It was somewhere back in 1988 my friend and I were staggered to the first tee of the (Olympic) Lake Course with the most debilitating hangovers imaginable.
Gentlemen, I have not mixed beer and scotch since, although there were other not-quite-legal substances thrown in the midst to aggravate the situation. In other words, no sleep. No more of that sh*t since, either.
We both agreed this was a fools quest and were ready to walk in after the 2nd holes (as it is near the clubhouse) under the theory that our screaming headaches might go away with a brace of bloody marys and some reefer. . . .
Well, we were joined on the first tee with a middle aged gentleman who might have had a rousing good time himself at Cal. He reminded us - two former Frat Rats we are - that "real men play through hangovers and don't puss out."
The gauntlet was thrown down and for the sake of honor, Phi Gamma Delta and USC, we could not let this Golden Bear snicker at a pair of Trojans running for the bar with our tails between our legs.
So, off to the famous 3rd and the point of no return. At least we were man enough not to take a golf cart.
Next swing was a clanky 4-iron that skidded at the front of the
green and toppled onto the hole on its very last turn.
I know that because we were waved up by a friend of mine named Kenny who sat there and watched it fall in.
"Typical Gib," he shouted back at the tee, "you skull it and it goes in the hole. If it had been me, the ball would have hopped in the bunker."
Kenny has issues.
We were hurtin' too bad to do more than stumble down the hill and the celebration was rather subdued.
We both got around it in 79, an astonishing accomplishment given the throbbing and nausea. After our round, there were only five or six guys in the bar, so everyone enjoyed a round or two while we choked down some beer hoping to stop the shakes.
Looking back 15 years later, the day of that ace really was an epoch and epiphany in both of our lives. Not only did we go to school together, but we also were both in the process of taking over our family agriculture companies. It is tough to walk in the footsteps of a greater man than yourself you know.
Funny, but from that day forward we both started to clean up our acts a bit and maybe we are alive today because of it. Neither one of us are saints by any means, but before that day, methinks we were on an out-of-control train headed for Hell . . . . . did the ace have anything to do with it?
Tough to tell, but I remember that day for far more than the chance happening of a ball going into the hole.