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Feherty is the man........
I could read his stuff all day......
Call IT, bitches
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indyfrisco
- Pro Bonfire
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- Joined: Fri Jan 14, 2005 1:15 pm
I melted regularly in high school while on the golf team. I once shot a 75 with a triple on 18. I then had to go home and get my swim trunks because I threw my putter in the lake.
In one tournament, I hit a wedge from about 130 in the rough under a tree. Hit it so fat the divot went further than the ball. I threw my wedge stright up in the air only to get it stuck in the tree. After 3 more clubs got thrown int he tree trying to get the wedge down, I gave up. When I told my golf coach after the tourney that I needed to get out back on the course to retrieve my club, he didn't believe my story that I hit a root on my swing causing so much vibration that as I was finishing my follow through I had to let the club go. My swing was of such strength it went 30 feet up into a tree.
The 10 miles I had to run for that melt should have learned me, but I still was a club thrower/breaker. Ultimately, it was what caused my demise in golf.
My senior year we hosted the district tournament on my home course. I was the #1 player on my team and probably in the top 5 in district. I had some college scouts looking at me from smaller schools like Sam Houston St. and Stephen F. Austin.
Anyhow, the day before the tourney, I had been working on my putter. I like to hold my putter closer to my body causing the tip of the putter to be off of the ground. So, I used a propane torch to heat the steel shaft on my Ping Zing 2 to bend the shaft a little so the putter head would lie flat on the ground when I addressed the ball. This worked well. Did some practicing and my putting was ready for the tourney.
I shoot a 74 on day 1. First hole of the tourney on day 2. Par 5 about 525 yards. I hit driver then 3-wood. Ball is on the lower tier. Pin is on the upper tier. I hit my putt and it hits the lip and goes about 8 inches past the hole. I walk up to it to tap in my birdie. I hit behind the ball and it hangs over the front edge of the cup. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!! I scream as I am slamming the putter against my foot multiple times.
The faggot I am playing with asks me if I bent my putter. I say no. I said I had bent it prior to the tournament. I showed him the black burnt part of the shaft from where the torch had burned the steel. He says he thinks I bent it. I tell him to fuck off and play.
So I finish the fron 9 at even par. Ready to go to the back. I am leading the tourney by about 5 strokes at the time. My team wasn't doing so well, but if I hold my ground and finish in the top 3 I make it to State Regional tourney where I will undoubtedly get more visibility from scouts.
This faggot piece of shit goes up to his coach after the front and says he is going to call a penalty on me for altering the club during the course of play and continuing to use it. My coach comes to me and asks me about it. I tell him the same thing. Show him the burn mark from the torch. He believes me. THe other player's coach believes me. However, it is up to the other player who is scoring me to make the call. He calls the penalty.
The penalty for this? Disqualificaiton. I'm 2 over par after 27 holes with a 5 stroke lead and I get DQed in my final tournament in high school competition. I wanted to KILL that mother fucker. I still want to. My golf career ended there, and now I'm a shell of my former self as far as my game goes.
I wouldn't trade my life now for "what might've been". I love my wife and kid. I loved going to A&M just as a student. No...I wouldn't trade it for the world to see what might've been. However, I'd sacrifice my entire golf game just to have that old Ping Zing 2 putter in my hand and the little fucker who called the penalty on me in front of me so I could complete the meltdown.
In one tournament, I hit a wedge from about 130 in the rough under a tree. Hit it so fat the divot went further than the ball. I threw my wedge stright up in the air only to get it stuck in the tree. After 3 more clubs got thrown int he tree trying to get the wedge down, I gave up. When I told my golf coach after the tourney that I needed to get out back on the course to retrieve my club, he didn't believe my story that I hit a root on my swing causing so much vibration that as I was finishing my follow through I had to let the club go. My swing was of such strength it went 30 feet up into a tree.
The 10 miles I had to run for that melt should have learned me, but I still was a club thrower/breaker. Ultimately, it was what caused my demise in golf.
My senior year we hosted the district tournament on my home course. I was the #1 player on my team and probably in the top 5 in district. I had some college scouts looking at me from smaller schools like Sam Houston St. and Stephen F. Austin.
Anyhow, the day before the tourney, I had been working on my putter. I like to hold my putter closer to my body causing the tip of the putter to be off of the ground. So, I used a propane torch to heat the steel shaft on my Ping Zing 2 to bend the shaft a little so the putter head would lie flat on the ground when I addressed the ball. This worked well. Did some practicing and my putting was ready for the tourney.
I shoot a 74 on day 1. First hole of the tourney on day 2. Par 5 about 525 yards. I hit driver then 3-wood. Ball is on the lower tier. Pin is on the upper tier. I hit my putt and it hits the lip and goes about 8 inches past the hole. I walk up to it to tap in my birdie. I hit behind the ball and it hangs over the front edge of the cup. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!! I scream as I am slamming the putter against my foot multiple times.
The faggot I am playing with asks me if I bent my putter. I say no. I said I had bent it prior to the tournament. I showed him the black burnt part of the shaft from where the torch had burned the steel. He says he thinks I bent it. I tell him to fuck off and play.
So I finish the fron 9 at even par. Ready to go to the back. I am leading the tourney by about 5 strokes at the time. My team wasn't doing so well, but if I hold my ground and finish in the top 3 I make it to State Regional tourney where I will undoubtedly get more visibility from scouts.
This faggot piece of shit goes up to his coach after the front and says he is going to call a penalty on me for altering the club during the course of play and continuing to use it. My coach comes to me and asks me about it. I tell him the same thing. Show him the burn mark from the torch. He believes me. THe other player's coach believes me. However, it is up to the other player who is scoring me to make the call. He calls the penalty.
The penalty for this? Disqualificaiton. I'm 2 over par after 27 holes with a 5 stroke lead and I get DQed in my final tournament in high school competition. I wanted to KILL that mother fucker. I still want to. My golf career ended there, and now I'm a shell of my former self as far as my game goes.
I wouldn't trade my life now for "what might've been". I love my wife and kid. I loved going to A&M just as a student. No...I wouldn't trade it for the world to see what might've been. However, I'd sacrifice my entire golf game just to have that old Ping Zing 2 putter in my hand and the little fucker who called the penalty on me in front of me so I could complete the meltdown.
Goober McTuber wrote:One last post...
