Golf. The word itself elicits feelings from deep within. Golf. It’s hardly fun but during every round the game redeems itself. With every round there's that moment; that moment when the ball is struck with perfect precision and flys at your will. You stand like Thor with a hammer club in your hands, your arms raised high, your chest puffed out, and the energy of life itself flows throughout your body. Golf. Not even a game really. More like an elusive state of being. Four hours of torture punctuated by moments of sublime contentedness.
And in those moments -- those moments of clarity where you see the subtle break of the twenty foot putt and know you've made it before even striking the ball – life meets sport and a single Sunday second fulfills you for another week.
That and the beer cart girls.
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