So there I was yesterday, on the 12th tee box, watching time stand still. A well struck 8-iron, with a controlled draw that barely missed the trees on the right, continued to work it way left, catching the right side of the heavily tilted, smooth-as-silk green on the venerable Somerset Hills golf course back nine. It was the hottest day of the year in the New Jersey, but up early and keeping cool, my twosome overlooked a beautiful lake with a little green carved into the side as my little Calloway number 4 came in for a soft landing.
The conversation on the tee box had been all about making a hole in one, but I don’t think what was about to happen ranks up there with Babe Ruth calling his homerun shot, or even Broadway Joe’s Super Bowl prediction (though those thoughts bounced around in my head). Upon hitting the green, my ball as if following orders made an immediate left turn down the slope towards the pin and the lake, and moved tantalizingly close to the intended target. We watched all of this from 135 yards away, and the ball appeared to have stopped. But no, it kept moving and before you could say “drinks on the house”, it simply disappeared.
My brother in law, who was nice enough to invite me out on this humid morning, and our trusted caddie, Mike, who brought up just moments earlier that the only hole in one that he had seen on that hole was from Charles Swartzel, the Masters champion, both jumped for joy. The twosome behind us, who must have been watching, also joined in the celebration. My reaction was rather muted, as if I expected this to happen (only kidding). Later, my kids would say it was “amazing” which I took as an insult to my finely tuned golfing ability (it is amazing this hadn’t happened sooner, right?). In any event, it was all quite exciting and of course, I had “post hole in one let down” as I popped up my next drive about 80 yards straight in the air.
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