When the kid picked himself up off the ground after his John Daly--esque swipe and asked where the ball had gone, well, my brother and I were pointing at a rocket zooming high on the horizon toward the 3rd tee, which sat directly behind the 5th green. And we were yelling, "Fore! Fore! Fore!" The ball hit the ball washer next to the 3rd tee, a 180yard carry, then caromed backward onto the 5th green, leaving a 21/2-footer that he made.
Next Stop, Magnolia Lane
The kid carried himself with a spry confidence for the rest of the nine, standing more steadily over shots and taking more care to realize the possibilities that abound when a ball is struck in the middle of a squared club face. He's getting a later start than Tiger Woods, and he might not yet have the discipline and powerful muscles of Jack Nicklaus, but he has a shot at getting there. That kid's mother is going to kill me, I swear.
Remember, kid, only so firm as to not let the bird escape, and gentle enough to not injure tweety, all right? May Old Tom Morris have mercy on your soul, and by all means take dead aim. Shoot, yes!