The Player that Never Was

I had started hearing about him before the season started. There was a buzz from the parents and current players that he had huge potential. “P_____ started playing club ball at 10 years old.” As a coach, I pretty much took any such information with a grain of salt. Parents have a tendency to over exaggerate things, even if it doesn’t have to deal with their own children. By this time in my career with Mills High School, I had already taken the team from the very bottom of the league into a few winning seasons. I was comfortable in my role and with my players, but figured any help I got was an added bonus.

P____ was tall for his age. Gangly with a clean shaven head and a lackadaisical gait.  I had been hearing all the hype surrounding him but knew he was yet untested and unproven. I was holding early summer tryouts and joked around with the returning boys about how they looked out of shape. The early season tryouts are usually the most grueling and it is easy to trim the fat and thin the herd within the first few sessions. I have always liked these first few weeks because it tests the character of the boys, especially with the kids on the bubble.

P____ stuck it out and made it through the first few weeks of conditioning without a hitch. While outside of the water he was shy and withdrawn, in the water he was a natural. His love for competition and physical exertion were apparent and he put it upon himself to outshine every member of the varsity team. While still a freshman, he was able to help take the team 9-5 on the strength of his shooting abilities which led us toward the top of the rankings in the Ocean Division. I would be remiss to say that I saw his addition to my team through purely selfish reasons. I knew that players like P____ didn’t come often, I had never coached a player at his skill level. He was a golden ticket for my coaching career and my team, like finding a four leaf clover.

I should have seen the warning signs earlier. P____ helped us win games which garnered him favor among the older kids. They started invited him to parties and once or twice I definitely knew that he was coming into Saturday morning practice hungover. I knew I should have said something then, but I didn’t think anything bad would come of it. I stuck to the adage that “boys will be boys”.

I told myself that the first time I had gotten drunk was when I was 14 as well. During my sophomore year of high school, I had gone over my friend J_____’s house while his parents were out of town and we split a fifth of vodka.  I told myself that it wasn’t my job to control any of the boy’s social lives as long as they didn’t come to practice stoned or drunk. I knew what it was like to be young once also and I didn’t want to be the one to come down hard on anyone. I kept this lie to myself even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do because we were winning games and that was what mattered at the time.

During P_____’s sophomore year he got an early acceptance letter from UCLA. He already had scouts looking at him and I wanted to make sure that he kept up his production numbers and that I gave him the best shot possible to play college ball. He still had holes in his game which we were working on, but nevertheless he stood out among the pack. Other coaches and refs would often come up to me after games and laud over P_____’s ability and natural talent. “Boy’s got a cannon on him.” I would smile and nod and tell myself that I would take his athletic career as far as it would go. We finished P_____’s sophomore season 13-1 and tied for first place in the Ocean Division. With the finish we were able to move up into the Bay Division against top ranked teams such as Menlo and Menlo-Atherton, powerhouses which produced a litany of college bound athletes.

P_____’s accomplishments also translated towards my own coaching career. I cold emailed the Stanford Water Polo Club director after P_____’s first year and asked him for an interview. Mills has historically been the punching bag of the water polo world and based on the merits of my record in the last few years, I got hired straight away and started coaching some of the elite talent athletes in Northern California. In truth, I’ve always had my own insecurities about being a coach. Water polo is a white collar sport dominated by rich white men who often saw little in the way of an Asian coach. I had set out years ago against the stereotype of the weak Asian male and I had to fight and claw my way for everything I had earned and yet to prove.

 Since I never played college ball, I knew that what I lacked as a player would have to be learned through being around other top level coaches. It was a grueling winter with long commutes from SF to Silicon Valley every other day while attending graduate school, but it was a sacrifice which would translate into experience and knowledge for the future.

I coached through the winter session and the summer Junior Olympics of the 2014 year. I looked forward to the first Mills season in the Bay Division. As always, we started the year with early summer tryouts and workout sessions. The team looked solid and I told them that this year would be a huge test. During one of these early workouts I pulled P_____ aside for a chat about his career and his own future. His mom had recently told me that he had transferred from Mills to Middle College, which is a scholastic program which caters to High School students who want to finish their GED while in a collegiate setting. Despite not being a part of the Mills student body, P_____ was still able to practice and compete with the team.

“How are you feeling?”

“I am good coach, just trying to finish school and keep my grades up.”

