The Winning Ticket

Every Monday night for several years during the golf season I played in a Golf League at Pineview Golf Course. Pineview was owned by the City of Ottawa, the Regional Municipality of Ottawa-Carleton and the National Capital Commission – three different government owners who felt the other jurisdiction should be responsible for regular golf course maintenance. As a result, the course was never in good shape, but we liked it because 300-yard drives were possible on the rock-hard fairways during the dry summer months.

Our Golf League was loosely affiliated with my employer. We started each new golf season at Robbie’s Restaurant for the traditional spaghetti dinner. During the meal there was much kibitzing about golf and the upcoming season, but the highlight of the evening was the draw for teams – a handicapping system which somehow brought two players of differing abilities together to play as a team during the upcoming season. Teams vied for the coveted Monday-Niters Trophy given to the team with the most victories during the year. (I met someone recently – almost 30 years after my tenure in the League – who recognized my name on the Trophy from those early days. Indeed, the League continues today, after more than 50 years of annual play).

The Tri-Cities Tournament was an end-of-the-year gala which brought together teams from three Leagues: Ottawa, Hull (they played across the Ottawa River from us in Quebec), and Montreal. This major event determined the overall Tri-Cities League trophy winner. More importantly, it brought bragging rights that could be extended through our Company’s internal correspondence system far into the winter months.

Every year seemed to bring out some controversy surrounding the Montreal team. They were well-known for using “wringers” to win the cherished Tri-Cities League trophy. And win they did. Almost every year. Our Ottawa team, on the other hand, managed regularly to place third, or last, depending upon who was describing the results.

The end-of-the-year tournament was known for its serious golf competition followed by raucous post game drinking, selective betting and loud rantings of superiority. We played at the challenging (and well maintained) Lachute golf course and finished our day in the large and comfortable dining room. Loudest of all the participants each year were those from Montreal. Not only were they known for their golfing prowess, but they were also renowned for their after-game exuberance.

One year produced a remarkable win for the Ottawa team, but not on the golf course. That year, as usual, Montreal finished first overall, and, as usual, Ottawa finished third. At the post-game dinner our Ottawa team sat quietly together but were noticeably annoyed by the hoopla and table-thumping that regularly erupted from the other two teams.

My team partner Dave sat unobtrusively next to me, waiting for the food to be brought to our table. Several empty beer bottles were within his reach, having been disposed of quickly during the wait. In the background and often interrupted by (mostly) Montreal hollerers/hecklers was the host club president who kept announcing dinner ticket numbers for the day’s big prize. It was a reverse draw – when your number was drawn, you were eliminated. The grand prize had been donated by Henri Richard, owner of the famous Montreal Brasserie bearing his name. Henri was the little brother of the great Quebec hockey legend – Maurice Richard. The winner of the draw would receive two tickets to the next “Habs” hockey game to be played at the Montreal Forum. The prize was a big deal for the Montreal golfers, but less so for the other teams who had to drive over 100 miles to Montreal to cash in their prize.

The Montreal players were really into it, waiting anxiously as numbers were announced. They hissed loudly when each of their members’ ticket numbers were drawn, and they cheered wildly when a non-Montreal number was drawn. No one on our team seemed to be paying much attention to the ticket numbers as the countdown continued.

Suddenly the host announced there were just two tickets left. He asked who had the remaining tickets.

Silence filled the room for a few seconds and then a Montreal team member jumped to his feet to claim he held one of the “live” tickets. Loud cheering erupted from his Montreal mates. Then the Hull team rose in unison to loudly shout “boo”. Montreal cheered back. Hull again screamed “thumbs down!” The back and forth went on for some time. Such childishness!

But where was the other ticket? Everyone began checking their stubs and looking around to see who had the other ticket. The host announced again the last two numbers. Someone suggested the other ticket holder may have gone home.

Dave quietly sipped his beer and made no effort to check his ticket number.

