Winter golf isn't often this fun. Starting on the back 9, hole 11 was a pleasant surprise early in the round. A beautiful downhill par 3 overlooking a small lake, bordered by suburban homes and financial offices that, for Hampton Roads, represent some of the finer architecture of the area. But, I digress. I pulled the cart up to the tee box, asked my buddy Nico what the yardage was, and pulled the pitching wedge from my bag. Knowing that these greens were fast, as it was mid-January and the ground was harder than Tiger Woods' iron leg, I thoroughly cleaned the grooves on the club. Scrubby dub dub. That might have sealed the deal. I walked up to the tee box, shoved the tee into the firm grass, and took my practice swing while eyeing my approach. I lined up, dropped my hands, and with a full swing I hit the ball pure. It hit the fringe a solid 10 yards from the hole, on the side of a mound that separated the green on the left from a large bunker. Gravity did the rest. We watched the ball roll the whole way, trickling into the hole with the delicacy of a man critical of his wife's cooking. It was beautiful. It didn't matter to me that I ended the day just south of 100. I had my first hole in one.