“I heard that you left Mills.”

“Yeah, I started at Middle College. I didn’t want to deal with anymore of the bullshit here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just…” he comtemplated his answer “I just wanted to get away from here. I don’t want to deal with any more of the drama.”

“Well, maybe getting out of here will be good for you. You still trying to play college ball?”

He hesitated. “I mean yeah, that’s still the plan.”

“We’ve got to work on your passing and defense. The teams in the Bay Division are going to start doubling up on you and you’ve got to spread the ball around.”

“I know coach.”

The energy and exuberance he had shown as a freshman was gone. He seemed to have aged 5 years in a summer. He was tired and grew deep furrows on his brow, he seemed a different kid, a different player. It felt like he was merely going through the motions in practice. We were able to win our first three games, but I knew something else was lurking deeper at P____. He often showed up late to practice, he sometimes didn’t show up at all. And then one day I received a text from him:

“Sorry coach, but I don’t think I’m going to do water polo anymore. My hearts not in it. Thank you for everything.”

I talked to his mom on the phone later that day after practice. She seemed distraught and was also caught off guard with P____’s decision. P_____’s parents were always very supportive of his athletic career. They showed up to games, helped him find club teams, encouraged his natural talent. She said that they had recently been having some family issues and that P____ was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I remember playing during my own high school career and my parent’s had never shown up to a single practice or competition. I told her not to worry and that I would talk to him and try to figure out what why he was quitting.

I called him a few days later and picked him up at his house. I asked him if he wanted to go for a ride, chat a bit.

“What’s wrong man?”

“I’m just sick of water polo Coach.”

“Well what do you want to do with your future?”

“Probably just graduate high school and wait tables for a few years. I hate living with my parents. I can’t stand being in the house with them anymore. I just want to get out. I think high school is bullshit.”

It was a case of a kid wanting to grow up too fast. Truth was, I knew exactly how he felt. I saw a lot of his anger and resentment in myself at that age. I knew the road that he was headed down: filled with self-medication, long lonely nights, broken relationships, wasted time. I spent close to a decade of my own life heading down the wrong path, filling my life with alcohol, drugs, and women to fill the void. Killing myself slowly because I couldn’t deal with my own emotional trauma and depression. I could never admit to myself or others the hurt I was feeling inside so I dulled the pain for a very long time.

“Well what do you figure you’re going to do after that? Just keep waiting tables? There has to be something else you want to do right? Don’t you have a dream?”

“Well, I kind of want to be a film director one day.”

“You don’t think you’ll have to go to school for that?”

“Yeah I suppose so.”

“You know you can go anywhere with water polo right?”

“I just don’t want to play ball anymore. I’m just not having fun.”

He fiddled with his hands.

“Have I ever let you down P_____?”

“No coach. You’ve always been straight forward with me.”

“Well you’re letting me down now P____. And there’s a whole team who’s got your back that you’re walking away from.”

He didn’t answer, just looked straight ahead out of the passenger seat.

“This is your ticket out of here P_____. You can do anything, anywhere. Water polo will get you there. I know you love playing in games. Forget your parents, forget the other kids at school. You can’t be shortsighted about this, all you have to do is finish out the second half of this season and next year and you’re out of here. I’ll help you get into a school and I guarantee things will get better.” I knew that I was lying because I couldn’t guarantee him anything.

He bit down on his lower lip and furrowed his brow.

“Can you do that for me P_____, just play out this season. You can move out of your parents and you don’t ever have to come back if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah I can do that” he answered hesitantly.

We drove around a bit longer and bullshitted about films and directors we liked. I dropped him back home and he promised that he would be back next week.

He came back to practice and I tried to ease him into the grind. He only made it through another week and a game and he quit again. I kept in contact with his parent’s and told them that I had tried as hard as possible and that there was nothing else I could do to help their kid. I told them that I would keep in contact with him and try to change his mind. I told them that as much as either they or I wanted him to stay, there was nothing we could do. I knew that he was getting into a bit of a drug habit and that they should curb it as much as possible, but I knew personally that the only change lay within P_____ himself.

The season continued that year and despite P_____’s absence the team was still able to secure 3^rd place in the Bay Division giving them an automatic berth into the CCS Division playoffs, a first in school history. After I told the team about the situation, they bit down hard on their mouthpieces and strung together an incredible run in the post season. Despite the loss of P_____ is solidified my own grit and belief in what I was doing.