Within our team Dave had a reputation. Certainly not as a golfer. But everyone knew Dave was special. Some called him a “mystic”. Sometimes we saw him do things that were not “normal” or could not be explained rationally. I for one had seen Dave at the Army Officers’ Mess where he would perform “tricks”, sometimes with cards, sometimes with objects, and sometimes with outright strange coincidences. I recall one time when Dave and I were sitting with someone who was discussing a large purchase he had made from Simpson’s. Dave stopped him mid-stream in the conversation to say that, by the way, in the Mess fireplace was an old receipt from Simpson’s. He said he knew it wasn’t the storyteller’s receipt, but he thought it was an interesting coincidence. Indeed, it was. How did Dave know there was something in the old fireplace that no one used? More so, how did he know it was a Simpson’s receipt? I wish I had asked him whether he knew the date on the receipt. I’ll bet he would have known it.

On another occasion, after our League golf match, we went to Wally’s with him for the traditional pizza and beer. There were eight of us around the one table and lots of conversation as the waitress took our order. She had a worried look about her – definitely not her usual bubbly personality. Unfortunately, none of us, except Dave, picked up on her sad mood. As she began to leave the table, Dave quietly reached out and took her hand. He looked at her face and said, “I know why you are feeling so worried – everything will be alright”.

Now when Dave made such statements there was always an immediate silence, first because he didn’t normally talk too much, but also because we knew something incredible was about to happen. The waitress backed off a little and said that there was nothing the matter, but Dave persisted: “Your brother will be alright”. Her face turned a strange shade of red as if he had revealed something very personal. Dave kept talking: “I know he was in a motorcycle accident a few hours ago. But he will be alright”.

We all felt relieved for her sake by Dave’s revelation. A short time later after she left our table, the manager of Wally’s called her over for an urgent phone call. After the call she came back to Dave and asked him how he knew her brother would be okay. She had just received a call from her mother indicating his injuries were not too serious. Dave smiled, looked at her and in words that seemed to floor her, stated, “He has a broken arm and some scrapes and bruises on his legs, but the hospital has released him now”. She just kept repeating to him, “How do you know this, how do you know this? My mother just told me this!” Everyone tried to calm her by explaining that Dave had a “special” gift, a sixth sense. Meanwhile, oblivious to everyone’s reactions, Dave went on like nothing unusual had taken place. He simply said to her: “Can you please bring me two beers rather than one when you return”?

Let’s get back to Lachute at the Tri-Cities Tourney. There was much discussion about the “missing” ticket. There was a suggestion that it should be awarded to the Montreal player because the second could not be found. Then Murray, the Ottawa team captain, looked at Dave and quietly said, “Dave, do you have the other ticket?”. Dave took a sip of beer and replied, “Yes”. No one on the Ottawa team said anything for a few seconds. Then we knew something interesting was about to happen.

Murray suddenly shouted out to the host that Dave had the ticket. A certain calm returned to the crowd as they waited for the final draw to take place. Murray looked at Dave and asked: “Is yours the winning ticket?”. Dave sipped one more time and quietly responded, “Yes”.

That was enough for Murray. He yelled to the room: “$20 on Dave to win. Bob Davis will take the bets”. Every Ottawa player jumped to the occasion: “$20 more on Dave”. There was a flurry of loud wagering as League treasurer Bob quickly put down the names and money bet. Not surprisingly, all the Montreal guys bet on their man. Even the Hull players joined the action but amazingly most bet on Montreal. Silly them, except for those who knew the lore of Dave.

In the end, the host pulled the Montreal player’s ticket first and then only Dave’s remained. He was the big reverse draw winner! Dave reached into his wallet and pulled the ticket out. “I don’t have my glasses on, Murray, but I know this is the winning ticket”. And, of course, it was. Can you believe, though, that he hadn’t even seen the number until he pulled it out of his wallet and gave it to Murray to read to the host?

That year the Ottawa team finished last again in the golf, but first in cash won. And Dave? He sold the winning prize to a Montreal player and went home with more money in his pocket than the rest of us.

The usual in-company correspondence about the Tri-Cities Tournament went on for some time after that event. The related scuttlebutt did not focus on how well the Montreal team had played or whether they had used wringers. That year it was all about Dave’s winning ticket and how the Ottawa team went home with all the cash.