Rahm wins and you win the bet from Manning.
As a starting quarterback in college at Tennessee, Manning won 39 of 45 games, setting an SEC record for victories by a QB. In the NFL, he added 186 regular-season wins, tied with Brett Favre for the second-most all-time. He won 14 more times in the playoffs, including a pair of Super Bowl triumphs for two different teams.
So yeah, the man knows a thing or two about winning.
And yet, you’ve decided to take a bet with him — which not only proves your confidence in Rahm, but your willingness to make any wager in order to have a great story to tell later.
You quickly decide that you’d easily pay the thousand bucks for the experience you’re having right now: Hanging around Augusta National for the final round of the Masters with Peyton Manning, sipping beers, swapping stories and becoming buddies with one of the greatest QBs ever.
At one point, after the two of you share a laugh, you blankly pose a great line from the comedy Step Brothers, “Did we just become best friends?”
Manning stares at you for a few seconds, as you quickly realize he’s just passing the time talking to a stranger. The two of you aren’t friends, he didn’t get the reference and now things are going to be super awkward, especially if you need to explain it.
Just as you’re about to apologize for the Will Ferrell line, Manning responds.
“Do you wanna do karate in the garage?”
Holy crap, you think. You really are best friends with Peyton Manning.
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As Reed and Rahm are engaged in what is turning into a match-play situation, parrying back and forth with birdies and pars throughout the round, you and Manning continue the conversation, which revolves around trash-talking about your bet.
“I can’t wait for you to give me that $1,000,” he says. “I need something to wipe my butt with later.”
“I’m gonna use your $1,000 to buy one of those ugly green jackets,” you counter, “and I’ll still have $980 left over.”
On the final hole, Reed and Rahm are tied, three shots clear of anyone else in the field. “How good you feeling?” he asks as they each stripe a drive down the final fairway. “Wanna double up that bet?” You ignore his offer and keep watching, focused on the action, as the gallery packs tightly around the final green.
They each hit their approach shots to about 18 feet, on slightly different lines. Reed goes first, he misses. Then Rahm. “Feeling lucky, punk?” you whisper to Manning, who’s grown suddenly quiet for the first time all day. It finally strikes you that if he’s got a bet with you on Reed, he probably has a few much, much bigger bets on him, too.
Rahm strokes his putt and it’s pure. Center of the hole. He lets out a yell in triumph and so do you.
You walk with Manning for a few more minutes toward the clubhouse and thank him for what turned into the most fun afternoon you’ve ever had on the golf course. “You got it,” he says, and gives you a quick bro-hug. As his hand touches yours, you feel the crisp crinkling of ten $100 bills, now in your hand.
There’s only one thing left to say. You point to his jacket and ask, “You know where I can score one of these ugly things?”
