For the love of the game (part 2 - final part)

When his dad pulled up outside the clubhouse the Starter approached and told Mackenzie his tee time had been pulled forward as some of the competitors had pulled out. That wasn't the news that Mackenzie wanted to hear.
"No time to practice now," his dad said. "You get yourself ready and I'll see you at the eighteenth. Good luck, son."
Mackenzie gave his dad a cursory nod and pulled his clubs from the boot.
"You'll do great. I know you will," his dad yelled through the car window as he drove off toward the car park.
Mackenzie wished he felt his father's confidence. With a heavy head he slung the clubs over his shoulder and made his way to the Starter box. He knew he was going to have to have his bag checked once inside and was so embarrassed to show it the official had to prompt Mackenzie twice to open it up. Reluctantly he pulled the bag cover off and held his breath, waiting for the inevitable smart comment.
"Wow. It's been an age since I seen a set like that. I'm amazed people still play with 'em," the grey-haired official said with a snicker.
There it was. Mackenzie grinned at him and sheathed the bag with its cover.
"You're teeing off at eleven fifteen," said the Starter as he handed a scorecard to Mackenzie.
Mackenzie stuffed the card in his back pocket and as turned to leave the starter box he smacked straight into Lucas Sprey.
"Watch where you're going, Slippy," Lucas cursed.
Mackenzie sneered at him. As much as he didn't want it to get to him he hated that nickname. He was never going to live down the moment in his first competition when he, a nervous seven-year-old, let his driver slide through his hands as he teed off. Now, three years later Lucas hadn't forgotten and wasn't going to let Mackenzie forget either.
Mackenzie stomped out of the Starter box and headed for the first tee. He was so fed up he didn't bother to check who he was playing with and got an unpleasant surprise when Lucas joined him, wearing a cocky grin and his black Nike trousers and tank top. Mackenzie's face fell.
"On the first tee of game number 8 we have Lucas Sprey," called the announcer.
Lucas pulled a pristine driver from his bag and teed up. Mackenzie muttered under his breadth, praying for Lucas to duff the shot but his prayers weren't answered and Lucas hit a drive down the left side of the fairway. The crowd cheered as the ball bounced and nestled into the fluffy grass. As much as it pained him, Mackenzie couldn't help but be impressed with the shot.
When it was his turn to tee up, he paused. He turned and looked at the gallery of spectators that eagerly awaited Mackenzie to take his shot. Where they wondering what Lucas was probably wondering? Was he going to loose his grip again? Mackenzie new that as soon as he took the cover off his bag that would be the last thing they'd think. It almost made him smile.
He took a deep breath pulled the cover off and waited, but the only snicker he heard was from Lucas behind him. He noticed there was the odd one or two people who looked at each other quizzically but not one said a word. 'Golf etiquette,' Mackenzie thought. 'Lucas could do with a dose of that.'
He pulled out the wooden-headed driver and approached the tee. His pre-shot routine was always very brief. He didn't believe in hanging about. He wanted to get on with the game. That was a blessing, he thought, given the clubs he was playing with. He looked down the line of the fairway, from his ball to a flag marker in the distance and took his position in front of the ball.
"For the love of the game, grandad," he said to himself.
The moment he clasped his hands round the suede grip he felt the strangest thing, like a tingle of electricity through his fingers. He thought nothing of it until he swung the club back. An explosion of force, like a wrecking ball, powered the golf ball straight and true down the fairway. Mackenzie could barely believe it. His jaw dropped open. The crowd clapped and cheered.
Lucas was indignant. He threw his club at his caddy and stormed down the fairway.
"The game isn't over yet, Slippy," he snorted.
Mackenzie studied the club with a smile. "Special clubs, eh?"
Mackenzie won the first hole, one under par. He won the second two when Lucas bogeyed the hole. Mackenzie was two under par. The third, fourth and fifth holes each went to par with neither picking up shots. Lucas pulled a shot back at the three par sixth when he holed his second shot from eighty-nine yards. Mackenzie was two shots in the lead but when he teed up at the seventh he got cocky. His success over the previous holes and his expectation that with his 'special clubs' he'd triumph without care or effort caused him to make a mistake. His drive was no longer explosive, it was sloppy and as a consequence his ball flew wildly off course, settling out of bounds in a gorse bush. The crowd gasped. Mackenzie flushed red with anger. He threw the club to the floor.
Lucas grinned and marched down the fairway to where his ball pitched up to the left of a deep bunker.
Mackenzie's problems didn't end there. Frustration was infecting his game. The more it grew the worse he played. The seventh hole ended with Mackenzie loosing his lead. He was now one over and Lucas one under. He couldn't understand what was wrong with his clubs.
"Stupid clubs," he hissed as he yanked the five wood out to tee off at the eighth. "I should never have played with them."
He struck the ball and it went straight into a bunker. Another shot he lost, at that hole where Lucas picked up one. Mackenzie was two over and Lucas two under.
At the ninth Mackenzie managed to make par along with Lucas, and parred the tenth and eleventh as well. Lucas got caught in the rough and dropped a shot, making the difference between them three shots.
Mackenzie was beginning to loose all hope. All he wanted now was not to be humiliated by a catastrophic defeat. But when he crossed the stone bridge to the twelfth tee he spotted his grandad in the crowd. He was standing by the rope with his dad, smiling earnestly at Mackenzie. Mackenzie forced a smile back through his disappointment and then realised, as he pulled the cover off his driver, that if he was going to win, he had to want to win, special clubs or no special clubs.
With a deep breath and a surge of self confidence he took his swing and powered the ball so far down the fairway of the par five twelfth that he birdied the hole. Lucas could only manage a par which he cursed at.
The thirteenth and fourteenth both went to par but at the fifteenth, Mackenzie hit a pinpoint accurate chip shot at the green for a birdie. Lucas birdied the hole as well making the score level par for Mackenzie and two under for Lucas.
Over the next two holes Lucas could manage nothing more than a par but Mackenzie, with his self determination and support of his cheering dad and grandad, birdied them.
Everything rested on the last hole.
Lucas teed off first sending his ball down the left of the fairway. Mackenzie opted to fire his down the right to avoid the line of bunkers on the left side of the green. Lucas's second shot, as Mackenzie thought, went straight into one of the sand traps. There were audible groans and gasps from the gallery. Lucas kicked the divot his club dug up across the fairway. Mackenzie knew that if he could get his second shot onto the green he had a good chance of winning.
His hands were sweating as he gripped the club. Every cell in his body was trembling. It took all Mackenzie's strength to control his nerves. Carefully he swung the club back and struck the ball with grace, dynamism and deadly accuracy. It bounced on the green and rolled closer and closer to the hole. Mackenzie held his breath to the point where he was about to choke. He couldn't see the hole but knew the gallery could. The crowds were leaning over the fences, their eyes fixed on the green. They knew, as he did, that if the ball went in that was it. He'd won. But the crowds kept staring for what felt to Mackenzie like an age. Then suddenly there was an explosion of cheers and claps and roars.
Mackenzie couldn't believe it. He looked around to see how everyone was reacting. Had he won? To his left he saw his dad and grandad. They were shaking their clenched fists above their heads and cheering. A wide smile graced Mackenzie's face and he hugged the seven iron to his chest.
For the first time, he'd won, and he'd qualified for the national championships, and he'd wiped the smirk off Lucas's face, and he had made his grandad proud.
Mackenzie ran over to his grandad shouting, "for the love of the game, grandad, for the love of the game."