For the love of the game (part 1)

Mackenzie sighed as he stared at the rusty wooden-headed clubs that poked out of his grandfather's cracked brown leather golf bag, like a bunch of old twigs.
'There's no chance I'll win the competition playing with those,' he thought as he shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
But he made a promise to his grandfather.

"It's important that you use them, Mackenzie. You must promise me you'll play with them," his grandfather had said when Mackenzie paid him his weekly visit.
Mackenzie had accepted the gift with a weak smile, trying to appear grateful when all he could think about was having to now lock away his clubs for the tournament. He loved his grandfather dearly. He was the only person in the world that could make Mackenzie laugh and cry at the same time but the clubs were the most uncool things he had ever seen. He wasn't even sure he could make two hundred yards with one of them.
His grandfather was so earnest Mackenzie didn't have the heart to say he'd rather play with his own clubs, especially when he told Mackenzie the story of where the clubs came from.
"They were given to me by Bobby Jones-one of the most famous golfers in the world," his grandfather explained. "He saw me play at an amateur championship in 1939, just before the war, and was so impressed with my game he gave me his 'special' set of clubs."
Mackenzie was curious to know what was so special about them but his grandfather didn't have answer.
"I never got to find out," he'd said. "When war with Germany broke out I was packed off to France."
It was for that reason his grandfather was so keen for Mackenzie to play with them. "I never got to fulfil my potential but you can. You, Mackenzie, are a gifted player. I'm sure Bobby would be proud for you to play with them."

Mackenzie dumped his cereal bowl into the sink and threw on his navy windcheater.
"You ready for the off, son?" his dad asked as he stood in the lounge with the car keys in his hand.
Mackenzie gave a resigned sigh. Normally he was excited before a competition. He would feel the adrenalin pumping though his body, firing him up and giving him the energy and motivation he needed to get him through the eighteen holes. But today he was nervous. He was nervous not just about how he was going to play but nervous about the reaction he was going to get when he turned up at the first tee with a set of antique clubs. It was not the professional, serious image he was going for.
"If you hurry up we can get on the practice range and hit a few balls before you tee off," his dad said before slinging the handle of Mackenzie's golf bag over his shoulder and carrying it outside.
Mackenzie followed his dad to the car and strapped himself in the passenger seat.
"I'm proud of you, you know," said his dad. "For playing with your grandad's clubs. I know it'll mean a lot to him."
"But why today, dad?" Mackenzie asked forlornly. "Why not during a normal, weekend round? This is an important competition. If I win this I'll get automatic entry to the National Junior Amateur Championships at Wentworth."
"I think he truly believes those clubs are meant for winning, son. He wants to be able to live through you," said his dad. "Just play with them this one time and then you can go back to using your clubs."
Mackenzie wasn't sure how he was going to regain his credibility after playing with a set of clubs that hadn't been used for seventy years. He was already the subject of continual ridicule from Lucas Sprey with his top-of-the-range Callaways and his local sponsorship deals. Mackenzie sighed and resigned himself to that fact that he was going to have to wait another year to qualify.