A life (and golf) lesson learned, after my car went into a pothole

“What’s the point?”

As we drove around in a car loaded with brown McDonald’s bags and full bottles of coke, my 17 year old nephew went all Scottie Scheffler to me. At the Open this summer, the world’s top-ranked golfer asked that question as he explained why shots and tournaments and majors were so important to him, when they really weren’t.

Only my nephew was showing up maybe More The place that exists, with perhaps only the idea of ​​the youth’s fear of life after 19.

“Like, if I play golf to have fun again -honest Playing golf for fun, what’s the point of playing? “

Adding to his season was the reason for our trip: A college golf tour. He was working hard. He said he read this website. But what if they don’t want him? What if, well… golf was just golf?

“Because you’ll get another shot,” I said.

He doesn’t agree. I kept going.

“Maybe you’ll be really big when you’re 20. Or 30. Or never. But I always think you get Another shot. Drive bad? Try to recover. Bad hole? There are many. A vicious cycle? Come back tomorrow. Maybe it all comes together. Maybe not. You are in control. “

That’s some gooood adults there.

Or maybe I was full of blocks.

Because you don’t always Get another shot. You don’t always sit at the wheel.

Someone else may be driving.

Ironically, about 10 hours or so earlier, that thought consumed me, as I could see the headlights inches from my head.

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At 10:30 the night before, the rideshare I was riding in that was written on the back of the car started to sign. We were hit on the driver’s side, where both the driver and I were sitting. The car went onto its roof. We built about 25 yards. The car went down a ditch before somehow coming off its tires.

Obviously, you know the result. After all, I am writing this. I took the picture above. What else do you want to know?

Are you ready?

Yes, I am. I felt pain in my left side; It turns out that I broke a rib. My right ankle was injured. My right hip has been feeling funky. There was a cut on the top of my head. It made me wonder which bone I would choose to break if I was somehow forced to choose, and I went with the rib, so I guess it’s good.

Have you ever made a joke about what happened?

I keep saying to my wife that I wonder if the other car is okay after hitting me.

How is your wife doing after all this?

He is not sure about my head.

How is the driver? What about the other driver?

Well, at that point, all things considered. The person who called us needed an ambulance, but it sounds like he’s OK.

Hello?

Yes, when I finally got out of our car, hair lights were everywhere. A passerby may have called 911. After a short search, I even found the audio of the police call. In the end, there were two ambulances, two fire trucks and five or six police cars, one of which ended up driving me to my place. It’s great and actually talked to the little golfer.

Any thoughts on cleanliness?

You have no idea.

You say.

My flight that night was delayed. Rideshare also took a different approach than I’m used to.

Any extreme thoughts?

Want to hear about my seat belt?

Go ahead.

I couldn’t find a latch for it.

Oh no.

So I would give it up. I’ve done it before, stupidly. But as we were being pulled, I turned to the light of my phone, I saw it, broke it, fell on it.

Wow.

What to hear about my golf clubs?

Definitely. Are they still in the same session?

That’s right. Maybe you can connect a few dots, too. We lowered the rear seat back and put the clubs where they were facing the trunk. If they were on the left side, I might have hit the road when the car filled up.

Holy …

There are many. The clubs were in travel condition with a Hard-Shell Top, and the top prevented the rear passenger door from sliding – and that was the only door that didn’t. I was able to get out; You will never know how important that is.

Which is wrong. What are those times like, when the car stops?

Frantic. Our phones keep trying to call 911; The technology was impressive. I wondered if I was right. I’m looking for blood. I’m looking to see if I can walk. I asked the driver if he was good. Surreal.

What was the impact?

I keep thinking about this, honestly.

About what?

Car lights that fit into the body. A jolt in the valley. The unknown. Take a second to look down at your phone. Over 15, you feel stuck, and things happen the next day. When does the car stop? What will happen along the way? When the car was on its roof and my head was inches away, I said something to myself.

What was that?

Not now. Not now. Please not now.

Many times.

And it wasn’t.

After the police car dropped me off, I ate an underground sandwich. My niece got that for me. He knew I would come later and I would be hungry.

About six hours later – I slept maybe two nights – we were on our way again. I was in pain. Skiing is terrible. If you should be curious about what that sounds like, hold a 7 bell, hand it to someone, and tell them to take your grip off. But I could walk enough. We stopped at McDonald’s. We visited the school. He slept the night. Head back the next day. The next day, the college golf coach arrived. He wanted my nephew to join the group. Hell yeah.

He will continue to be a golf-g golfer. What is the point? He was answering his own question.

But…

He gets a shot, just like I told him.

As I had an accident.

So when they are there, take them because you never know where they will lead.

Or when they will end.

TEST! Golf is a metaphor for life! TEST! Was that too little melodrama? Maybe. Let’s blame the pain awards.

But take a shot. Take ’em again, again and again.

And give thanks that you can take those guns and that they can take you somewhere, even if it’s just another.

That’s the point.

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