sweetened for any situational humor on primetime TV . It was over in a flash when the club rose at the follow through in apparent high triumph.
Arjuna remained pointing his arms to wards the heavens. His follow through looked to be a solemn flag-hoist. This seemed to be one for the guys. He rested the club on to his shoulder to the memory of those he was fond of recalling.
In his heart Arjuna knew they were temporarily inhabiting the grandest of all pasturelands, to get refreshed, before returning to compete again, with an equal amount of style along with a whole lot of grace.
With his feet somewhat planted, the old man hitched up his pants. Arjuna did this a time or two more in a routine that could pass as a ritual in a pagan religion. This was quite entertaining to young Nicolas. He looked to have benefited immensely. He thought it curious to get ready this way, one in which nobody could forget soon.
The once-assured or one called King by his legion of loyal followers , and b egrudgingly so by his competitors, turned his hips to stand better over the ball.
Suddenly he backed away from it. He stepped out of the pocket to walk a few paces behind. The old man gave ball and flower fairway a long look. He did this while furiously reforming his grip on the driver.
Some time passed before Arjuna went back into it. He had a look on his face that could scare crows.
The old man stepped up and took his stance over a ball he perceived as being intimidated by him. Man and ball then gave one another a wink-wink knowingness over who was truly the boss here. This stare - down left one participant a tad undecided. After which that one backed off.
Again, Arjuna stepped away from the plate. The old man took several quick quarter-swings. The stern look upon his face, along with the sorrowful shaking of his head, seemed to suggest that stepping away was indeed needed.
He came back in to it. Arjuna settled into his stance. When he seemed persuaded by it, a waft of wind arrived to thwart him. The wind came in again to antagonize more. Nicolas gave no thought to the breeze. He was concerned only with the swing of this past master.
The chill air calmed. It moved Arjuna to arrive at some acceptance. Soon he was a mere dot presence in the glory of All. No friend, the wind kicked up again to chide him.
Nicolas was glad not to be the one at the plate at this time. He heaved a sigh of relief that it would not be him teeing off there and then. For the moment he was happy not to be the one getting that kind of unwanted wind attention.
A rjuna backed off again to take more practice swings. The twisted set of body instructions that followed seemed not to be coming from an otherwise sane man. To the uninitiated, Arjuna's swing may have looked like it had come up from one or more layers of Dante’s hell. It occurred to Nicolas the old man's swing, known at one time as The End-bringer, could not possibly have been manifested from the known world. To him, Arjuna’s swing looked to be an odd dance mix of hop, tap, bop, with a bit of boogie thrown in.
Then his swing did change. His swing had acquired more finer, p oetic lines. Indeed , his swing no longer seemed to be punishing some wayward sinner. Still Arjuna finished hands-up high as if caught in a crime.
A breeze came to open the youth's shutters to an altered way of seeing. Strong wisps arrived to say Arjuna's swing was a thing to cherish. Next thing Nicolas heard his mind say was that he should appreciate all things. This included, he assumed, Arjuna's twisting up follow through.
The old man wailed away on yet another practice swing. The club hit the ground at impact. This offered up another thing to love called turf. T he fantastic god - creation known as Arjuna's swing went wild yet again . Gladly it seemed his swing had finished arms, elbows, hands up high. A changed man, Nicolas saw the old man's swing as a thing of