“I was, and am now, a crank about never making a final decision on the club to use until I stood right at the ball, and I always confess to considerable irritation if the caddie hands me a club he thinks I should play, or even asks me to take the club, before I am at the ball.” -Charles “Chick” Evans
When they arrived at the par five 14th, Hagen was one under, Morgan was one over, Kay had dropped to four over, and Vice President Lance was struggling at seven over.
“I don’t caddie for Mr. Lance a lot,” Clarence told Morgan as they walked, “but I know he usually plays better than this. I think he’s got a lot on his mind.”
The 14th was the second longest hole on the course, a 527 par five named Far Enough. Morgan could probably use his driver twice if it were not for the infamous pot bunker named Demon Ditch in the center of the fairway at 450 yards.
This hole was longer by 75 yards in 2022, which made it easier, thought Morgan. He was trying to envision his second and third shots when Hagen interrupted him by handing him his driver.
“You can cross that bunker when you come to it,” said Hagen.
Morgan’s drive was longer than his “round down” average during practice, 250 yards. This removed his 200 yard Brassie off the deck from consideration. Straight was still the game plan since he wasn’t really comfortable trying to shape shots with these clubs.
“Seems to me, Morgan” said Clarence, walking close so others wouldn’t hear the informality and, apparently, also to read his mind. “as you were having practice with the pitching niblick earlier today, you was having more luck with the longer shots than the short squeakers I think. That would make in my mind this second shot a baffie, sure enough.”
There was no chance of reaching the Demon Ditch with his 7-wood baffie and he would be left with a full swing pitching niblick.
“I think you’re right, Clarence.”
“I am, but then this is why you want to leave the jigger in your bag.”
Right again, thought Morgan. A chipper, which is what the jigger was, would come in handy if he landed on the other side of the green not too far from the hole. His ego had made him remove the chipper from his bag when there was no reason, he could have kept it. It would have come in handy more than once. After all, Hagen had more than 16 clubs in his bag, though he didn’t seem to play but a handful.
His baffie, too, did better than in practice, landing his ball 20 yards short of the evil pot bunker with 97 yards to the green and 110 to the hole.
“Good call,” Morgan said to Clarence.
“You mean to say I was right?”
“Yes, Clarence, right again.”
Hagen’s drive blew past Morgan’s by 20 yards and then he held on to his long club and used it again for his second shot, hitting and then bouncing off the green three or four feet.
Hagen waited for Morgan and Clarence and as they walked together to Morgan’s ball Hagen said, “Sixteen clubs is an interesting choice for an American, though not unusual on this side of the pond.”
“Fourteen is the tradition, where I come from.”
“It’s dumb,” said Hagen, “unless everyone is limited to the same number of clubs.”
“I agree,” said Morgan, taking his pitching niblick from Clarence, “so I’ll have fun with what I have at hand.”
Hagen walked ahead and Morgan whispered to Clarence, “It looks to me like Hagen has two chippers … or jiggers, with different lofts in his bag.”
“Well, he’s a great golfer,” said Clarence. “He’ll be putting with one of his jiggers for a sure par, maybe better.”
Morgan looked down at his caddie. “Whose side are you on Clarence?”
Clarence was completely unperturbed by the questions. “Your side, of course, Mr. Hanks. And also, I should say, one of my jobs is to help golfers know what to expect and not expect.”
“Did you expect my hole-in-on on the seventh hole?”
Clarence broke into a grin. “I most certainly did not, not in the least at all.”
“Then let’s agree to expect the unexpected,” said Morgan.
Clarence seemed to take a moment to consider this proposal and after a moment said, “I agree.”
As with his two previous shots, Morgan outplayed his practice in both yardage and altitude this time. His ball landed five yards into the green, checked quickly, and rolled to less than a foot from the hole.
“Tidy,” he and Clarence both said at the same time.
As expected, Hagen used his jigger to putt from the collar but either caught the edge or misread the green speed and his ball ran 10 feet past the hole. When they finished the hole, Kay and Lance had both bogied, Hagen had parred, and Morgan tapped in for his birdie. Now he was at even par, just one behind Hagen with three holes left to play.
