The Red Shirt

It was the summer '95. Tiger "Urkel" Woods was on top of the amateur golf world. The question wasn't whether or not he'd make it as a pro, but just how well he would do. Tiger was driven. Nothing less than spectacular success would be enough for him. He was also calculating, precise, and willing to do whatever it took to make it. He hated the nickname of "Urkel." In the mirror he saw a suave ladies man. Only, the ladies weren't lining up for this man just yet...

One dewy morning at the practice range, a pale, ageless man you'd guess to be anywhere from 20's to 50's, lined up next to Tiger at the driving range. The man wore black pants, a red polo, and a black blazer. He coolly, removed his blazer and pulled out a 3-wood. Tiger didn't even notice him. He was too busy pummeling drives into the distance. A little wild at times but with impressive power.

The man in the red shirt began to hit his driver. Tiger still did not notice him. After a few minutes, Tiger turn to see the man staring at him, smiling. Tiger turned back and hit his driver. 290 yards. Right after the first bounce, the man in red hit his driver. The man's ball landed in the identical location of Tiger's shot and then nudged Tiger’s ball! Tiger ignored it and hit another drive. Like an instant replay, the man hit his driver right after Tiger and hit a drive that again landed in the same place. Again nudging his ball. After a few more shots, Tiger froze. He turned again to the man.

"Who are you?", Tiger asked.

The man smiled.

"Who are you," Tiger repeated, this time a little more like an order.

Again the man smiled.

"Who are you!"

"Who I am is not important."

"...I've never seen anyone do that..." Tiger flatly remarked.

"Ah... yes. Got your attention didn't it?"

"How did you do that?"

"The question isn't HOW, but whether you'd like to be able to do something similar?"

"I..."

"I can help you if you are interested. Of course, I can't have you replicating the feat you just witnessed. It would be a bit obvious and raise some suspicions. A bit more subtlety will be required. Interested...?"

A million questions without answers raged inside Tiger's mind -- none of which could gain enough priority to make it out of his mouth to form a sentence -- let alone words.

"Simply nod your head if you're interested."

Tiger slowly nodded and after a moment replied, "I'm interested."

"How would you like to win all four majors multiple times. Make clutch puts and shots almost at will."

After a long silence, Tiger finally replied, "What's the catch?"

"You must wear a red shirt in the final round of tournaments."

"And...?" Tiger suspiciously responded.

"And that is our agreement. Our contract." I've already made arrangements with Nike. He presented a red Nike polo shirt to Tiger. "Try it on."

Tiger tried it on. It fit perfectly. Even better than his tailored shirts. He chuckled, "Come on. That's it?"

"That's it. That's the contract. There is… one tiny addendum to the contract..."

"...Yes?"

"But first, tell me what else you want in your life besides your golf winnings. Actually I already know, but I just I just need you to verbalize it to make it official."

Tiger paused and then grinned.

"Go ahead. State it."

Like a kid giving Santa his wish list, Tiger proceeded to blabber out his list. He wanted to marry a hot down-to-earth model, have kids, live in a mansion. The usual list. Then he paused for a brief moment and continued, with a devilish look in his eyes, "And... I also want some skanky girls, too."

"Before, after, or during your marriage?"

Tiger hesitated. "Whenever I want."

"As you please," the man replied.

"As many I want."

"As you please. Anything else?"

"Not at the moment," Tiger replied. "That's it? What’s the catch?”

"No catch. Just a cost… For the next 15 years you will get everything you just asked for. Of course I'll have to add a little personal touch to make it just barely on the right side of plausibility so as not to raise any suspicions."

"But what’s the cost?", Tiger interrupted.

"On the 14th year I start to take it all away. One by one. Little by little. A nagging knee. A gradual decline. Another injury. Until the only thing you have left will be your bare soul. That I will save for last."

A cold shiver reverberated through Tiger's body.

The man quickly continued, "But for the first 13 years, the world is yours."

Tiger eyed him suspiciously, "How do I know you'll deliver?"

The man turned back to his T and coolly blasted a drive 325 yards perfectly in the center of the fairway.

"Aim for the side netting."

Tiger hesitated.

"Go ahead. Just do it."

Tiger defiantly turned to his left and swung hard for the left side netting. Swoosh! Millions of nerve endings simultaneously fired, electrifying his body and making tiny adjustments in Tiger's swing. The adjustments caused the ball to slice heavily. The ball curved with a bend Beckham could only dream of, narrowly missing the side netting and landed 325 yards away at the exact same spot as the man's previous drive.

"Convinced?"

Tiger froze in amazement for several seconds before his brain began to work again.

"Why are you here?"

"I make deals. Investments. You seem like a good investment."

"You get 13 good years before a slow return to your regular sub-par self." The man lifted his right shoe and gently tapped his golf club to dislodge some grass from his golf spikes. "And then your soul is mine."

"What does that mean?" Tiger replied.

"You won't even miss it. It serves no purpose at the moment anyways. Deal?"

Tiger stared hard into the man's eyes, his pupils, unable to read anything. All he saw was blackness.

"Deal," Tiger replied.

The man extended his right hand to Tiger. Tiger hesitated for a millisecond and then reached out and shook it. He felt a slight prick in his right index finger and reactively tried to withdraw his hand, but the man's grip was too firm. The man then slowly relaxed his grip. Tiger looked down and indeed he saw a small prick. Blood began to trickle out.

The man thrust the red shirt into Tiger's left hand. "Quickly. Sign your name on the shirt. Don't let a drop hit the floor."

Tiger quickly signed his name. As soon as he finished, the prick in his finger sealed up, leaving no trace of its prior existence.

The man inhaled deeply for what seemed to be 30 seconds, before finally speaking.

"It's been a pleasure doing business. Enjoy the next 13 years of your life..."

He put the driver back into his bag, picked up the bag and then whistled as he sauntered away.

Tiger smugly beamed at his new shirt. Then suddenly he turned back toward the man.

"Wait!"

The man stopped in his tracks and replied without turning around. "Yes?"

"One more thing I want in the deal. I want Jack's record."

"The deal is done."

"I want Jack's record. Just add it in. What's the big deal?"

"Oh, you can't afford Jack's record," the man mocked Tiger.

"What do you mean?!"

"I've already got your soul. What else have you to give me?"

Without a place for his rage to go, Tiger's fury turned inwards, an inferno searing his insides.

"I... I must have it."

"I need a soul, but it appears yours is already spoken for."

Tiger slumped in defeat.

The man turned back towards Tiger and threw out a teaser, "There is one other soul I might be interested in..."

Tiger looked up.

The man began to sing, “Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of –“

"-- No!"

"He doesn't have much time left anyways..."

"Out of the question," Tiger firmly responded.

"Very well. Good day," the man replied and turned away again.

"How much?"

"Yes?"

"What did you mean? Just how much time does he have?"

"11 years. Prostate."

Tiger fumed.

"Please. That wasn't my doing. I'm merely presenting you with the facts of his present condition."

Consumed with the quest for glory, Tiger then probed, "No strings attached?"

"None. Same deal but his soul is not yours to give... but if you can convince him -"

"- he would never -"

"Persuasion my friend, as Jane Austen put so well. Employ a little persuasion. Although a bit of trickery and deceit can be delightful at times, too."