MISMATCH by Jack Winder   

HEIDELBERG While visiting Heidelberg a few years ago, I had the occasion to dine with an old friend and fellow golfing enthusiast, Baron Rudolph (Rudi) P. Von Brassie. Rudi was old school European, as proved by the facial scars he earned protecting his honor in bloodletting saber duels. This time-honored tradition called for satisfaction on the first cut. The scars were badges of honor, and the duels never ended in serious injury. For this reason, when I broached the subject of match play, I was startled by his response.
    His face flushed, his lips drew into a thin tight line and he spat out, “Ach. If I had another chance after my match with that damnable Englisher, the earl of Niblick, I vould challenge him to a duel, and a scar would not be satisfactory, I vould run him through.”
    I was stunned by his fuming, but as he spoke I remembered rumors of a disastrous match between him and the earl. Rudi was usually a very courteous, amiable human being but his rage was palpable. Despite my best efforts to calm him down, he adamantly refused to discuss the contest. He stomped out of the restaurant, cursing the earl and all his forebears.
    Match play can be a test of golf skills, a psyche-out game or just plain dirty tricks. What I uncovered about Rudi’s match was a combination of all three. The story unfolds as follows.

LONDON The following year while on a business trip in London I bumped into his Lordship — Jeffry Groom the seventh earl of Sandwidge-Niblick. Although I was never a great fan of Lord Jeffry, with his inherited title and money and particularly his boorish attitude toward the common people, I did want to pursue the subject of Baron Rudi’s obvious animosity.
    After the usual salutations and small talk, we adjourned to a nearby pub, “The Missing Links,” a favorite hangout for city-bound golfers. Among all of the golfing mementos, old clubs and such we ordered a glass of sherry and took the opportunity to catch up on old times.

   When I mentioned the match and the Baron’s animosity, Lord Jeffry gave a dirty little laugh and launched into the subject. “Well, old bean, it was indeed the result of that contest between the baron and me. You know how intense these Teutonic types are, they get so uptight, you can pluck them like a cheap violin. With their competitive nature, psyching them out is not difficult.”
    He put down his glass of sherry, took on a reflective look and continued. “Our contest was played at the Munchausen Golf and Dueling Club outside of Dusseldorf. It was a club-sponsored tournament, and the luck of the draw paired us in the first-round match. Of course, it was imperative that we make a sizable side bet. After much haggling, we arrived at an amount equivalent to 10,000 English pounds, a heavy wager in anyone’s book.”
    “Rudi, at the time carried a 9, while I handicap as a 12. This disparity didn’t seem to present a problem since I was a frequent player at the club, while Baron Rudi was a world traveler and international playboy, limiting his playing time to only a few rounds. It stood to reason my knowledge of the Munchausen layout with its fast undulating greens would abrogate his stroke advantage.”

   Lord Niblick paused for a sip of sherry and went on. “The day of the match I was surprised to see Baron Von Brassie arrive with a retinue of friends, servants and well wishers, while I, on the other hand, had only my faithful Scottish caddie, Taylor Calloway MacGregor, or Mac for short. Quite frankly, old boy, we knew we were outgunned when I recognized one of Rudi’s entourage was the world-famous Mark Salade. This internationally renowned expert was a master in the design, building and preparation of greens. Although, I was not a fan of his finished product, I had to give the devil his due, he knew greens and would be an asset for the baron. My edge seemed to have disappeared.”

   “Mac, my caddie, came to the fore. Without my input, he had concocted a stratagem that all but guaranteed a win on one or both of the first two holes. When he asked for my cellular phone and clipped it to my golf bag, I raised my eyebrows. He simply shook his head and put his finger to his lips. After we teed off it didn’t take long for his plan to unfold. As Rudi began his swing on his second shot my phone rang. Result: A 25-yard dribble.” The earl of Sandwidge-Niblick uncharacteristically gave a giggle and carried on. “Mac had arranged for a confederate to station himself on the clubhouse veranda with a second cell phone and binoculars. His location gave him a panoramic view of the first two holes. Of course when it rang, I quickly answered and played out the charade, admonishing the caller for interrupting our match, and at the same time I apologized profusely to Baron Rudi. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud.” It was apparent why this English peer was not very popular.
    “Subsequently,” he said with a grin, “we worked it again on the second hole and watched Von Brassie’s ball splash into the lake. With a show of feigned anger and embarrassment, I made a big production of unclipping my expensive phone and heaving it mightily into the lake near the spot where his ball entered the water. My acting days at Oxford paid off: I was very convincing and contrite. With 10,000 pounds at stake, a lost telephone was a small price to pay for being two up after two. The grin on my caddie’s face assured me that he expected a sizable reward if we won the match.”
    As he paused, I asked how the baron reacted. The earl took a deep breath and remarked, “If looks could kill, you would be sipping sherry with a corpse.” With that he smiled and added, “Rudi was on the verge of hyperventilating, and I was plotting more irritations.”

