A couple of guys I golf with have competed in an ongoing match for the past couple of years. Originally, the bet was for a small bag of chips after the round, but it became common for the wager to never be paid off. The two now keep track of the competition per round, with one rarely getting more than a three match lead.

In recognition of the competition, one of the competitors, Dewayne, decided to build a trophy. Dubbed "Old Salty," it's an empty bag of chips -- filled with expandable foam -- atop a partial golf shaft, mounted on a block of wood. Simple, with understated appeal.

The matches have become as entertaining as they are competitive. They try to play at least twice a month, and as of yesterday, they're all square. But they didn't decide if yesterday was indeed the final day. Now there's a debate...

The matches are kept track of through the calendar year, so the competition officially ends New Year's Eve. With the holidays quickly approaching, and with real winter weather and temperatures threatening, they may remain tied if the matches have come to a halt. Dewayne holds the trophy from last year, and in essence, will retain the much-coveted title. But fellow competitor Steve would like to have one more shot, regardless of the weather conditions. Can Steve call Dewayne out for a match, and if he refuses, will Steve win by forfeit? Will Dewayne make himself scarce until year's end, avoiding his cellphone, pager, e-mail and answering machine? Where's ESPN to report?

As stated, the competition has been fierce at times, none more so than two weekends ago at the 17th hole. Steve could close the match out with a win, and Dewayne found himself on the back fringe, some 15 feet away for par to make the 18th the deciding hole. Steve had reached the short par 4 in regulation, and had already lagged up for his easy par. With the stage set, Dewayne went through his putting routine. He was grinding. He stood over the ball longer than normal. These guys were taking this stuff seriously, and I liked it.

All was still and calm as Dewayne finally made the stroke. It was dead on line. Steve broke the silence, saying, "That looks good -- I think it's going to drop!" And just as Steve completed his words, the ball took the most violent lip out I've seen in my 25-plus years of playing golf. I now understand how astronauts return from the moon, being sling-shotted around the rock, gaining speed in the process. This putt did a 180 and came back some three foot towards Dewayne, then stopping suddenly as if it had airbrakes. One could sense the golfing gods laughing at their efforts.

But Dewayne wasn't laughing. Instead, his face was deep red, veins popping so badly even Clint Eastwood would be uneasy. Then, he did a Judge Smails imitation, the same as when he missed that two footer in Caddyshack. He acted as if he was going to launch the putter, looking around for the best place. He paused long enough for me to think he wasn't serious. Then, off it went, end over end in classic club-throwing fashion toward the 18th tee box.

Match over. Exclamation point added.