On a randomly warm, sunny Sunday afternoon in January, I snuck out with two friends for nine holes of winter golf.  And something happened that utterly ruined a perfectly nice round that, frankly, I’m still mad about two months later.  So I’m hoping that committing the episode to writing will provide some cathartic relief.

I really try to keep a relatively long anger fuse, but every once in a while….

My rage has nothing to do with the way I played, anything my friends did, the wintry conditions of the course, or the pace of play.  It has to do with almost getting seriously injured, or worse, because of some Idiot did something that we all contemplate but rarely ever are dumb enough to actually do.

This Idiot hit into us from the tee.  His drive landed three feet left of me and two feet in front of me…with me…