8. Growing Revenues

Roy: “I think of the golf swing as a poem. The critical opening phrase of this poem will always be the grip. The hands unite to form a single unit by the simple overlap of the . . . little finger.”

Molly: “Right.”

Roy: “Lowly and slowly the club head is led back, pulled into position not by the hands, but by the body, which turns away from the targets, shifting weight to the right side without shifting balance. Tempo is everything, perfection unattainable. As the body coils down at the top of the swing, there is a slight hesitation, a nod to the gods . . . . It’s alive, this swing, and a sculpture. And down through contact, striking the ball crisply with character. . . . And the unfinished business of Roy McAvoy.”

Molly: “Why ...

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