Most players, myself included, would’ve given anything to have had P______’s circumstances. Most kids never have the chance to go any further in their career than high school athletics. I knew that I had a shot at saving P_____. That he didn’t need to head towards the direction I had, that he had everything at his feet, that he was so close to becoming everything that he wanted and needed to be. I blame myself quite a bit for how things went down. Like a Greek tragedy, it’s always easy to look back and think that situations and catastrophe could have been easily averted. Moments of misunderstanding or miscommunication would have changed the course of the outcome. I’d like to think that the whole situation didn’t bother me that much, but I lost quite a bit of sleep over the whole ordeal.

I want to believe that if another kid or situation were to come up again I would be able to make a difference.  I’d like to think that someday P_____ will be okay and realize his own mistakes and shortcomings. But I know that these things take time and a lot of self-realization because I’m still working through some of my own issues even to this day. I've learned that all the success and accolades in the world don't mean much when you've pushed all the people you love out of your life. I wish that I could’ve made a difference, but realize that everyone has to make their own choices and mistakes no matter how much help or guidance others give them.

I called P______ about a week ago and left him a message on his voicemail.

“He P______, it’s Daniel. I hope you’re doing okay, give me a call back when you get a chance.”

He never returned my call.

Things have been a little bit crazy

I went out to these Vietnamese coffee shops in San Jose with a few friends today. It was a poor excuse just to ogle women in skimpy outfits while we sipped on overpriced iced coffees. The first two places were pretty miserable. The overall vibe was pretty creepy. All the other customers were in the late 30s or 40s and by customers I mean creepy old dudes. None of the waitresses would even make eye contact or say hi. They merely took our orders and sashayed away, the flaws on their skin covered by the neon lights and blaring music.

It was okay I suppose, I definitely got quite a bit done. Things have been a little bit crazy. Just in the past week I've gotten my postcards, framed my paintings, had them shot. And here I was in the dingy Vietnamese coffee shops drawing little personalized doodles on my postcards for clients and fans. It's been really busy and I haven't really been able to sleep much lately. Women are starting to warm up to me again and it's nice to revel myself a little bit in that attention.

I'm starting to get pretty burnt out. I called Jode earlier to just talk about things and she told me to take a few days off. My life's been pretty crazy lately and I kind of like it this way. I don't think I'll be taking any days off. I'd be all anxious just being away from the studio.

I went out to an art show on Friday which featured typewriter inspired art with a live set from the artist made of sounds from a typewriter. I wanted to throw up thirty times in my mouth. 

 After the shitty art show I met up with some friends at a lounge downtown which a buddy co owns. We hung out down in the basement and I felt like a goddamn gangster.

 Saturday morning I went to go pick up ammunition at the gun show at the cow palace since there's a massive shortage. It was a nightmare. The line for wholesale ammunition was 5 hours long. I just went and bought retail like a chump.














I also got Zilla some new bandanas from the gun show. He is one handsome mother fucker














Whenever I post pictures of Zilla on Instagram or Twittter of Zilla, he'll always get way more attention than for any other shit I do.

Today I spent the whole day in Vietnamese coffee shops. I drew on my postcards and am shipping them out to fans and clients.

My friend Jenny is trying to launch a company that sells rolling papers which will allows you to custom print images. She told me to shoot her some drawings of dogs and bunnies.

We went to three cafes today and at the last one I made some pretty bad sketches of the waitress and she came by and said "you made my butt look cute."

Personally I just enjoyed the free modeling session.

I left the sketch with my website on the table.

I get a message on my website about 20 minutes after I leave.

She left her number.


My first solo show open May 4th from 6-11 at Book and Job Gallery on 838 Geary Street.

I hope to see all your beautiful faces there.

love,

d

It was a mistake

It was a mistake. We had been seeing each other on and off for about 2 months.

I met her at a college bar, she was with her friend Clare. I remember I had broken my arm a week prior.  She saw my cast and immediately felt bad for me. Her name was Betty and we danced a few numbers and had some drinks and really hit it off. She was slight and had her hair pinned up. She had a terrific laugh and kept on giving me these real coy looks. She could really move on the dance floor.

