He calls the police, who remove you from Augusta National.
You always pictured getting arrested would be more dramatic. You know, like that show “Cops” – the officers would throw you to the ground and rummage through your pockets while the cruiser lights were flashing the entire time. Then they’d handcuff you and “accidentally” bang your head against the car as they threw you into the backseat and shouted some threats.
The reality is that it’s much more genteel than that.
After the elderly member calls the police, it takes roughly 10 minutes for two uniformed officers to come pick you up. They aren’t exactly friendly, but they’re hardly forceful, either. No flashing lights, no handcuffs, not even an idle threat.
When you get into the squad car – they don’t “put” you in the backseat; you just open the door handle yourself and sit down – they start driving away. For the first time, one of them speaks to you.
“So, tried to bring a phone onto the course, huh?”
This might be your only chance for a plea, or a bargain, or a plea bargain, so you state your case. “I just totally forgot I had it. Just a brainfart. I’m so sorry…”
Before you can finish, the officers start laughing.
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“Man, we don’t care,” he says, as your ears perk up. “We deal with drugs, assault, robbery – real crimes, every day. You brought a phone to a golf tournament.”
They start laughing again. You ask, “Then why arrest me?”
“You’re not under arrest. But here’s the deal: The Masters is obviously the biggest economic factor in our city. Augusta National is hugely influential. If they call, we come running and we help. They think they’re punishing you, but they never follow up and we sure as hell aren’t going to do the paperwork for the case of the hidden cell phone.”
“So,” you reply, “where are we going?”
The two of them look at each other, look at the clock and make an offer. “Our shift is just about over. If you buy the beers, we’ll find a spot to watch and we can all forget about this miscarriage of justice.”
For the first time in a few hours, you exhale.
On the way to watch the last few holes on TV, you tell them all about the Rahm bets and now the officers are rooting for him, too. “Hey, more beer for us if he wins!”
And you know what? He does it. Rahm wins the Masters, just as you’d picked. You buy an extra round, finishing off one of the most bizarre – and fun – days you’ve had in a long time.
