They can't take this away from me:
It was my daughter Rose's last hole as a collegian, playing the Division 3 NCAA Championships at Sandestin in Florida, in 2013, for Illinois Wesleyan University.
She had played beautifully throughout the tournament. It was one of those weeks when she drove it straight, hit her irons well ... and could not buy a putt to save her life. There were at least a couple of dozen frustrated knee-bendings in 72 holes, as putts barely missed edges or lipped out that week.
At any rate, this was her third nationals, and she'd played well in all three. Playing No. 1 for her team, she was coming in to 18 last -- a three-shot par-5 dogleg left, with a water hazard short and left of the raised green. Her team and all of their parents were gathered behind the green. Her coach met her in the fairway as she walked toward her approach. She loved her coach, and her coach loved her. I think they were both in tears as they walked along; I know Rose was.
And then she calmed herself and stuck her short-iron (an 8 or 9, I think) about six feet right of the hole.
For the first time all week since the team's opening tee shots, I took out my video camera as she studied and then struck her birdie putt -- which took a little turn to the left and fell smack in the middle of the hole as everyone whooped and hollered her name.
At which point Rose and her coach weren't the only ones in tears.
I watched that video just the other day. Still gives me goosebumps. I'd post it here if I knew how.)
They can't take that away from me.
As for my own moment in the sun: I could tell you about a four-under nine I played last fall, which featured a kick-in birdie on 1, a long birdie putt on 2, a flop-shot hole-out birdie on 5, and a 128-yard hole-out on 8 ... but the truth is: I'm still waiting for it!
N.B. Wrote that in less time than it took J.B. Holmes to hit two shots on No. 18 at Torrey Pines.