Banking on a Dream: Part 2

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• The winner of last week’s Comment Contest is Chris C. (see his winning reply below) who is one of our New Zealand subscribers! For his awesome comment we are awarding him a VIP Package at the New Zealand Open next month!

Dear readers, when we left off last week in Banking on a Dream: Part 1, FBI Special Agent Johnny Colorado had just stumbled upon a pattern in a series of bank robberies that seemed to follow the PGA Tour's qualifying schedule. But before we return to our intrepid golf-obsessed agent, let's catch up with the man who gave new meaning to the term "play for pay."

Bodie "White Lightning" Brooks was having another one of those rounds. You know the type – the kind where you can feel destiny holding its breath. Three weeks ago in New Jersey: 74 when he needed 71. Last week in Atlanta: 73 when the cut was 70. His trusty Wilson Staff blades weren't delivering the magic they showed back in '75 when he won the Mid-Atlantic Teaching Professionals Invitational at Congressional Country Club.

The white Cadillac convertible had seen better days, much like its owner's game. What started as a desperate one-time "withdrawal" had evolved into a nearly year-long routine as practiced as his pre-shot ritual with his MacGregor MT tourney ball. Each bank job brought the same modest amount – just enough to keep chasing that dream.

Back at FBI headquarters, Colorado's colleagues were starting to notice something odd about their golf-obsessed agent. His putting green sat unused. His beloved coffee mug ("I'd Rather Be Reading Greens") collected dust. Instead, he hunched over maps and tournament schedules with the intensity usually reserved for reading a triple-breaking putt.

"Look at this," he finally announced one morning, spreading papers across the conference table. "Every robbery lines up with a Monday qualifier. And that clicking sound the tellers keep mentioning? Metal spikes on marble floors."

"You're saying our bank robber is some kind of... touring golf pro?" Pappas snorted. "What's next – tennis pros knocking over jewelry stores?"

"Not a touring pro," Colorado corrected, remembering his own Monday qualifier heartbreaks at Ohio State. "A dreamer. Someone who needs just enough to cover entry fees, motels, gas to the next qualifier. Look at the schedule - every single robbery matches a Monday qualifier location."

Pappas leaned in, his usual skepticism finally cracking. He traced the pattern with his finger, leaving a smudge on Colorado's meticulously maintained tournament schedule. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "You're actually onto something here. These dates... these towns..."

"And look at the security footage timing," Colorado pressed. "Every robbery happens exactly two days before the qualifier. Time enough to practice, scout the course..."

"But not enough time for anyone to connect the dots," Pappas finished, suddenly energized. 

"Unless they knew golf like you do, Johnny." He grabbed his jacket. "What's the next qualifier on the schedule?"

"Whispering Pines," Colorado replied, excitement building in his voice. "And if our guy follows his pattern..."

"He'll hit one of the local banks," Pappas nodded. "Put word out to all the banks and local police!"

The next Saturday afternoon Pappas burst into Colorado's office. "Got him! First National on Cherry Street got hit an hour ago, but this time a spotter in the parking lot got his plate. White Cadillac convertible, just like you said. Manager confirmed the description matches our other robberies."

After months of Bodie Brooks slipping through their fingers like a wet golf grip, they finally had hard evidence. Now it was just a matter of timing.

"He won't hit another bank until next week's qualifier," Colorado said, studying the tour schedule. "Let's do this right."

When that distinctive car appeared in the Whispering Pines qualifier parking lot two days later, Colorado nodded to Pappas. "Let him get invested in his round. He's not going anywhere until he sees if he can qualify."

The morning of the qualifier at Whispering Pines dawned clear and calm. Through seventeen holes, Bodie was one under par, needing an eagle on the par-5 18th to shoot 69 – the magic number he'd heard whispered in the locker room. His pre-round swing had that rare feeling of pure precision, like a counterfeiter who finally got the paper weight exactly right.

From 220 yards out, he pulled his Wilson Staff 4-iron – the same club he'd used to win his last teaching pro event. The shot was pure, landing soft and true, settling fifteen feet below the hole. One perfect roll for a chance at Thursday.

That's when he heard it. "Bodie Brooks!" The voice carried across the 18th green like a starter's announcement. "FBI! Down on the ground!"

But Bodie didn't move. He just stood there, his worn Bulls Eye putter in hand, staring at his ball as FBI Special Agent Johnny Colorado approached, the metal spikes in both their shoes leaving distinctive marks on the perfectly manicured green.

"It's over, Bodie," Colorado said softly. "We know about the banks. All of them."

Bodie nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on his ball. "If you’re the guy that found me then you are obviously a golfer," he said. "You understand what this putt means."

Colorado looked at the line, then at his fellow agents surrounding the green, weapons drawn. In that moment, he saw something of himself in Bodie – the desperate dream, the inability to let go.

"Let me take this putt," Bodie said quietly. "My whole life has been about this moment."

The other agents stirred uncomfortably, but Colorado raised his hand. "Give him the putt."

Bodie settled into his stance – that same distinctive setup that had first caught Colorado's eye on grainy security footage. The stroke was pure, the ball tracking all the way... until it caught the left edge and spun out. The story of his qualifying career in one final roll.

As they led him away, Colorado picked up Bodie’s ball from beside the cup. "You needed that eagle to qualify," he said. "Would have been a 69."

Bodie managed a small smile. "Figures. My whole life I have come up a dollar short, and it looks like I’m out of banks to hit."

These days, dear readers, when Monday qualifiers gather in locker rooms across the country, someone always brings up the tale of Bodie Brooks - the man who had everything it took to make it on tour except the one thing money can't buy: a putt when you really need it.

Poll Question

OUR COMMENT CONTEST IS BACK! VOTE IN THE POLL AND LEAVE A COMMENT - THE BEST COMMENT WILL WIN A SWEET PRIZE ANNOUNCED NEXT WEEK!

Last Week's Poll Result

In Part 2 I think FBI Special Agent Colorado will...

🟨⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️⬜️ Be proven wrong and sent down to the evidence room for the rest of his career (2)

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩 Be proven right and get the last laugh (12)

🟨🟨🟨⬜️⬜️⬜️ Catch Bodhi Brooks golfing in an Australian thunderstorm and allow him to be fatally struck by lightning (7)

Well, it looks like most of you that voted knew what was going to happen, but we are proud that seven of you went with the Point Break ending!

Congrats again to Chris C. who voted on the Austrailian thunderstorm and replied “clearly didn’t have a 1 iron in the bag” in a subtle nod to the infamous joke suggests in a thunderstorm you should hold a 1 iron up in the air, because even God can’t hit a 1 iron! Nice work Chris!

DON’T FORGET TO VOTE IN THE POLL ABOVE LEAVE A COMMENT - THE BEST ONE WINS AN AWESOME PRIZE!