   “We halved the third hole, and on the fourth green I conceded Von Brassie’s 18-foot putt to halve again. The Baron was incredulous. The concession totally confused him. My generosity astonished him.”
    “My goodwill gesture was a simple ploy. Rudi, after all, was a consummate gentleman, and I knew he would worry himself silly trying to reciprocate. My largesse would pay dividends. His sense of honor was a weakness I would explore to my advantage later in the match.”
    The English have descriptive names for such as Lord Jeffry Groom, the earl of Sandwidge-Niblick: Cad and bounder come immediately to mind.
    Lord Jeffry was warming to the subject, and he quickly continued. “As we approached the sixth tee, I mentioned all the trouble spots, a marshy area on the right, a stream running near the fairway, a wooded section with an outcropping of rocks to the left.”
    “I hit a medium drive precisely in the center of the fairway, safe and sound. Rudi congratulated me, but I could tell from the set of his jaw he was going to out drive me come hell or high water. He did. He hit a boomer, 40 yards past me, but unfortunately it hooked into the rocks. His long drive became an unplayable lie costing him a penalty and eventually the hole. He didn’t seem very happy when I reminded him I had warned him about the rocky area. As I congratulated him for outdriving me, he reacted with a well-placed kick that wiped out his golf bag and a spectator at the same time. I knew I had him when his saber scars turned a livid purple.”
    His Lordship was on a roll. “At the 10th tee I was five up. Rudi hit another long drive into a wooded area and at my insistence hit a provisional drive up the fairway. I made the mandatory gesture of helping to look for his first drive by scuffling around through the leaves and looking behind trees. Strictly a sham, if I had found his ball, he would have never known. After a few minutes, I began glancing at my watch and counting aloud: 1,001, 1,002. This innocent time reminder so unnerved Rudi he cursed and ran to the fairway hitting his second shot off the provisional. Seconds later, his caddie found his original, in a clearing with an open shot to the green. My remark ‘Tough biscuit, old bean’ did not sit well. Down six.”

   “On the 11th tee, I further irritated Von Brassie by asking him to move twice, claiming he was in my peripheral vision. They told me later that his caddie had difficulty restraining him.”
    “He did win the hole when he dropped a 40-footer after careful coaching by his greens expert, Mark Salade.”
    “We halved number 12 when I was faced with a downhill double-breaking 20-foot putt. I asked Rudi to call it good. He hesitated momentarily but I reminded him of my earlier concession. He had no choice. With his entourage looking on and listening, it was a given. Von Brassie’s sense of sportsmanship worked to my advantage. He was, from my point of view, a sucker. My games were working to perfection.”
    Lord Jeffry Groom the seventh earl of Sandwidge-Niblick was arrogant, overbearing and had all of the class of a three-day old road kill. He ordered another sherry, and although I found his gloating and ego tiresome, I couldn’t resist listening. He picked up the narrative, “Rudi won 13 after his associate Mark gave him another excellent read of the green.”
    “He was down four with five to play,” he continued, “but he made a very bad error on 14. He only needed a two putt to beat me, but when his first putt hung on the lip he picked it up, thinking I had conceded the tap-in for his win. I immediately declared the hole mine since he had failed to putt out. He was furious and claimed I had nodded my head when he asked for the gimme. I blew him away when I told him nonverbal communications are not a commitment. I watched as he broke his putter over his knee, and I was appalled at his reaction when I said, “It’s only a game.”

