On the Hollytree practice range, long before he starts flinging clubs, Johnny takes out his driver and talks to himself, whispering "hole 1," seeming to visualize his way around the course. When he uncorks a low curving hook, he grips the club and brings it down on his knee, pulling up short of breaking it in two.
"Literally, I'll snap it over my f---ing leg if I do that on the course," he says.
"You can't do that," Paul says.
"Yes, I can," Johnny says, and he sounds defiant, even petulant, someone still learning to manage the distance between his reality and his potential.