Her friend dropped us off back at my place and I poured some vodka sodas and we chatted til the break of dawn. I started kissing her and things progressed a bit, but then she stopped me. She looked at me and got very grave and told me that she had a boyfriend. 

"Like you just broke up with him?"

"No, we're still together."

"At this very moment?"

"Yes'' she said hesitantly, "Does this change things?"

Well fuck yes it certainly changed things. I remember the first time I had ever messed with a girl with a boyfriend. It was back in high school. This girl was on the outs with her boyfriend and she decided to hook up with me to get back at him. I eventually felt so bad about it I straight up told him when I was drunk at a party. He didn't really mind that much. 

"No, not really. It's not like he'll ever know right?"

I knew it was the wrong answer to give, but she was there and looked very pretty.

I kissed her hard. 

We saw each other regularly after that. I took her out and she would sleep over. We never talked about her relationship. I never stayed at her place. When her boyfriend was in town, I wouldn't see her. I don't know why I kept up the charade.

"You haven't told any of your friends about me, have you?" she asked one night laying in my bed.

"No" I lied.

"What are we?" she asked.

I didn't know how to answer, I thought it was pretty clear. I was just the guy she was fucking her on the side. To her, I thought I was nothing more than a slab of meat.

"I dunno. I thought we were just hooking up. Just friends."

She seemed disappointed, but accepted it in the end.

"Just don't tell your friends about us."

"Okay." 

"You promise."

"Okay." I had my fingers crossed.

As things went on, she began to become more and more demanding of me. Nagging me about the food I ate, my study habits, the hours I kept, things of this nature.

"I'm not your boyfriend."

The statement upset her.

"I just broke up with him."

The statement upset me.

I knew how the conversation would go before it even began. 

"I'm not going to be your boyfriend."

"But I broke up with him for you."

"No, you didnt."

"I broke up with him because I thought we had something going."

"You broke up with him because you didn't want to be with him anymore. I'm just your excuse. You just used me so you wouldn't feel bad about leaving your boyfriend."

"Fuck you Elliot."

She had never cursed at me before. She wasn't really the type to curse so I knew she was real upset. 

"I thought we were just having fun. I know things shouldn't have gone as long as they have, but what did you expect? I told you from the start that I didn't want anything."

"You don't understand anything."

"I'm sorry Betty."

"Stop."

"I'm sorry" I said while trying to put my arm around her shoulder.

"I said stop."

She got up and went to the bathroom. We didn't see each other for awhile after that. Through the grapevine I heard she got back with her boyfriend. She started calling me again and things kept on going back and forth like that for a little bit. But in the end, I should've never really messed around with her in the first place.

studio visit

I am suppose to meet my curator in a few hours for a studio visit and have been a little bit of a nervous wreck. I absolutely abhor talking about my work, to anyone really. I've been thinking about it for a solid month now and in the end I feel like it's better to just tell the truth even if it means taking some criticism. The current work is there, but what I need now is some showstoppers.

I've been going to the studio nearly everyday, weekends included, and when I showed my mom a picture of my work in progress, she replied "That's it?" I guess sometimes, it's nice to take a reality check.

A lot is riding on this meeting today. I hope they like my shit.

5 hours pass:

The curator came by today and I had been drinking a bit. I stopped painting around 5 because that's all I really could take for the day. I went and bought myself a six pack and a flask of jack. I started drinking just to take the edge off, but it seems I've been doing quite a bit of drinking nowadays.

She liked my shit. Which I think is a beautiful thing. I handed her a beer and she took a slug out of my flask. She asked about my show and I asked about selling points. I really just want to do well this next show. For me, it's kind of a make or break situation. I've thought quite a bit about going back to work, entering society, doing the 9 to 5. But I'm really hoping it's not so. 

All I can do is keep painting, to keep working. The work is going well, stop forcing shit, keep going, everything will be okay.

5 hours pass:

The curator came by today and I had been drinking a bit. I stopped painting around 5 because that's all I really could take for the day. I went and bought myself a six pack and a flask of jack. I started drinking just to take the edge off, but it seems I've been doing quite a bit of drinking nowadays.

She liked my shit. Which I think is a beautiful thing. I handed her a beer and she took a slug out of my flask. She asked about my show and I asked about selling points. I really just want to do well this next show. For me, it's kind of a make or break situation. I've thought quite a bit about going back to work, entering society, doing the 9 to 5. But I'm really hoping it's not so. 

