Many years ago, think wayback, Joyce and I traveled to Chicago for Mark and Barbs wedding. After driving all day and arriving around 3:30, checking in to the hotel, a quick trip to the liquor store, and cracking my first beer the phone rings. It’s my brother Bob, you know like Bob Dylan, and he says “are you ready to go golfing?”.

Not having seen Bob in quite a few years ans never having played golf as an adult I was thrilled and happy for the offer. Chugging t5he beer and downing a chot of whiskey I ran out the door with a fresh beer in hand. Down to our car for my clubs where Bob picked me up in his truck and off we went. The nine hole Downers Grove course was the closest and we were there in a flash.

Bob had played this course several times in the past with our dad so he knew it pretty well. I on the other hand had never seen this track before, had driven 9 hours, and only had one beer so I was at a distinct disadvantage. But I ‘ve never let that stop me before and that day was no exception.

With no warm-up off to the first tee we went. It was pretty miserable the first three holes going down 3 and 6. On the fourth hole I had a glimmer of hope putting my third shot up on the green about four feet from the par four flag, Bob was laying two about 75 yards out with a gapingly large trap between him and the pin. Alas alack he pops an eight iron up onto the green and plunk, right in the hole. Now down 4 and 5 we headed to the no. 1 handicap hole, a mere 389 yards away.

A very mediocre drive left me about 210 yards out , under a tree, with a bunker between me and the hole. Bob as uaual was right down the middle a few yards ahead of me. Thinking that I needed a miracle to stay relevant in th match I pulled out my four iron and lsced it to within three feet. Bob missed the green and valiantly chipped it up close, but I made my birdie to eztend the match being down 3 and 4.

Winning the next three holes, as my game was returning, we headed to the ninth tee all square. The ninth hole at Downers Grove was a long par five dogleg left with your tee shot over a lake and up a hiil to a plateau. I bombed my tee shot up the hill, over the dogleg, onto the flat part of the fairway. Bob hit his dejected lackluster tee shot to the right not quite to the top of the hill. After hitting his second shot to the right and about 125 yards out we went up to my ball. I was still about 240 yards out with no wind and a flat lie. I lit a cigarette, took a the last drink of my beer, and waited. Bob asked why I was waiting and I said I was waiting for the two guys ahead to clear the green “because I was going to put tmy three wood onto the green and close him out”. He said that I couldn’t reach the green from there and I said watch me.

Planning on hit my normal trademark fade I aimed to the left of the greenside bunker and hit the crap out of my ball. Muc to my chagrin and Bob’s delight I hooked it. Not just any hook, but a big snapper that over the fence, through the parking lot, and over the road to God only knows where. Stunned and confused I reached into my bag and pulled out another ball, dropped it down, and stared at it for a minute or two. Lined up my fourth shot to the right of the greenside bunkers and hit the crap out if it again. This time with only a slight hook where it rolled to the back of the green. On in four. Bob then hit his nine iron to the back of the green also, but one or two feet further back then my ball

Me laying four–Bob laying three the whole match came down to our putters. We both took quite a long time reading the the green and the break. It looked to me like it would break about two feet from left to right. A 35 footer down hiller breaking along the ridge line. I guess Bob thought the same thing and layed his putt right on the ridge and waited for it to break towards the hole. His putt was right where I would have hit my putt, but instead of breaking right, his putt broke left and rolled oved the ridge and rolled about 20 feet away. We both stood there with our mouths agape watching it break left. I walked towards the hole and the back. reading the break, the same as before. I studied the grain, the wind, the placement of the sun and still didn’t see anything to tell me that my ball would break left. All I knew was that Bob’s ball had broken and broken hard to the left. 33feet away and unsure of the break I rolled it down the hill about ten inches to the right of the cup. As it steadily rolled down the hill it started breaking left and as it got closer it broke even more to the left, and right into the cup. PAR 5. Bob still had his 20footer which he missed, and I closed him out any way despite my massive snapper, 1 and 0