Let’s face it, we never forget our First Love.

And on the other side of the coin, we don’t forget old grudges, either.

But there’s a crucial difference. First Love can make us sigh wistfully and fill us with sweet melancholy for what is so long gone.

A grudge, on the other hand, nags like a bad toothache. And such was the case with two guys I know, who, out of respect for their privacy, I’ll refer to as A and B.

Actually, the grudge was not mutual. In fact, while it bugged A, B wasn’t even aware of it — at least not until The Ralph Bunche of Upper Tupper interceded.

TRBoUT is more commonly known as Pat Bentley, a native of Tupper Lake and a fellow with a generosity of spirit known to all in that fine burgh. Matter of fact, ask any Tupper Laker to name Pat’s finest trait, and they’ll answer his Christ-like love of humanity. And thus it was that Pat, a longtime mutual friend of both A and B, decided to resolve their “issue” once and for all.

It all began in high school, where A and B were classmates, teammates and standout athletes. “Standout” may be low-balling their prowess: They were IN-arguably the two best athletes in the section, and arguably two of the best in the state, and they both went on to standout college careers. So while on the surface they should’ve been bosom buddies, they weren’t. Nor were they enemies. Just is, A had a resentment toward B that never surfaced between them but that he revealed to Pat.

And what was it?

Just this: While both of them were the football team’s backfield powerhouses, A felt he did all the had work, and B got all the glory. A always brought the ball upfield, and then B got to take it in from the 3-yard line. So while A did the heavy lifting, B got the TD credits.

At least that was according to A. But was it true? Pat decided to find out, and even if it WAS true, to put the issue to rest and get the two on friendly terms. Or more precisely, to put the issue to rest with A, since B had no clue it even existed. B, while hardly naive and certainly no fool, always had a boyish innocence about him. Simply put, he couldn’t have found a hidden agenda if he’d been handed the written directions.

–

The challenge …

–

Without either knowing the other would be there, Pat invited A and B to a get-together on the most neutral territory — at sea. Or at least what passes for a sea in Tupper — the Raquette River. He’d invited both guys to meet at Billy LaRocque’s dock, where Pat kept his boat. His boat, while neither as big or luxuriously appointed as the Grimaldi family’s, was still fit for royalty — at least of the Tupper Lake ilk.

The fateful day arrived and after Pat secured the gear (a six-pack of the finest Bud Lite he’d generously sprung for) they weighed anchor and were underway. Then, as they headed out the Raquette, Pat had a Walter Mitty moment, imagining himself the skipper of a man of war.

“Slow ahead,” Pat relayed to the engine room of his mind.

“Slow ahead,” his mind repeated.

Once they got to the open water of Big Tupper Lake, he relayed another command.

“Full ahead,” he ordered.

“Full ahead,” said the imagined engineer.

The engine roared, and the boat shot forward.

‘Twas a glorious summer day — bright blue sky and blazing sun above, sparkling water below, the SS Reconciliation cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter.

Conversation was impossible over the engine’s roar, and as the boat skimmed over the shallow blue of Big Tupper, everyone took in the beauty of the day, the wind in their hair, the salt-free air in their lungs.

–

… and the triumph

–

Finally, Cap’n Pat decided The Moment of Truth had arrived.

First he gave the order to Stand By, then he ordered Stop. The engine quit, and by the time the exhaust fumes had vanished, so, too, had most but not all of the Cap’n’s fantasy.

Standing at the helm at parade rest, he said, “Perhaps you gentlemen wondered why I’ve gathered you here today.”

It sounded like a scene from some crappy old war movie, which is just what it was, since Pat hadn’t fully come back to reality.

A and B looked at each other, wondering if Pat had gone ’round the twist.

Slowly, Pat’s sense of time and place returned, along with a sense of embarrassment.

“Yes, um … well, well, well …” he said. Then in a clumsy attempt at humor, he added, “Three holes in a row. A very deep subject. Heh heh …”

As A frowned and B faked a smile, Pat finally got it together.

“Actually, I want to settle a grievance,” Pat said, “one that’s been around for the last 40 years.”

He then repeated A’s complaint about B, almost word-for-word since he’d heard it so many times. He and A waited for B’s response.

With a shrug, B said, “He’s right.”

“I am?” said A, shocked to hear B admit it so readily.

“Simple as that?” said Pat, expecting, some resistance or an explanation, or SOMETHING. Instead, there was nothing.

“I thought everyone knew that,” said B. “I mean, it was obvious.”

As Pat and A mulled over that, B went on.

“But there wasn’t anything I could do about it,” he said. “I didn’t make the plays; neither did the quarterback. They were all the coach’s call.”

Taking advantage of the other two’s silence, B continued.

“Besides, I was plenty ticked off, too,” he said.

“You were?” said A. “Why?”

“Because I never had a chance to prove myself,” said B. “I spent my whole football career playing second fiddle.”

And there, in the blink of an eye, four decades of misunderstandings were laid to rest.

Whenever I tell this story, I always get asked the same question: Did A and B become friends as a result? I’m glad to report that they did.

Their participation at the Tupper Lake Golf Club’s Member-Guest Tournament was a perfect example. I know nothing about golf, but according to Pat, the only difference between it and The Masters is a few spectators and those preternaturally weird pimento cheese sandwiches.

It’s a grueling three-day event, starting with a practice round on Friday, 27 holes on Saturday and 18 on Sunday (not counting the 28th and 19th holes on Saturday and Sunday). A invited B for this stellar event, and according to Pat, they both had a great time. Which raised one question in my mind.

“With each of them so competitive,” I said to Pat, “didn’t they compete with each other, too?”

“Nope, not at all,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because,” he said, “when it came to golf, they were both equally lousy.”