Once a year, that’s how often I play golf.
It happens on this annual vacation to Destin. I have decided that my golf game has a purpose: to warn others of what their golf game would look like without practice. I enjoy it though… it’s an adventure. I have no idea what’s going to happen each time that I hit the ball. Last year I hit an incredible boomerang shot. I crushed the ball. I’m telling you I thumped it hard. It flew about 40 feet, resoundingly ricocheted off of the tree that was not so directly in front of me, then returned back in my direction with great force. But thankfully, the ball did not hit me… it flew over my shoulder and hit my father-in-law square in the chest leaving him with a nice swollen purple souvenir of our time together on the course.
Later in that same round, I again killed the ball on a monster drive. The ball flew 20 feet off the tee perpendicular to the direction that I was aiming, struck the front passenger-side tire on our golf cart, rebounded and nailed me right in the ankle. Fortunately I was allowed to hit another ball, because surely the same thing could not happen again… and it didn’t. This time I jumped out of the way before the speeding Dude-Magnet had a chance to inflict more harm on my sunburned legs.
I am out of words now.