12 Sports Aces, January 1943 — page 89: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SAND SHY 87 FO DO Ooo Bee Ger Per Per Ger Gor Boho Grr Bee tO Gar Per or Ger Ore Pre Ser 1+ Br Gor G+ Or Ot Gee Geo + Bro Bos Bs + Pe i Boe Be Bee Peo Bes Ors Oo Br Be Os Ber Hor Pr Sor Pre er Ors Gro ee 0 him the hole, and if it had been medal play he’d have been eased right out of the tournament. He concedes after taking five ladylike shots, his last bunt only knock- ing the pill under an overhanging bank. I hear him talking to his opponent. “I guess I must be the world’s champion chump when it comes to traps,” he says. “Phree years ago I blasted out of a trap and the ball hit a caddie. Ever since that time I’ve been gun-shy of a niblick. I can’t make myself swing through.” The other guy grinned. “In that case I ought to apply for bigger and better traps,” he cracks. “That seems to be my only chance of beating you.” He was right, at that. Rogers stays out of the sand from there in and takes the match easy at the fifteenth. | Between rounds I pry the whole yarn out of a kid I know and I learn that the accident cost Rogers quite a few clams. The kid he hit wasn’t hurt much, but Rogers was plenty worried. He took the caddie to a lot of fancy sawbones to make sure there wouldn’t be no trouble later and generally made quite a fuss about it. After that he gave up golf for a couple of years. I figure if he’s that soft a touch maybe I can wring a few extra shekels out of him somehow before this tourna- ment is over. HE afternoon match we win in a breeze, Rogers hits only one trap, losing the hole, but the rest of the way he bangs the ball around like it’s educat- ed to do just what he wants. We take a duffer from upstate so fast he ain’t sure he’s ever in the mateh—which he mostly ain’t. I begin te feel better. It looks like I’m bootin’? home a winner—a_ sure enough softie what oughta cough up real generous #f he once gets through okay. In the semi-finals next morning he ain’t - quite so hot and his disposition goes sour when the going gets bad. He gives me hell for swinging his clubs at dandelions. He giares when I hand him a couple of wrong clubs. Twice he stops putting to glare some more just. because I try to give him a. tip or two.on the condition of the green. I keep my patience through it all, though, and when he hits a trap on the sixteenth with the match all square I forget his dirty looks and give him some real sound advice. “Pick it clean if you’re scared to blast,” I tell him. “Sometimes a guy what ain’t got the guts to take sand can luck ’em out that way.” He gives me the old fish eye again and takes his customary four helpless whacks before conceding the hole. That puts him one down with two to go and I begin to see that I’ve put my shirt on the wrong hoss, This guy ain’t the man to come through when the pressure is on. He comes to life, though, and slaps in a bird on seventeen to square the match again. A steady par is good enough to take the next hole and the match when his opponent gets lumpitis and three putts. It puts us into the finals, but I ain’t a bit happy over it. It looks like Rogers will never stand the pressure of a final match, especially if he happens to hit sand on one of the early holes. I hear his opponent is to be a bloke named Childers, a big lug who shoots a swell game of golf and gets better when the heat is on. That settles it with me so I go out and find myself a bet. I have to give two-to-ene, but it seems fair enough and pretty soon I have ten bucks riding on that final mateh—on Childers. It looks like I won’t be comin’ in for extra sugar from Rogers so I figure I’ll make it up the smart way. Rogers is his usual talkative self when - the final begins, which is te say he don’t open his yap. He is back on his game, though, and there’s some mighty fancy golf shot on the first few holes. By the time we reach the sixth with everything even I figure my bet is pretty safe. Chil- ders is just as good as Rogers and the match will be decided by the first sand trap we happen to meet. By the time we make the turn, however, Regers has still not landed in any sand. Instead, Childers blows a shet on the long eighth and we go to the tenth one up. I see that Rogers is getting nerved up, though, He bawis me out because he has to wait for me to come up with the clubs, and he takes a crack about not using his irons te clip dandelions. When a man gets EOPMICOOO KS (EC)