For those who don't know, the 600-yard, par 5 18th at the country club, it has a dogleg left at about the 300-yard mark, but if you can drive with authority, you can cut the corner. Adrian Garcia, the legendary athlete from days or yore who had no more beer to drink, wanted to get to the 19th hole as quickly as possible so he decided to hit the ball over the forest of palms on his left.
He took a deep breath and smacked a ball that disappeared in the distance. I don't think Babe Ruth hit homers that far. I was smoking a joint and driving the cart. Adrian asked if I saw where it might have landed, but I told him I was having one of those paranoid dope moments thinking about death and I couldn't help him.
We drove around the bend and down the middle of the fairway toward the green, but we couldn't find the ball anywhere. We stopped at the edge of the green. In my paranoid state--it was Austin hydro--I thought I saw a snake slithering across the green. I walked behind it and it disappeared into the cup. I couldn't imagine a cup that deep, so I followed my curiosity to the hole where, lo and behold, I discovered a golf ball.
"Were you hitting a Callaway 2020?" I shouted to Adrian.
"Yeah. How did you know?" he asked.
"Here it is, cabrón."
He shook his head and remarked, "This must be my lucky hole. I've made three hole-in-ones now on the 18th. Maybe the yardage is off. The sign reads 600, but I would estimate it isn't much more than 575."
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. It was the snake and it was headed toward the clubhouse. Beers were on Adrian.
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