It was a frosty, snowman-esque morning, here in cabo san lucas, where a four hour frost delay was looming in the horizon. My comrades and I were forced to consume many adult beverages prior to our glorious golf round of the day. The liquid encouragement had propelled me to a blistering start, birdying 5 out of the first 5 holes. Arriving at the daunting, compelling, insurmountable 6th hole standing on the tee at 249 yds, uphill, with a brisk wind in our face, I started to feel my hands shake, the nerves were tremendously painful, my toes were tingling, almost like frost bite. Knowing the side-effects of nerves, I made the wise decision to pull an extra club. I slowly pulled my titleist howitzer 1 wood. Halfway through my back swing, I could sense perfection. As the ball was struck, the sound was like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded like a combination of a vintage pirate ship cannon and the German WW2 Howitzer tank. The feathery soared into the air with the prettiest of draws, hammered did it fly. As it tracked towards the flag with the most epic spin to descent ratio, I had the forseeable vision of death. Scary. The ball landed 27 meters southwest of the pin, ricochet off a native giant scorpion, dancing its way right up to the pole, doing a tease before dropping. IN THE HOLE. It might have been my 8th ace in 2 years, but it was my favorite by kilometers. To cap off the experience, we took traditional spanish armada tequila worm shots to celebrate this victory.

-S. Strong