On the seventh hole at Torrey Pines North, it was only about 270 yards from the green tees. Driver territory. A tempting little par 4 where you can imagine yourself putting for eagle before you’ve even put a tee in the ground.
But I was playing well that day. I chose a 5-iron. A sensible decision. Keep the good round going, find the fairway, and leave myself a comfortable second shot of about 70 yards, maybe less. Very grown-up golf.
And I hit it beautifully. A little draw, a tailwind helping it along. As tee shots go, this one looked like it deserved a quiet nod of approval.
Then I found my ball in a bunker, about 50 yards from the pin.
My 5-iron is normally my 190-yard club, but it had gone 228 yards.
Was it the tailwind? A firm fairway giving it a generous bounce and roll? Some combination of the two? I don’t know. All I knew was that I’d picked the sensible club, made a lovely swing, and earned myself a 50-yard bunker shot. Thank you very much.
Still, I had a shot. I stepped into the sand with my 50-degree wedge and hit another one that felt really good. For a moment, the hole seemed ready to cooperate.
It wasn’t.
The ball came up about a foot short of clearing the greenside bunker and settled tight beneath its lip.
Two shots I was happy with, both finding very difficult bunkers.
The new lie was worse. The ball was tucked so tightly beneath the lip that I wasn’t sure I could get it out. Considering the lie, I hit another good bunker shot and got it onto the green.
The pin was on the top tier. My ball was on the second tier, about 40 feet away.
Of course it was.
I had no expectation of making it. I putted.
And it went in.
Forty feet. Up to the top tier. In the hole.
What a hole. What a ridiculous, wonderful par.
A moment earlier, I’d been thoroughly fed up with this hole. Now I had a story I wanted to tell. The scorecard would record a perfectly ordinary 4, with no room to explain the 228-yard 5-iron, the ball tucked beneath a bunker lip, or the putt that rescued the whole production.
That’s the maddening part of golf. You can hit a shot you love and hate where it finishes. You can stand over a putt expecting nothing and get the best moment of a nasty hole.
Every hole has room for its own little drama. This one managed optimism, frustration, doubt, and a happy ending in four strokes. This is why we hate and love this sport.