On July 13, 1996, a horse named Cigar was at Arlington Park in an attempt to tie the record set by another horse named Citation of most wins in a row and I really wanted it to lose. Unlike the following race where it was forced to a fast 6 furlongs causing it to tire and lose to my delight, it ran a solid race and won. There was a close call with the horse I wanted to win as far as interference and stated the people who would make that decision would not have the courage to even look at it. That statement caused a huge argument with my father and I stormed out of the house with my golf clubs.
After hitting my drive off the second tee at Evergreen G.C., I twisted my right ankle getting off the tee box. Though it was sore, I could still walk ok and a few holes later realized that it kept me from over swinging. After waiting a short rain delay on 4, played the more difficult front 9 in a respectable 6 over par 42 gaining more confidence as I went.
Number 10 was 290 yards but it usually plays into the prevailing wind. With the northeast breeze that was in play and with my ankle feeling better, I launched my drive putting it on the green 10 feet from the cup. Though I missed the eagle putt, I had a birdie which was followed by one on 11 where the wind allowed me to play a short wedge second shot.
Though I bogeyed 12, a birdie on the difficult 14th down wind made up for that. The most difficult hole on the course, 15 played into the wind along OB on the right and I managed a double bogey keeping OB out of play. After pars on the last 3, shot a 6 over par 77 which was (and still is) the lowest score on a 18 hole round of golf that I will ever shoot.
Twenty year later to the date, I went to Round Lake to play at Squaw Creek Gold, the #1 rated disc golf course in Illinois for a league since I was unable to play in the World Amateur championship as my right elbow was not ready at the time I needed to register. It did not matter that my play over the previous couple weeks have deteriorated and I had confidence in myself.
The first 7 holes went ok though I did make a couple of errors but things unraveled on 8 and the rest of the round was a death march in and out of the woods at the edge of a storm. I had no idea where a disc was going nor how to correct it.
When I was done, I was an exhausted, disgusted, and thoroughly beaten man who realized he had enough and knew he should never again try to play. I sent a text contemplating whether I should to drive home or at high speed into a wall, threw my disc bag in the garbage, thanked the man in charge of the event for putting up with me, and left.
Ten minutes later, I realized my phone was still in my bag and headed back to discover that the same statement I have made to myself in the past after similar days at a bowling alley, golf course, or Scrabble tournament reads differently as a text message sent to another person and that I scared people.
After done talking on the phone to those I scared, went to the garbage and retrieved my equipment as the person in charge of the event stated he was going to do so anyway. Though I was in no mood to eat, I drove home without incident and the next morning went back to practice. Having a weekend out of town even though I was not in the mood at first to go was a benefit as well.
Being one week later, where am I?
Such is the not so normal world of the madman on the loose.