All I can do is keep painting, to keep working. The work is going well, stop forcing shit, keep going, everything will be okay.

the short, happy life of arthur b. wang

arthur had grown up quite the mama's boy. she doted over him and dressed him in very fancy outfits as a young child and groomed him to be the poised, articulate gentleman he became. his middle name was bernard, but his mother had taken to calling him bernie, which she still does to this day. he was an only child, which meant that he was gorged with all the attention and benefits that parenting could buy. he played tennis and was quite good at it, having been given a scholarship to play for a college on the east coast. he was fairly tall, with straight black hair which he always brushed in with product. he had a thin face with deep furrows which often gave him a discerning look, as if in need of approval.

after college, arthur naturally went to work for his father who was in the automotive industry. the family owned a few dealerships throughout the state and it was an easy fit. arthur was good at what he did and through the powers of nepotism and good ol' american elbow grease, climbed the ranks within the company and was made VP before his thirties. life was good for arthur and his family.

arthur dated here and there throughout his young adulthood, but found no one who he ever felt compatible with. he liked being in relationships, because he dreaded being alone. it was better to have anyone by his side then to have no one. he hated most when they were very much impressed with his loft, or his cars, or any such material thing. as if things weren't hard enough, each girl that he had ever brought home was met with the dissatisfied scowl of his mother.

"bernie i really wish you would meet a nice girl."

"yeah, i know ma."

"what's wrong with my friend's daughter olivia? she's a sweet girl and she's quite successful at what she does."

"she's nice ma, but you can't force something like that."

"oh, but bernie i would so much like for you to meet a nice girl."

arthur always found a way to sabotage his relationships. he never held his ground, because there was no need to. they did nice things for him,  tried to get him in their clasps. but arthur would just fling them away like some trivial, outdated gadget. it was just this endless lull, years passed, women came and went, like pieces of art on rent.

i'm sure it's happened to everyone, seeing someone across the room and instantly connecting through a glance that lasts much longer than it seems. she was like a flash of light, in the company of two gentlemen, each seemingly more eager than the other to win her attention. she divvied herself equally, happy to be at the center or things. they were at a charity ball for something or other. unbeknownst to arthur, lana was a hussy. she had come into the family fortune upon the untimely death of her father when she was just a little girl. her family owned high end boutiques and retail stores which meant she always had a reputation to keep, at least superficially. she kissed boys often, but secretly; she saw men as mere possessions, easily interchangeable, like a new fall wardrobe.

it wasn't as if she didn't want to seek a mate, merely she had yet to find one which fit her lifestyle and standards. she danced with one boy while the other brought her a drink, then she danced with the other. she spun and frolicked in her evening gown all smiles, her hair done up in a casual ponytail, the diamonds and jewelry she wore, conquests from past relationships.

he walked up to her after a number had just ended and asked her name. they shared pleasantries. her two minions watched a few steps away, chatting quietly, with subdued discontent. lana was enthralled by arthur's boldness. arthur was enthralled by lana's smile which crinkled the corners of her eye. they talked about this and that, but mostly because they liked the newness of things. he invited her to a party the following weekend and gave her his card. she called on the following tuesday. lana a creature of very fleeting tastes.

lana had deemed it quite necessary that she wed soon and knew she wanted children before it was too late. she snagged arthur hard and he had not a chance. she got what she wanted, not because she asked for such things, but because she expected them. she had arthur in her palm like a domesticated lap dog.

"what do you think of this dress arthur?" she asked holding up a black cocktail dress to her shoulders.

"that looks terrific, it's a little short though." She answered with a scoff. 

"i think i'll take it," she replied decisively.

"what are we lana?"

"what do you mean?"

"we've been seeing each other awhile now, and i want things to be more official."

"i think things are going great arthur. why would we need to change anything."

"i just want to know that you are mine and nobody else's"

"so what, like change my Facebook status?" she said jokingly. he laughed nervously.

