“what do you mean?”
I was driving in a car strewn with brown McDonald’s bags and quarter-full Coke bottles when my 17-year-old nephew suddenly threw all his Scotty Scheffler at me. At this summer’s British Open Championship, the world’s top-ranked golfer asked that question, pondering why shots, tournaments, and majors are so important to him when they aren’t actually the things he values most.
Only my nephew was probably from an even number more An existential place, perhaps with just a touch of teenage fear for life after 19.
“For example, if I play golf as a hobby, just “I play golf for fun,” he thought, “What’s the point of playing golf?”
Adding to his anxiety was the reason for our trip. It was a college golf visit. he was working hard. He claimed to have read this website. But what if they don’t want him? What if, well… golf was just golf?
“You can get another shot,” I said.
he didn’t agree. I continued.
“Maybe by the time you’re 20 or 30, you’ll be really great. Or maybe you’ll never be great. But I always think that way. another shot. Bad drive? try to recover. Bad hole? There are others too. Bad round? Come again tomorrow. Maybe it will all come together. Probably not. You are in control. ”
It’s a bit of adult fun.
Or maybe I was just full of naysayers.
Because I don’t always do that. take another shot. You are not always behind the wheel.
Someone else may be driving.
Ironically, the same thought occurred to me about 10 hours ago when I saw headlights a few inches from my head.
At 10:30 the night before, the rideshare I was riding in got T-boned after the car ran a stop sign. Both the driver and I were hit on the driver’s side, where we were sitting. The car flipped onto its roof. It skidded about 25 yards. The car somehow got its tires back on after falling into a ditch.
Of course, you can see the results. After all, I’m the one writing this. I took the photo above. What else do you want to know?
OK?
Yes, that’s right. I felt pain on my left side. It turned out that I had broken my ribs. I bruised my right ankle. My right hip is starting to feel weird. There was a cut on the top of my head. I was wondering which bone I would break if I was forced to choose something, but I chose ribs, so I guess that’s a good thing.
Have you ever joked about what happened?
I keep saying to my wife, “Will the other person’s car be okay after I hit it?”
How is your wife doing after this?
She doesn’t understand me very well.
What about the driver? What about other drivers?
Good, all things considered at the time. The person who attacked us needed an ambulance but apparently is okay.
ambulance?
Oh, and when I finally got out of the car, there were headlights everywhere. Apparently a passerby called 911. After a little searching, I also found the audio of the police report. In the end, two ambulances, two fire trucks, and five or six police cars arrived, and one of them took me to my accommodation. The officer and I actually talked a little about golf.
Do you have any random ideas?
You have no idea.
please tell me.
My flight that night was delayed. The rideshare also took a different route than I’m used to.
Any unexpected thoughts?
Want to hear about my seat belt?
Please continue.
No corresponding latch was found.
Oh my god.
So I was going to let it go. I’ve done it before, it’s stupid. But as we were leaving the car, I turned on my phone’s light, found it, dug it out and latched it.
oh.
What should I ask about my golf clubs?
surely. Are they still in one state?
they are. You might even be able to connect some dots. We lowered the right rear seat and placed the club there perpendicular to the trunk. If they had been on the left, I probably would have hit the road when the car rolled over.
holy…
There are others. The clubs came in a travel case with a hard-shell top that prevented the backseat door from caving in, but that door was the only one that didn’t cave in. I was able to get out. You never know how important that is.
Unrealistic. So, what was it like the moment the car stopped?
Desperate. Our phone kept calling 911 over and over again. The technology was impressive. I wondered if I would be okay. I had my blood tested. I checked to see if I could move it. I asked the driver if he was okay. Surreal.
What was it like during the impact?
To be honest, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.
What do you think?
Car lights shine at us. Shock at impact. something unknown. One moment you’re looking down at your phone. For the next 15 years, you feel stagnant and things become eerily fundamental. When will the car stop? What happens along the way? I said something to myself as well, as the car skidded onto its roof and my head was inches from the pavement.
What?
Not now. Not now. Please stop now.
Over and over again.
And it wasn’t.
How did my recent rideshare experience end? Nick Piastowski
After the police car dropped me off, I ate a Subway sandwich. My nephew bought it for me. He knew I would be coming later and knew I was hungry.
After about 6 hours and probably two sleeps that night, we were off again. It hurt. Sneezing is the worst. If you want to know what that feels like, pick up a 7-iron, hand it to someone, and tell them to swing it toward their ribcage. But I had enough to go. We stopped at McDonald’s. We visited the school. I spent the night there. I returned the next day. The next day, I got a call from my college golf coach. He wanted my nephew to join the team. oh yeah.
He will always be a Capital G golfer. What do you mean? He was answering his own question.
but …
As I told him, he too has been shot.
Like I got after the accident.
So if they’re there, take them, because you never know where they’re going.
Or when they are gone.
caveat! Golf is a metaphor for life! caveat! Was there a little too much melodrama? probably. Blame it on the painkillers.
But take a shot. Please take it as many times as you like.
And be grateful that you can take those shots and that those shots might take you somewhere, even if it’s just a different shot.
That’s the point.
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