Horrible day for golf. Low 50s, windy, and raining, which is pretty abnormal for a Minnesota summer. We trudged through 16 holes completely exhausted from the weather. By the time we got to 17, none of us were expecting anything miraculous.
I teed off first in our foursome. I hit a slightly thin 8-iron that barely cleared the water, landed on the front of the green, and started rolling. And rolling. About 40 feet later, it dropped straight into the cup.
Honestly, I probably wouldn’t believe it myself if my dad and his two friends, Ismael and John, hadn’t been standing there to witness it.
Then, without even really processing what had happened, I walked to 18 and teed off with the exact same ball.