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mother refused to watch him play.
     
     
     
     
    During Scott’s senior year of high school, Pepperdine University offered him a full golf scholarship, and he eagerly accepted it as a stepping stone to the PGA Tour. Matt’s being teased about his protruding front teeth caused more than one fight, until Sandy paid an orthodontist to bring them in line. When Matt graduated from high school with no desire to attend college, Sandy used his connections to get him a job as a caddie on the Nationwide Tour.
     
    They worked their last summer together at El Camino. It was the end of August when Scott and Matt were on the practice green putting for quarters. A 21-foot putt by Scott snaked its way to the hole and dropped in. Scott loudly proclaimed victory: "I’ve won the Masters. The green jacket is all mine!"
     
    Scott’s habit of inventing a major tournament’s final day and final putt stayed with him since he’d first held a putter. He wanted to bring that form of intense concentration with him when stroking putts on the greens of competitive golf.
     
    "Hey, dude, that’s enough. Take my quarter and quit pretending you’re at Augusta," Matt said, as he tossed the coin to his friend.

Scott put his hand on Matt’s shoulder as they walked off the practice green and said, "some day, buddy, it’s gonna be Augusta for real."

Matt’s smile offered a rare glimpse of teeth bound with silver wires. "And when it is, I’ll be on your bag."

At his table overlooking the practice green, Sandy watched as Scott’s long putt dropped in the cup. A wide grin came to his weathered face as he recalled the day Detective Ross had brought the lads to El Camino. He waited at the table for both boys to arrive for their going-away dinner. He had their names engraved on two golf clubs as going-away gifts. The golf clubs were leaning on a chair next to him…they were 60-degree lob wedges.
     
    They were enjoying a meal of steak, salad and French fries when, out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw his mother rushing toward the table with her tennis-pro-boyfriend trailing meekly behind her.

Diane Beckman screamed at Scott: "You think I don’t know you’ve spent all your time out here learning golf instead of tennis. You’re just like your father was. Golf, golf, golf and more golf."

Scott was embarrassed. Sandy started to rise, but sat back down when she continued her tirade.

"Now I understand you’ll play golf at Pepperdine. You’d better have a good scholarship because you will not receive one red cent from me while you’re there."
She spun around and left the table, followed by the tennis pro, before Scott or anyone else could say a word.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    A DECEMBER AFTERNOON FIVE YEARS LATER
     
    SANTA BARBARA
     
    &
     
    THE MONTEREY PENINSULA CALIFORNIA
     
     
     
     
     
    W elcome to Santa Barbara, Dude…long time no see." Matt Kemp reached into the cooler and handed Scott a can of Coors. "Are we ready for the Q?"
Scott had driven from San Diego to Matt’s condominium high up in the hills above Santa Barbara. It’d been a heady time for him…graduation from Pepperdine, work and practice at El Camino, then passing through the PGA regional Q-School qualification stages. Now, it was on to Q-School with Matt as his caddie.
     
    "I feel like I’m ready for the final test. Did okay in the regionals."
    Scott took a sip of Coors. "Hope I didn’t screw up your tour schedule." "No way. I’ve been on the bag for the same guy for three years, ever since the Nationwide Tour, and after he passed at Q-School making it to the PGA."

"I followed your player on the sport page each Monday. He made a lot of money." Scott looked from Matt’s patio at the pool and view from his condo. "Looks like your share was enough to buy these digs and more."
     
    "Yeah, we did well. My player was a little pissed when I told him I was leaving, but he understood more when I explained that you and I’d planned this since we were kids."

"Could