The TD Finny

Ben, Josh, and Marty marked their balls on the third green while the SAEs asked Masie if she was going to join the Double Eagle Club in Augusta.

“Sure, right after I join the Junior League in Azalea,” she responded and looked pointedly at her watch. “Pencil me in for half-past never on that.”

“You should at least enjoy your hole-in-one hotdog,” said one of the upperclassmen, a cute blond in faded Nantucket reds with his ADPi crush dance t-shirt.

“My what?”

“Your hole-in-one hotdog!” He held out a hotdog in a paper boat.

“Where in the world did you get this?” Masie asked.

“Clubhouse. We couldn’t figure out another prize that starts with H since you said you were switching from beer to water, otherwise it’d be a Heineken.”

“Actually, I only had a Bloody Mary and a couple of beers for lunch. Y’all got any real mustard? Not the yellow stuff.” Masie accepted the dog, and blondie produced a packet of Gulden’s, beaming.

“I told y’all she wouldn’t want ketchup,” he called to his brothers, “Philistines.”

“Ben, you’re off the hook,” Masie called to him, holding up her dog. “Hole-in-one hotdog or Heineken, winner’s choice.”

The September sun beat down on the green with no shade out of the rough. Three of the fraternity brothers were huddled on the ground in the shade making a poster.

“Y’all aren’t seriously driving back to Columbia for the game?” Marty asked when he noticed them.

“Leave the beach? Not a chance!” Blondie replied.

“Hey, blondie, what’s your name?” Masie asked.

“Heyward, but I answer to Ponyboy.” He beat Masie to the wink as he answered.

“From The Outsiders? When you were a pledge, was your big brother Sodapop or Darry?” Masie returned the wink with a smile.

The poster mystery was solved when the boys stood up with it, two of them holding it aloft, a poster board and Sharpie leaderboard for the TD Finny. The competitors now had nicknames.

The third brother by the leaderboard took on the role of commentator.

“Here at the inaugural TD Finny, Masters Masie is leading after that sweet tee shot to the pin, followed by Gentle Ben, then Smarty Marty, with Just Josh still in contention for the Chartreuse Chapeau, although the smart money has him picked for the Pink Pedicure.”

“The what?” You boys are going to make me laugh so hard I’ll miss my shot,” Ben chided.

“Every tournament needs prizes, and we’re kind of limited to what’s available on-island,” Heyward replied, holding up a bright green beach hat and a bottle of hot pink nail polish. “We’re birthing tradition here today!”

By the time they reached the ninth green, Josh had been on the receiving end of three dares and two questions. Without an eagle, the Pink Pedicure was in the bag for him as much as the Chartreuse Chapeau was for Masie, unless she triple bogeyed or worse. It played out as expected, and soon Masie was wearing the hat and sipping a beer from her Champion’s Chalice, a red solo cup sharpied to say “TD Finny Winny” while Ponyboy painted Josh’s toenails and Ben and Marty mugged in the Middle Men Neato Incognito sunglasses produced for them, the SAEs proclaiming, “Everybody wins at the TD Finny!”

“Y’all need to sign the leaderboard. Fitz’s brother is going to get t-shirts made for us. We’ll sell badges for the next one, make it one of our annual fundraisers.”