Some Children You Can Count On

Sometimes it’s not about the ramblings of sociologists, or theories of psychologists, or behavior of million-dollar men.

Sometimes it’s about two little boys. A summer afternoon. A golf course where nothing is longer than par three, and the boys only play nine.

Sometimes, the search for the lost virtues of sport can end in the most amazing places.

Last June, the Dominguez Golf and Practice Center was one of those places.

The tournament was the Dominguez Challenge, sponsored by the LPGA Urban Youth Golf Program.

Dozens of children, their equipment and most of their fees funded by the program, had spent the day joyfully playing for age-group trophies.

But in the end, in the 10-and-under division, there were only two.

Victor Bracy of East Los Angeles and Eduardo Manalansan Jr. of Gardena.

Tied for first place.

Each with 36.

Each claiming the right to that big red trophy with a shiny gold golfer on top.

Bracy, known as “Little Tiger,” would put the trophy in the dining room with his many other awards.

Manalansan, known as “E.J.,” had only two trophies, both on his mother’s cabinet, but he knew this big red one would make them seem like a bunch.

They walked to the scorer’s table and prepared for the one-hole playoff.

When Little Tiger noticed something on E.J.’s scorecard.

It was his score on one of the holes.

“You said you got a five?” Little Tiger said to E.J. “Didn’t you get a six?”

The adults around the table squirmed. Oh no, not this again.

Two kids, of the age where they argue easily over kickball hits and basketball fouls and freeze tag, fighting over something real.

Two kids who only recently learned how to keep score, fighting over a score that each of them kept different.

Fighting over a big red trophy with a shiny gold golfer on top.

“We’re thinking, ‘Uh-oh,’ ” recalled John Morrison, director of the Urban Youth program. “We heard the one boy contest the score and we thought we would have an argument.”

Then it happened, something with such force that Morrison remembered it this week like it happened hours ago.

E.J. replayed the hole in his 10-year-old mind and admitted to Little Tiger that he had miscounted.

“Yeah, I didn’t count that time I didn’t make the green,” he said.

The score was changed to a six.

Little Tiger was instantly champion, again.

E.J. was instantly second, again.

John Morrison nearly fainted.

It is one thing to disqualify yourself from $10,817 in prize money when you already have won more than 50 times as much, as Mark Calcavecchia did so gallantly this week.

It’s another to turn down the chance at a big red trophy for your mother’s cabinet.

“All of us adults kind of stood back and said, ‘Whoa,’ ” Morrison said. “Then we said, ‘You know, that’s what it’s all about.’ ”

Today, Little Tiger, 9, has advanced to tournaments where he beats older boys. He drives the ball 125 yards, claims he will one day whip Corey Pavin, can’t wait to meet the real Tiger Woods.

“The thing they really need in junior golf today is to properly teach kids to keep score,” said his grandfather, James Winfield.

Today, E.J. is playing chess and video games, no golf again until spring, wondering what the big fuss over a little boy who wouldn’t cheat.

“My mother tells me, you should not cheat,” he says. “If you cheat, bad things happen.”

But why admit to something that could cost you first place?

“Because it was the truth,” he said.

And what happened after you told the truth?

“Then I told him, ‘Congratulations,’ ” E.J. said.

And did the victorious Little Tiger do anything?

Wave his club and stick it in an imaginary back pocket? Curl up his fingers into the shape of a gun and shoot E.J. down?

“No,” E.J. said. “He just said, ‘Congratulations to you.’ ”

And then E.J. celebrated with a trip to Carl’s Jr., ordered his favorite, the No. 3, and decided something.

“You know, I didn’t need that first-place trophy anyway,” he said.

Of course he didn’t.

A child could figure that out.

Why is it so hard for the rest of us?