Fifteen was a 409 yard par four named Drake’s Passage. There were eight to 12 bunkers, the count depending on your skill because some of those bunkers belonged to the neighboring fourth hole but could easily be found by an errant shot off the 15th tee. The hole was easier for Morgan to think about in 1922 because he wouldn’t be able to reach the narrow passage between fescue covered mounds on the left and thick gorse on the right. In 2022 he had the distance but not the accuracy to reach the beginning of the passage. In 1922, he would never reach the passage but he might land in the pothole bunker at 257 yards.
This was one hole that looked almost exactly as it did in 2022 because 50 yards behind the tee was the beach, so it had been lengthened only 20 yards.
“Rude hole,” Morgan said to Clarence, which is exactly what he’d said to Tex about this hole in 100 years.
“Aye.” nodded Clarence. “If you hit your grass club straight and as far as the last hole, that leaves an easy mashie-iron to the back of the green, where sand awaits, or a hard mid-mashie to the top of the slope at the front of the green.”
Morgan looked down at Clarence, waiting.
“Well now,” Clarence said, “we’ve been having a good day with the front of the green, have we not? Still, I think a par is lucky, even for Mr. Hagen.
Clarence knew his stuff, though Morgan did not precisely follow directions and ended up a little left, causing Clarence to cross two pairs of fingers to keep the ball from going into the pot bunker named Donald. This meant a change of plans, a relaxed mid-iron hoping to stay on the green.
His second shot didn’t bounce completely off the green, but close. He had a decent enough lag putt and then a skittish three foot putt for par. Hagen missed the fairway, then found the bunker behind the green, but saved par nevertheless. Kay rallied for a textbook par, laying up with his mashie for his second shot and then pitching close to the hole on his third. Lance triple bogeyed, taking three shots to escape one of the pothole bunkers inside the passage.
Sixteen was a short 368 par four with several bunkers down the left side of the fairway, a set of three where it narrowed to just 30 yards, the deepest known as the Bishop’s Ear. To the right, out of bounds was marked by a white fence that gave the hole its name, Ffens. In 100 years, the hole would be almost 70 yards longer.
“Those bunkers look like the same distance as my furthest drive of the day,” said Morgan. “It’s pretty narrow. Lay-up?”
“Nah, it’s time to go,” said Calarence. “There’s no birdie in it if you don’t clear those bunkers on your first shot. You’ll just need to hit it far.”
“Father than I have today,” said Morgan.
“Aye, maybe real far like you do at another time or place.”
Morgan almost asked Clarance what he meant by that, but looking at the caddie’s face he could see he probably meant nothing more than in America with his own clubs.
His drive flew something like 280 yards, fading ever so slightly as it cleared the bunkers by 30 yards.
Hagen’s drive was around 15 yards behind Morgan and he then put his second shot into a greenside bunker just 10 yards from the hole. Morgan landed 10 feet from the hole and made his putt for birdie. The crowd following them had grown and when they cheered for his birdie, Morgan was startled. He hadn’t noticed how many people were now watching.
Given the position of his ball in the bunker, Hagen made an impressive chip and then a five foot putt to save par. Hagen and Morgan were both one under.
As they started off toward the 17th tee box, a young boy ran up to Hagen and whispered in his ear. Hagen nodded, handed him a coin, and the boy ran off.
Morgan looked at Clarence.
“Mr. Hagen is keeping tabs on what the other professionals are shooting. I’ll guess Mr. Sarazen just finished his round and that a sizable wager has been made, so Mr. Hagen wants to know where he stands with two holes yet.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Morgan to think about what other golfers on the course were doing. He liked the feeling. He liked the freedom.
They reached the 17th tee box and Clarence pulled out the hole-in-one golf ball and a pen.
“Could you sign this for me now, Mr. Morgan, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure Clarence, but what’s the rush?”
“It’s the castle hole. It has its ways. It changes the day, for good and ill, depending. I don’t see playing The Castle with unfinished business at hand, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do. I think I do.”
A Connecticut Golfer on King Arthur's Course 
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