It was a cold, rainy day in Picton, Ontario. My buddies and I were gearing up for our 3rd round in 2 days during our annual golf trip. After shooting in the high 90's and losing a 2-man scramble the day before, I was primed to go low for this Sunday round. I tee'd up on #1 and sent it directly into the tree 130 yards from the hole. After 7 more strokes, I crawled out of number one with a quadruple bogey, cut my losses, and was thankful to get the bad shots out of the way early.

Energy was low for my group as we approached the 134 yard par 3 second hole. My buddies were in the golf cart marking their scores, not paying attention to me on the tee box. I lined up my pitching wedge and skulled it dead straight. It hit the ground about 30 yards before the green, rolled up to the flag, and disappeared. Sure enough, they didn't believe me and had to see it for themselves. We drove up to the green and there it was, sitting in the bottom of the cup and I don't think I've ever been happier to be 2 over through 2.