I’m retired, but I still remember a rainy, blustery day with my father on the rocky shore below the cliffs near Filey in Yorkshire, when I was about 13. No-one else to be seen. I know what I was wearing; I can still feel the rain on my face. Something about it was just magic.
And three or four times each round you hit a near-perfect shot, and it feels great. And you become convinced that those perfect shots are what you’re actually capable of, if you could just put all of them together for once, and spend every round looking for that perfect game.
Down.