There's an unwritten ritual after the ninth green. Someone starts doing math they probably should've avoided. "If I can just play the back in two over... I've got to get those three-putts back."

It's funny how quickly we start negotiating with a round that's already happened. The front nine is history. It has no interest in being revised.

If you'd asked me at twenty-five what forty-five would look like, I doubt I would've mentioned carrying a golf bag. And that would've been my loss. The best parts of life often arrive disguised as detours.