The other day I was golfing with my boss. I was shooting great and, as I’ve mentioned in about three other posts this month, I shot a 45. We were sitting on the tee-box for the ninth-hole (a 150-yard uphill par-three) waiting for the foursome ahead of us to clear the green. Adding up the scores we noted that I was at 42 and would definitely break 50 for the front nine. Breaking fifty is always my goal.
Anyway, as we sat there discussing our scores and what club we were going to use on this hole, we were vaguely watching a kid who was about twelve years old hitting his approach shot on eight. He must have had a pretty good tee shot because he was smack in the middle of the fairway looking at about 130 yards to the green. He was standing above his ball, preparing to make the shot with a gray-haired old lady sitting in a cart behind him. The kid took his swing and just totally chunked it. “Fuck!” he yelled. My boss and I started cracking up as the kid stormed after his ball.
We weren’t laughing at him for chunking it. It was his response – so raw, authentic, and unexpected. It was one of the highlights of the round.