   “Of course, I had him dormie, four up with four to play, at the 15th hole. It seemed an ideal time to administer the coup de grace and close him out.” “As we walked to the tee, I described to him in minute detail how I had birdied the hole the day before. I reviewed my club selection on each shot, the flight of my ball, the measured distances, the bent of the grass and the various breaks and undulations on my birdie putt. By this time, his shoulders were sagging, his eyes were puffy and his hands had developed a tremor. He was ripe.”
    His Lordship the louse sipped his sherry and closed his eyes. For a moment I thought he was nodding off, but he opened his eyes and ventured, “I was visualizing Baron Rudi’s tee shot. It was a monster, evidently all of his frustrations were mustered into the one swing. Unfortunately, it landed in some newly planted shrubs near the cart path. He asked that I confirm his ruling of a free drop. I refused and advised him to play two balls. The look on his face would have sent chills through the bravest of men.”
    He resumed after ordering another glass of sherry. “Later, I told Rudi the free-drop ruling was correct and apologized, but I did question which ball on the green was in play. That did it, closing him out was, as you say in your country, a piece of crumpet. Rudi’s remarks as we made our way back to the clubhouse, were all in German and to a great extent unprintable. I did manage one more pinprick when I refused to accept the bet payoff in deutschemarks and demanded English pounds.”
    With that Jeffry sighed and said, “I haven’t seen Von Brassie since the day of the match. I would like to take more of his money. I wonder where he is today.”

   While finishing the last of my drink, I asked about his caddie, Taylor Calloway MacGregor. “I’m glad you asked”, he responded, “I gave Mac 2,000 pounds of the bet money and he emigrated to the colonies. Last I heard, old chap, he was a multimillionaire with three separate corporations bearing his name. Maybe you’ve heard of them. They manufacture golfing equipment.”
    With the bar check due to arrive, His Lordship excused himself to the men’s room. Later, after I had paid the check, we said our farewells. I could have sworn I heard him mumble, “Another win,” as he walked away, a horse’s ass to the end.

   After our meeting, I was curious as to the whereabouts of my friend Rudi and what he was doing. I was afraid after the humiliation and irritation of the match with Lord Niblick he may have done something drastic – maybe he took vows in a monastery, enlisted in the Foreign Legion or the worst fate of all – he became a club pro. I later found he head also emigrated to the United States with his greens adviser, Mark Salade. Together they opened up a chain of very successful light lunch bars in clubhouses of many public golf courses. They incorporated under a unique name “Rudi’s Sandwidges and Mark’s Greens” aka Sandwidges and Salads. Their success had bred a franchising empire and the irony of using part of Lord Niblick’s title was not lost on their friends and acquaintances. They were indeed living off the rub of the green.

   Two years later I returned to England and picked up a copy of the London Times. The headline leaped out at me. “Lord Sandwidge-Niblick slain by overclubbing.” My God, I thought, Baron Rudi Von Brassie must have finally extracted revenge. Could he have hunted Jeffry down and squared accounts? I quickly read on. “Scotland Yard is investigating the brutal slaying of Lord Jeffry Groom on his home golf course at Devonshire.” It went on to give the gory details. His body was discovered in a sand trap by the 15th green. The medical examiners report was said to be the strangest in Great Britain’s history. The cause of death was the result of 72 blows to the body. The instrument or instruments used were a variety of sand wedges. The multiple contusions bore many different brand names, plus an assortment of soft spike indentations on the upper torso. It was impossible to pinpoint which of the multiple blows ended his life. The paper went on to say, “the coroner placed the time of death four to five hours before it was reported. Detectives claim more than 50 members had to have played the hole during that period.
   Their assumption was supported when they found a handwritten note on a club scorecard pinned to Lord Niblick’s golf shirt. It read, ‘Take a drop. Don’t move the body.’ No members who played during that time period will admit that they were aware of the body or heard or saw anything amiss. Inspector Haversham of the Yard suspects collusion but has been unable to make an arrest. With more than 50 suspects, this case will likely be unsolvable. He also noted, ‘We discovered in our investigation that the seventh earl of Sandwidge-Niblick was not very popular with the membership. They deplored his underhanded and devious deportment in club tournaments.’ One senior member, whose name was withheld at his request stated, ‘He won’t be missed. We had nicknamed him the earl of Sandbag-Windbag.’ ”

During the week following Lord Jeffry’s sudden departure, the Devonshire Club repair shop was inundated with member requests to replace damaged shafts and nicked club faces, almost all on sand wedges. The club had to order additional hardware from Callaway, Taylor and MacGregor equipment manufacturers. It seemed fitting somehow.

MEMORIAM Later that year the food service chain of “Rudi’s Sandwidge and Mark’s Greens” originated a memorial sandwich titled “Lord Jeffry” — a combination club with slices of turkey, ham and liverwurst and covered with sauerkraut on an English muffin (toasted).
    I’m sure there is some deep meaning in this combination other than instant indigestion. I don’t think this is, as he put it earlier “another win” for the seventh earl of Sandwidge-Niblick.