MY ANGEL
The Masters Tournament is all about history. So when I got an email from an old work buddy named Danny about reviving atradition, it energized a part of my gambling mind that had been dormant for years.
Years ago, I worked for a mom-and-pop journalism junta that made its living by poking Columbus giants with inky harpoons. While you worked there, it was apparent that there was an obvious-yet-unspoken caste system thriving within the ill-defined organizational chart. But come that week in April, all who entered the big boy conference room to draw a team for the Masters were equal.
Danny had loved that old, roto-style golf action, so he emailed the gang. We got together for the first time in nearly a decade at a chain restaurant to bring back our game.
The six of us drew a number, and we drafted in that order. But the deal now restricted the use of Tiger Woods — when and if you drafted him, he was your last pick until everyone else filled out his eight-man roster.
I drew the No. 2 bean. Jim, the only one among us who still worked at our old hog trough, had the No. 1. He took Phil Mickelson ("Man titties," someone said immediately), leaving me with the decision of the draft: Would you take Tiger against the field?
I did. Then I sat and ate my blackened chicken sandwich and steak fries while the other five guys picked in order, one through six, then six back to one. By the time I ate my sandwich, 45 players other players had been chosen. I got to pick my other seven golfers from the scrap heap.
Here's how the day and overall betting works: Each day, someone gets two bucks from every other player for having the tournament leader, the low round of the day (on Thursday, this is the same thing) and the lowest four rounds culled from his eight-man team. On Sunday, the guy with the tournament winner and the low overall four-man team score (assuming at least four of your players made the cut) gets five bucks from each other player. You maximum loss is $32.
So I picked Fred Couples, who'd played well the week before. Steve Flesch and Bubba Watson were next for me, then Angel Cabrera, Pat Perez and D.J. Trahan. Aaron, one of my old buddies, remarked that my final pick sounded more like a guy who scratches records at a rave party than a golfer.
That's right. You read it. Cabrera. I liked the fact that he'd smoked cigarettes on the 18th hole at Oakmont as he won the U.S. Open in 2007. That was my entire reason for picking him.
I didn't win any money on the first three days. On the final day, despite Tiger and Angel hitting a tree on the 18th fairway, I won the overall tournament and the four-man low total. I finished up more than 50 bucks, which is not a great deal of money in the gambling world, but an absolute skunking in our game. Aaron was next-he won/lost exactly $0.
Now, I've got to figure out how to get them to pay up.
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