend call for his driver.
“Oh. Get outta my way.” Topper grabs the driver from his caddy and runs to his friend. “Knock the cover off the ball.”
“I won’t be penalized for it, now will I?” Edwin says, looking to the judge.
“Your honor,” says the Judge without even the hint of a smile.
Here it comes thinks Topper. If he can just get through this swing, he’s got it. As Edwin tees his ball, Topper sidles around behind Excelsior. As Edwin takes a practice swing, Topper reaches up and pinches Excelsior’s right ass cheek as hard as he can.
Excelsior whirls around with a look of utter disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You’re a fine piece of man-meat.” Topper whispers. Excelsior looks at him as if he is considering stepping on him. Which he is. Topper doesn’t care. Topper winks at him.
Wha-BOOM. While Excelsior is distracted, Edwin takes his shot. Edwin’s ball leaves the tee like a missile. It has that unique trajectory only found in a perfectly struck drive. The ball is spinning backwards so quickly that the dimples on the ball impart lift. The ball defies gravity. For a moment the little white dot seems to obey the laws of a more elegant world. When it finally returns to earth it is in the middle of the fairway, 376 yards from the tee box.
Topper cheers unabashedly. Then he turns to Excelsior, “Nevermind big boy. It never would have worked out between us. You’re too goody two-shoes for me.”
Excelsior swings hard, but only managed to move the ball 320 yards. He tops his next shot. Then puts his third on the green.
As Edwin approaches his ball, Topper is at a loss for another distraction. There just never seemed to be strippers around when you really needed them, he thinks. But then Edwin does something remarkable.
“Would you consider letting me borrow your three wood, in the interests of good sportsmanship?” Edwin asks Excelsior.
Excelsior is caught flat on his feet. A bad man, say, a villain, would have refused such a request in the interest of winning the match. But Excelsior stands for fair play. He can’t do such a thing, at least not in front of other people. So Excelsior hands Edwin his club. But there is hate in his heart as he does it. “Of course. Good luck.”
Edwin takes a practice swing. Then another. The tension builds within Topper. He can’t take it. Everything hangs on this swing.
When Edwin connects with the ball Topper thinks he’s mis-hit it. But as the ball speeds away, he realizes the genius of the shot. It’s another low runner. The ball stays six inches off the ground all the way to the front of the green. It bounces on the fringe and then rolls up to the pin. Topper goes nuts. He throws his hat in the air. He kisses the caddy’s leg. He jumps up and down in front of Excelsior yelling, “Hunh? Hunh? How you like that?”
In contrast, Edwin displays no emotion. He hands his club off and walks to the green as if no other outcome had been possible.
Excelsior’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. The shot had been perfect. It simply hadn’t gotten high enough in the air for him to interfere with. After all this. After that tremendous cheating rally over the last eight holes, Excelsior is going to lose. As Excelsior’s caddy shoulders the clubs and heads to the green he says, “He’s still got to sink that putt.”
But the old caddy knows it to be a formality. The rules will have to be observed, but Edwin is within three feet of the hole and now has a putt for two-under par. An Eagle. The old caddy knows his man has no chance. As he walks behind Edwin Windsor, he whispers, “Fine shot, sir.”
Excelsior misses his 30 foot putt for Birdie, and taps in for a Par. Edwin puts his ball in to win the match. “Yeah,” screams Topper, “the good guys win one. I mean the bad guys, I mean, us. I mean we won. We beat Excelsior.”
Excelsior stares into the turf as if something irreplaceable is leaking out of him. Gus, fading away in the hospital, and now this? He was supposed to beat the man. How could he have lost? After all, Windsor is just a man.
The judge notices that Edwin is staring at his ball with a strange look on his face. He asks, “What is?”
“It’s the wrong ball.”
“What?”
“I was playing a Penfold Heart. But it was a number three.” Edwin holds up the ball so that the Judge can clearly read the number four imprinted on its dimpled surface.
“Mr. Windsor, that is a shame. But the rules are clear. Hole number 17 is forfeit. Hole and match to Excelsior.”
Excelsior snaps out of it. He isn’t sure what has just happened, but since it has gone his way, he isn’t about to complain. Edwin walks over to him and extends his hand, “Good game.”
“What? What are you doing? Have you lost your oversized mind?” screeches Topper.
“There are some things more important than winning. Excelsior understands that, even if you do not, Topper.”
“You’re completely insane. Your Honor, I’d like to declare this match void on grounds of insanity!”
Edwin looks down and smiles a sad smile at his little friend, “Topper, right has prevailed. As it always will in the end. I realize that now.”
“Who are you? No, seriously, who in the hell are you? And what have you done with EDWIN WINDSOR!”
Edwin turns on his heel and walks from the green.
“Don’t you walk away from me, beanpole! Where do you think you are going? I worked hard for that fix and you just threw it away.” Topper waddles after him as fast as his short legs will carry him “And now you’re going to get out of the business? How am I supposed to be your henchman?”
“Get in the car.”
“You’re clearly not in your right mind. I don’t think someone as looney as you should be operating heavy machinery.”