The Feud Begins

 Jornk stood, glowering, looking at the schedule. His tee time tomorrow was at 9:35 in the morning, far too early a time for a man who intended to drink 17 fuzzy navels that night. Not only that but his playing partner was some up jumped rookie he'd never even heard of before. What a pain...

"Mr. Flunch?' came the voice from behind him.

Jornk spun and with distaste, observed a clean cut young man. He had an immaculately freshly shaven face, with a manicured head of hair and all white pants and shirt.

"Yeah?" snapped Jornk.

"I'm your playing partner tomorrow sir, my name is Lagolin!"

Jornk frowned at the proffered hand, before eventually taking it with the same amount of distaste he would take a document from a process server.

"Alright," Jornk said, turned on his heel, and headed back to his hotel room. The fuzzy navels could wait. The kid would need to learn a lesson.

***

The morning rolled around earlier than Jornk could fathom. He was on his third cup of coffee when Lagolin strolled to the driving range with his entourage of tastefully beautiful women. He didn't exactly smoke it off the tee, not like Jornk could, but his placement was impeccable. Jornk watched, and he hated. He hated with the white hot intensity of a newly born star.

When the time came, both men teed off. 

"Golly, great shot!" called out Lagolin.

"Yeah yeah kid, you got any Virginia Slims for an old man?"

"Heavens, no!" replied the pure hearted boy scout.

***

As the round progressed, Jornk took an early lead but his carelessness and temper caused him to historically flub a few holes. Lagolin was steady; steady like the sea on a placid day.

However, Jornk's decades of experience kicked in and a gigantic eagle on the 18th secured a one stroke lead.

"Nothing personal kid," said Jornk. "But this is a man's game."

Lagolin, lip trembling, took Jornk's hand, the picture of class. But he knew something would change on this day. He would start wearing a visor. And he would grow a MUSTACHE.