Consecration
Published on January 13, 2009
As in:
As he bathed Stuart’s clubs and then completed the consecration of the irons with wafts of peat smoke, Father Lynch shopped aloud for a saint. On the shorter irons, his prayer was directed toward Jesus and Saint Blaise, the Armenian martyr whose miracles included the healing of throats, beginning with such ailments as the clearing of fish bones. Whatever else is involved, the shanks is certainly a throat ailment. Such was his reasoning.
“Per intercessionem Sancti Blasii liberet te Deus a malo gutteris et a quovis alio malo,” went the prayer, and the wedge, 9, and 7 received this blessing before Father Lynch decided to employ St. Patrick for the longer irons. If St. Patrick could shake all the snakes out of Ireland, then he might be interested in a snake-like ailment like the shanks, so he thought.
When the four iron was dry and smoked, Father Lynch quickly doused the peat and walked out of the kitchen to the front counter to collect the half tuna roll for Duke. He then rushed out to collect Stuart and hustle everything toward the Tenth tee where their opponents waited.
“What is that smell?” Bert asked moments after the two priests joined them.
“Long story,” Father Lynch said. “But it’s okay, we put the fire out.”
Duke hit first and hit a perfect draw around the corner of the dogleg.
Bert followed, and then Stuart drove the ball into the right rough which, under the circumstances was very promising.
“Ave Maria,” Father Lynch exclaimed as he completed his swing. The ball had gone straight, but he’d popped it up so that it barely reached a spot in the fairway where he would have an open shot to the green. His three wood approach came to rest in another sand trap but he was far less concerned with his lie than in what was going to happen when Stuart hit his next iron shot.
The problem is that Stuart had drawn an awful lie. He had a clear shot to the green from 142 but his ball was not only deep in the rough, but there was an exposed root a half foot in front of the ball. Thus, he was not only going to have to use the one unconsecrated iron in his bag, but he was going to have to hit down on it and likely smash the club head into the root an instant after striking the ball.
“Pick it up Stuart,” Father Lynch told him. “Just pick it up.
Stuart was confused, as he at first thought he was being asked to cheat.
But then Father Lynch yelled to Bert that Stuart was picking up and out of play on the hole.
“Father,” Stuart said, “can I ask why we’re doing this?”
“We just need to be patient, Stuart,” he replied. “That’s all I can tell you.”