In early September the weather was kind, the late summer wind blew in from the South West.I could feel the breeze on my back as I stood on the tee block, looking down at the 17th. The 17th was a long way off, two and change if I recall. A growth of fine pine trees framed either side of the fairway a bunker protected the right side of the hole. The green was vacant but for the flag pole,the green was inviting any who wished to dare, to hole her, I stood erect with club in hand,
I placed a wooden tee into the hard soil and placed the ball on top, the iron was a 4. I made a practice swing and visualized my shot, I was ready for the real thing and stepped up to address the ball. I erupted into a swing the sweetness of the contact was felt throughout my loins. I was afforded the luxury to watch my flying ball, I noticed its course never deviated an inch from its target, in awe, the world around me paused for a moment, except for my ball which hurled through the air at great knots on a perfect line. I was eager and the anticipation for the outcome was nerve racking, with the virgin green spread out before it the ball alit, its rolling momentum permitting it to travel up the slope to the waiting hole. The ball seemed to stop short but miraculously just then it kissed the standing flag stick wiped its feet and fell into the hole and out of sight and as the golf gods watched on we laughed and high fived.
