2. Beau #2
Except, instead of falling asleep, it sparked an idea.
I was watching two random guys play golf.
Sure, they were funny. Had a great cast of characters, including one guy whose villain origin story is going to be his pitching wedge.
But at the end of the day, they were just playing golf, recording it, and putting it out there for shits and giggles.
And judging by their follower count and monetization options, making a nice little side income from it.
If they could do it, why couldn’t I?
The more I thought about it, the more I got excited for the project. It was perfect for me. I’ve always been the guy who liked to entertain. Be up front. Have the spotlight focused on him. And that mentality has only ballooned during adulthood.
Someone wants a commercial shot? Sign me up. Magazine spread? Where do I check in for makeup. Fashion show? Hell yeah, I’ll rock a cat walk.
Having an outlet to be more of an entertainer and incorporate golf was perfect.
I didn’t get a lick of sleep that night.
Instead, I found my notebook, grabbed a pen, and started scribbling down ideas of what I could do.
Nearly all of them never made it from paper to reality, but the idea was there.
I was grateful the next day was only a practice round, because in my hotel room at Pebble Beach, somewhere around 4:32 in the morning, the idea for The Back Nine with Beau Devereaux came into existence.
The moment the tournament ended, the planning began. I put together ideas. Found Stu, my cameraman, and Lauren, a twenty-four year old recent college grad who is brilliant—and slightly scares me—to run my social media.
What started with some short-form videos on various apps grew into a series on those apps, with me trying to do ridiculous things.
Like hitting trick shots in my back yard, or seeing how many attempts it would take for me to drain a fifty-foot putt.
When Shelby’s house was being built—before I knew the SheDevil was buying it—I was hitting shots off the walls as they went up.
The developer was more than happy to give me access in exchange for name recognition in a video.
Before I knew it, my videos were going viral. I already had a decent social media presence, but overnight I became one of the most followed athletes across any sport. It was insane.
And then we launched the channel. The first episode of The Back Nine was viewed more than five million times. Today, that video isn’t even in the top fifteen of my most viewed. But I keep it bookmarked, because it’s where it all started.
I currently have more than one and a half million subscribers—Lauren’s goal this year is to get me to two if she dies trying—and I’m making a healthy income from just the monetization and brand deals that come along with it.
It’s not quite enough to overtake my earnings from playing, but considering it’s a side hustle?
It’s a nice piece of pocket change. And even better?
I don’t have to pretend to be interested in talking about crypto or meme coins, in the clubhouse or at the bar, ever again.
“You know what? I’ll make you a deal about The Back Nine.”
Now, those words from my sister intrigue me. “Hit me.”
“I’ll let you film an episode here. I’ll even make golf-themed desserts to be featured.”
There’s a catch coming. I can see it just as well as I can see the flag on a wide-open par three. “Under what condition?”
The smile on her face rivals any comic book villain’s when they’re about to state their diabolical plan for world domination.
“If you and Shelby can get along for an entire month, you can film here.”
I spit out my water. My laugh is loud, echoing off the walls. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Gabi says, her eyes offering no hint of laughter. “You want to film an episode here? I need you two to get along.”
I’m laughing so hard my sides start to burn. I love my sister, but it seems as if becoming a new mom is making her a little crazy. Shelby and I get along? Ha! There’s a better chance of me breaking fifty on eighteen holes while partnered with the Pope on a golf course on the moon.
“What’s so funny?”
I open my eyes just enough to see Maddox—Gabi’s boyfriend, the father of her child, and, on occasion, my friend—standing in front of me, holding onto a stroller with my nephew strapped in.
“My sister,” I say as my breathing finally calms down. “She just said the funniest shit.”
“And what was that?” he asks before leaning over to give Gabi a kiss. It’s not over the top, but still, gross.
“I said that if he and Shelby can get along for a month—no arguments, no name calling, no pranks on each other at their houses—I’d let him film an episode for The Back Nine here.”
Maddox doesn’t respond for a second, processing what Gabi just said. But the minute it hits home, laughter nearly explodes from his body.
“You’re hilarious,” he wheezes, now both of us laughing so hard it startles my nephew awake. “Seriously? They can’t even get along for an hour,” Maddox says while wiping tears from his eyes, “let alone a month.”
Gabi lets out a heavy sigh as she unbuckles Ace from his stroller and picks him up. “A sister and a best friend can wish.”
Our laughter starts to die down, part of me feeling bad for my reaction.
I’d love nothing more than to get along with Shelby, if for no reason other than Gabi’s sake.
I know it’s been hell for my sister, feeling stuck in the middle of the feud that’s been cycling between Shelby and me for most of our lives.
Before Shelby moved to Nashville, it was more tolerable.
We barely saw each other, which meant Gabi didn’t have to play mediator.
But since Shelby moved here? My sister has been in permanent referee mode.
“I’m sorry I laughed so hard,” I say. “And I want it on record that I’d be all in for that bet.
But your stipulations also mean that Shelby has to be nice to me.
And every one in this room, including my four-month-old nephew, knows the SheDevil is incapable of calling anything remotely close to a truce. Even temporarily.”
Gabi lets out a defeated sigh, knowing I’m right.
“Can I ask a possibly dumb question?”
That gets a minor laugh from me as Maddox knows I love to fuck with him. “I bet you can.”
“I’m going to ignore that dig, mainly because I did set myself up for it,” Maddox says. “But my question is, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you hate Shelby?”