"i know what i want lana, and i want you. i want you to be in my future and someday i'm going to marry you."

lana had been proposed to before, but she was never taken aback. it felt like the right thing at the time so she just went with it.

within two years they were married. they moved into a big house on the coast and had two girls. their lives filled with nannies, parties, dinners out, and worldly travel. the first half decade came and went in a flash and life seemed to have no bounds. but after awhile, it grew to be tiresome and mundane to lana. arthur was a good husband and man, but lana missed the days of passion and fleeting fancies. arthur, on the other hand, was content and fulfilled. he loved the family life and his daughters. the work filled his days, but he lived for his home. he knew that lana was unhappy and afforded her many niceties to try to appease her hunger. but no jewelry or gifts could satiate lana's desires. 

"i can't do this with you anymore arthur."

"lana, please. we've been over this."

"i'm not happy and neither are you. it's been years, we don't belong together."

"what about the girls? what about our family? doesn't that play a part in any of this?"

"we can't keep playing this game arthur. i want out. the girls will be fine it's not like you won't be seeing them anymore."

arthur looked at lana and saw a stranger. before the girls reached kindergarten, the marriage had deteriorated. lana had been seeing other men for over a year now. they divorced on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. arthur knew this was the end of things, but he had tried to hold it together at least for the children.

lana was ruthless and went after everything. at this point, she resented arthur. she resented him for the listless act he would put on in front of guests and company. she resented him for taking up the remnants of her youth. but mostly, she resented him for turning into a puppet, this man who could no longer fend for himself.

and as quickly as things came, they were gone. lana broke arthur. she took the children, took half his pay, and went off away to texas with her new beau. and arthur was left with visitations rights and a sinking feeling that his life had just ended. lana turned the girls against their father making their bi-annual visitations awkward and forced.

arthur turned to the bottle. his work suffered and his parent's were worried. his father told him to take a leave of absence and his mom told him to travel a bit. he was lost and turned further inward. no amount of solace from friend or family could bring him out of his desolate situation. it stayed like this for what seemed in interminable amount of time for arthur. he eventually went back to work, but not with the same tenacity. he grew gaunt and depressed, blaming himself for the divorce, for the way things unfolded, searching for the answers to why his life had taken the turn for the worse.

i suppose that most men of character experience grievous tragedies as our protagonist has. some horrible event in which they think they will never recover. but the days pass, terribly unbearable at first, the memories, doubts, and hurt entrenched in every waking moment. but days turn into weeks, and those into months. that sinking pain turning into a dull annoyance. and as more and more time passes, the old memories fade, new ones are made, and life goes on as it always has. and so it did for arthur.

"how are you feeling these days bernie?"

"i'm good ma, just busy."

"your father's been telling me that you've been playing quite a bit of golf."

"yeah, been at it for a few months now."

"that's good bernie. have you talked to the girls?"

"yeah, last week, i'm trying to get them over for thanksgiving, but i don't know how likely it will happen."

there was a silence before his mother replied. "things will be okay bernie."

"i know ma, thanks."

arthur picked up golf after being sidelined on the tennis courts due to an existing rotator injury from his younger playing days. it was the hardest game he had ever picked up and he dedicated his spare time to his new hobby with reinvigorated determination. as arthur's former confidence grew back, so did the women. he started dating a girl regularly who he was quite fond of. he played golf every week with his pals and things started to fall back into place. his daughters were in high school now and their relationship, although still strained got better as the girls grew older. arthur forgave himself and lana, for there was no longer any place in his hurt for resentment and hate.

it was sunday and arthur was out on the course playing 18 holes with some friends. he laughed and joked, but the game was serious as it always is when there's some money on the line. it had been years since he had felt like this and he was happy. happy to be in the company of friends, happy for the new girl he had in his life, happy that everything was starting to turn around for him. he was stronger, more so than when he was a young man, for going through periods of pain can sometimes be the best thing in life. he didn't shoot to well on the front nine, but was still on par to shoot a personal best.

they were standing on the 13th hole, a par four, dog leg. as arthur set up for his drive, he heard from a distance a group of voices shouting "Fore!" and before arthur could even react he experienced a brilliant flash of white and then a nothingness.

after lana, arthur didn't believe that things would ever be right in his life again. he believed in his heart that lana and his family were his everything, which they were for a brief period in his short life. he never told anyone, but as things had gotten better, he knew that everything was exactly the way they were supposed to be.

as his friends stood over him and called desperately for help. arthur laid listless on the ground on the tee box of the 13th hole, eyes closed  with a strange smile. the ball had struck him exactly on his temple and caused him no pain. it was a one in a million shot, and thus was the short, happy life of arthur b. wang.