In The Center Of The Cup

After that, paying customers started showing up regularly at the course.  Aijan was a genius at advertising and played up the fact we were the only 18 hole course within a thousand miles.  He made our humble facility sound exotic.

That was when the a*****e from Time magazine showed up and wrote that ridiculous article.  The world turned upside down.  It felt like there was a giant target on my back.  All sorts of government types showed up at the Golfanage.  Videos were made, the kids were interviewed, I answered the same questions three dozen times.

They all came to the same conclusion.  Nothing bad was going on here.  The kids were getting an education and they were well fed and happy.  The American ambassador came to see the place for himself.  Aijan met him in the parking lot in a golf cart and offered to take him on a tour.  The next time I saw them, Aijan was giving him a lesson on the driving range.

The net result of the article was that the golf world was now aware of us.  The following year, Daniar and Aijan graduated from high school.  Daniar had become a scratch golfer and was rewarded with a scholarship to the University of North Florida.  Aijan was class valedictorian, that earned him an academic scholarship to George Washington University.  

The Golfanage was on the map.  Macha would graduate the next year and was being scouted by the University of Alabama.

I was happy and sad when I drove Daniar, then Aijan, to the airport.  Daniar would fall in love with America and the pretty Georgia girl he met in college.  He would marry her and become an American citizen.  Once their three children were teenagers, they would adopt three more from the Golfanage.

I figured Aijan would become the CEO of some Fortune 500 company.  Little did I know, he would be back by Christmas the next year.  He really missed Kyrgyzstan, and had decided college wasn’t for him.  

That was his story, at any rate, when I talked to him on the phone.  He wanted me to meet him at the airport.  I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me everything.  I knew I was right when he arrived on a private jet.  The guy who got off the plane with Aijan looked familiar.  It was Mark Cuban.  Owner of the NBA’s Dallas Mavericks, and a well known investor.

The truth came out quickly.  A few months before, Cuban had given a lecture about investing in Washington.  Aijan had attended.  At the Q & A session afterwards, Aijan asked a lot of questions Cuban didn’t expect from an 18 year old.  When Aijan told the investor the story of the Golfanage, he was fascinated.  He had to see it for himself. 

To make a long story short, Mr. Cuban bought me out.  It wasn’t just because of the money.  It was the rock solid deal Aijan put together.  I’d done a great job of getting the Golfanage started.  But I had no idea how to ensure its financial backing over the long run.  I’d already spent most of the money I won with the lottery ticket.

Aijan was a good negotiator.  I got a lot more money than I put into the place.  And an annuity that guaranteed me a healthy monthly check for life.  The Golfanage would be set up as a non-profit organization.  Another tidy sum of money placed in a trust fund would guarantee its solvency for many generations of orphans.

Even Mr. Taalay got a sweet deal.  The chunk of land his house sat on was put on a separate deed and given to him.  And he was hired as the course superintendent, with a salary commensurate to his American counterparts.

The best part, what convinced me to go along, was that Aijan would be in charge.  America is a long way from Kyrgyzstan and Mr. Cuban would need someone he could trust running the show.  He told me, “I realized how much potential Aijan had when he gave me that golf lesson.”

I helped advise Aijan while the construction progressed.  The farm next to Mr. Taalay had been purchased to be the site for the hotel and resort.  At the same time, the golf course was renovated.  A team of professionals upgraded our simple design into a tournament quality course.

It was a bittersweet reward for me.  I had succeeded beyond my expectations.  The Golfanage would be a wonderful home for orphans long after I am gone.  But it wasn’t my place anymore.  Too many things had changed.  I had begun to feel like an outsider.

When I told him I was leaving, Aijan asked what I would do next.  I didn’t know.  He told me, “What you accomplished here was a miracle.  Look at me.  An orphan with a bad leg.  Because of your influence, I’m in charge of a multi-million dollar operation.  I want you to know I will always look up to you.”

“And, you’re still a young man.  I think you’ve got another miracle in you.  I have faith you will figure it out.”

That night, in my room, I laid on the bed and looked at the ceiling.  After a while, I noticed my guitar sitting in the corner.  I hadn’t played it much during the wild ride of the past few years.  I picked it up and started strumming.  A Johnny Cash song came out.  I knew what I would do next.

Aijan laughed when I told him.  He said, “That is completely insane.  No one has ever done anything like that.  I have no doubt you will pull it off.”

I knew how popular rock and roll was in eastern Europe and Russia.  While those countries had been under the thumb of the Soviet Union, rock music was both an escape and a form of rebellion.  When the Iron Curtain fell, rock music immediately became part of their cultures.

But classic country music, not so much.  Just like golf, I knew I was good at guitar.  And I can sing with a twang.  I grew up just south of Nashville and performing is in my blood.  My new plan is to put together a band.  Aside from me, everyone will be slender, blonde, and female.  We’ll perform all the classics, wearing our coordinated blue jeans, boots, kerchiefs, and cowboy hats.  

Appearing soon at nightclubs around the Black Sea, Cowboy Serge and the Henriettas.    

This time, it was Aijan driving me to the airport.  It was one of those awkward guy moments when both of us were trying not to cry.  That was when I told him, “Aijan, you son of a b***h, you fucked everything up for me.”

He grinned.  We shook hands and I walked into the airport.

As the plane took off, I thought, “Getting Russians addicted to country music is going to be easy.”