Loopy by Dan Binchy Page B

having a blasted professional if there is a CLOSED sign on his door every time you need him?”
    Some lady members attributed Joe’s frequent absences to his intensive coaching of Rosa Martin, wife of Leo the bank manager. Rosa was not popular among the other lady members, for her shorts were too skimpy and the tops she wore revealed more than they concealed. Worst of all, she had somehow acquired a generous handicap that enabled her to win more than her fair share of competitions. The men, on the other hand, mostly welcomed her presence on the course and in the bar, feeling that she added a bit of glamour and excitement to their lives.
    Whatever the reason, Larry was now spending most of his time either serving behind the counter of the bar or looking after the pro shop. He had left school long before graduating, much to O’Hara’s disgust. Falling off the trailer had aggravated his leg injury to the point where the bending and kneeling in stacking Norbert’s shelves was becoming a daily agony. To make matters worse, Norbert’s attitude had changed when it had become clear that Larry could not play for the Trabane Gaels. Overnight, Larry had become just another employee, and now his work was being criticized as it had not been before. Matters were not improved by Maire using her senior status as checkout operator to order him around, as well as accusing him of spending too much time “with those snobs up at the golf club.”
    Eventually Joe Delany did get round to giving Larry his first lesson. He pointed to a bucket of balls and handed Larry a driver out of his own bag of clubs. Larry recalled that when he had driven the thirteenth green, the ball had been placed on a small wooden tee that raised it off the ground and made it easier to hit. This time there was no tee, but he thought it better not to ask for one. Instead he made a vicious slash at one of the balls—and missed it completely. Joe Delany said nothing. Nor did he offer to put the next ball up on a tee. Out of the blue O’Hara’s words came back to Larry like a mantra learned in the classroom: “Shake hands with the club, head still, and swing easy! ”
    It wasn’t easy to do all three things at once, but nonetheless he managed to give the ball a really solid hit. It took off on a low trajectory and was still climbing as it disappeared over a fence at the far end of the practice range. He thought he heard a strangled oath coming from behind him but wasn’t quite sure. He was about to hit another ball when Joe grabbed his shoulder.
    â€œStop right there! Who taught you that swing?”
    â€œNo one, sir. That is, Mr. O’Hara told me to do a few things, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat were they?”
    â€œA-h-h … swing easy, try to keep my head still, and shake hands with the club.”
    Joe exhaled through pursed lips, making a sound like a tire deflating. “Good advice. Now about that loop in your swing. You have just hit a driver off the ground and sent it out over the back fence. I haven’t seen anyone do that before. Not off a tee, never mind off the deck. Here”—Joe took a long wooden peg out of his pocket and handed it to Larry—“tee a ball up on that and hit it.”
    He did as he was told. This time he didn’t hit it as far, but it went much higher and landed just short of the fence.
    Again Joe exhaled noisily. “Try hitting it with this.”
    He handed Larry an iron club with the number 7 engraved on it. It looked completely different from the weapon he had just used. It felt lighter in his hands but it did look slightly more like a hurley. This time no tee peg was offered. Larry swished the club a few times and it felt very different from the heavier driver he had just been using. He swung hard at the ball but hit the ground well behind the ball, making an enormous divot but sending the ball not more than twenty paces.
    Joe did not seem in