My life wasn’t working out. There was such a huge gap between my dreams and me, that it felt like I was on a cold planet, far from any sun. I played in the US Open. I was cut. A once promising golfing career had abandoned me. My girlfriend left me. She said, “You’re not confident, anymore. You’re not a winner.”
When you get to the age of 35, you don’t care what women say, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re usually right.
My uncle took me out for hamburgers and fries, at Small Zs. It’s a joke. Everything there is big, and begins with the letter A.
“I know somebody who can get your golf game into shape. It’s not a question of skills, but of psychology.”
“Is he a sports psychologist?” I asked.
“Not really, but sort of. He’s a greens keeper.”
“I’m willing to do anything at this point.”
“Well, let me get you a ticket.”
“He works on an island. He’s getting it ready for professional play. The ferry comes every week. If he can’t get your game right in 7 days, nobody can help you. The shanks, are in your mind. He will get them out.”
“What’s his name?”
“Neb. I’ll take you to the ferry. It goes to skull island in four hours.”
To be continued…