I decided to golf a solo round with my new discs. I was on pace to settle for my 12 handicap when something horrible happened on the 15th hole. I hooked a forehand over a hill into dense woods. I suck at finding things because when I look for something I think 'I suck at finding things.' Maybe this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe not.
'This is why I'm in a poker slump,' I thought. 'I don't have the patience to see this through.' I decided then to find my disc no matter how long it took and go home to cut my losses. Thirty minutes passed. Finally a through golfer found my disc next to the hole. I gushed at him until he ran away. The disc must have caught an edge and rolled on the other side of the hill. I birdied for maybe the sixth time in my career.
I had no idea how to find my car, so I teed off on 16 and left myself with another easy birdie.
'This is just like 'Caddyshack' when the guy hits everything in the pouring rain,' I thought.
I threw a manly tee shot on the 17th, but a tree knocked it down. My lay was the kind that forces a golfer to throw away from the hole onto the fairway. But my luck was running as never before, so I lunged my groin out of its natural position and saw a narrow passage. It was a suicide shot, the kind that might hit any of the five trees three feet in front of me and land in my mouth.
I made it. It knew it was in when it was halfway there. I stood still to replay what happened in my mind. I stepped it off as 33 stumbling, uphill paces away. The view from the hole seemed as impossible as it had from my lay.
I parred the 18th to finish 6-up. Things like that have happened before, but this was the first time the universe bent for only me to see.
I returned home to the hole in the ceiling, the water-sucking thing and my mother saying that the house should have burned down days ago. I also found two ticks in my leg from the half-hour search.
'I experienced a miracle,' I thought in lieu of the domestic chaos. 'I'd better write this down.'