So two weeks ago we had our RICC fall member member.
The good. Craig Fisher and myself played seven 9 hole rounds in 2 1/2 days and we won our division. Further exciting was that I won a Titelist 3w during a raffle the first night, I won a single net skin with a chip on 15 for a 3 for 2, I won money for our division, and more money for para mutual bet on myself and two other friends.
Now the bad. The last 2 holes I had a mental breakdown... pumping ball after ball out of bounds, and crawling to the finished line. Craig's shoulders were strong!
Now the ugly. We came back to the club house to watch the scores get posted with a big ass Guinness. I was still in comatose mental state. After three long days of golf I just wanted to go home. I thanked Craig (never actually said good bye), collected my winnings, jumped in my car, and scooted home as fast as I possible could. About 5 minutes after arriving home, lying in peace on my bed, the phone rings. Its Craig, "David, where are you? You picked my up this morning.... remember?"
What a total douche bag move!
We are still friends...
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