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When I was 13 I played the McCormick Ranch Pine with my grandfather, who was beginning to decline (he later drove his cart into a creek at ACC). I teed off into the fringe on #8 and chipped in for my first birdie ever. I stepped up to #9 and drilled this drive as hard as I could without flinging the club into the condo unit by the hole. The ball flew straight, low...right into a dove. To his dying day he laughed that I carded 2 birdies in a row. Memories.




I have a story similar to that. I always hated baseball. I could see that many decades ago, pedophiles had to have some way to attract small boys while simultaneously lulling them to sleep, but this is a new age and it's not necessary anymore.

Anyway, I learned how to throw curveballs at the age of 11, so I kicked ass while my arm was going dead. One day, I struck out four guys in an inning, mostly because they were scared shitless by how horrible my control was. Thankfully we had a kid that looked like the drum playing popsicle retard in SupaGrizz's avatar who was just a wall that I could bounce them off.

After the game, some kid gave me a ball with torn stitches and told me to hit it as far as I could. So I picked up this heavy bat (can't remember the weight of it now, but we could barely lift it), tossed the ball up in the air, swung it as hard as I could and pretty much imprinted a facsimile of Bill Buckner's signature permanently on this kid's forehead. He started seeing squiggly lines on the way to the hospital and was never quite the same after that. He used to blank out and smile while staring off into space. I'm pretty sure he's graduated to huffing glue and has four fingers left from lathe accidents at this point. I decided then that I liked ruining people's lives and this became a point of reference for me as I embarked on a career as a lawyer.
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