Wasn’t even supposed to play — added last minute to a work scramble at Pelican Hill. Rented clubs, no warmup, just vibes.

Had been ripping the rental driver all day, said I wished we had one more par 4 to swing away. Instead, our last hole: downhill par 3, 120–130 out. Hit second. Grabbed an 8 iron.

Just wanted to finish strong — ball came off a little left, caught a slope, spun around the fringe and rolled onto the green… tracking.

Looked through a viewfinder — figured we had a 2-inch tap-in. But when we walked up, the ball was resting between the edge of the cup and the pin, hanging in the hole.

Then a groundskeeper rolled by shouting:

“WHOSE BALL IS THAT? YOU JUST GOT A HOLE IN ONE, BUDDY!”

Unreal.