While living in Hawaii, I belonged to a golf group that played at several courses on Oahu and made quarterly weekend outings to other islands.
I had a Mazda Miata. My Big Bertha clubs fit neatly into the trunk space.
One fine early morning, drizzly and chilly (by Hawaiian standards), I'm on my way to play in the league. Since missing tee time results in a cash penalty, I'm in a hurry.
I get to the pro shop only to find out that I'm at the wrong course.
Now, tensed up and angry, I have to drive halfway across the island to beat the tee time.
No putting practice time. No warmup time. Hit the first tee in 1 minute or pay up.
I made it. Barely.
Hole 3. Par 5. I tee off. When I find the lay of my ball, I realize that if I use my new Heaven Wood (a 7 wood), I might actually make the green in 2 and have a chance of putting out a 3 or a 4 on a Par 5 hole.
I get out on the rough. It's chilly. It's raining. I'm tensed up. I swing.
I end up on the ground in excruciating pain.
The Marshall had to remove me lying in the floor of his cart because I couldn't stand up.
After several minutes on a bench at the front of the establishment, I manage to get my clubs into my Miata. But I could barely stand to move to shift the clutch.
Drove all the way home with second gear screaming at me, and never did see a stop sign or traffic light. Good thing I never saw a policeman, either.
Later ended up at Tripler Army Medical Center, taken by ambulance.
Unlike my multiple last hunting trips, that was my last golf game.
But like my multiple last hunting trips, I keep the Calloways in the garage.
Just in case.