Ty's good friend Eric (we actually call him Rock) came in town last night to stay with us on his way to Natchitoches for the weekend. Rock is known to pop in to town at the last minute, and we are always happy to accommodate his travels.
Rock is also known to leave our house in the middle of the night while we are asleep. I'm not sure why, it's just what he does. So now, I am conditioned to check the driveway first thing in the morning to see if he actually stayed the entire night. There's about a 50/50 chance his car is still there.
Yesterday after Rock rolled into town, he and Ty decided they would get in a round of golf at Westwood. With lights on half of the course, the boys could get in a late round after the sun went down.
I told Rock, "Today's your day for a hole-in-one."
He was doubtful because he said he'd never had one. I reassured him that tonight would be his night. Since more than half of the course is made up of Par 3s, odds were in his favor. Or at least more in his favor than usual!
Around 8:45, Ty text me, "Hole in one for Rock! 15."
I couldn't believe it. I thought for sure they were pulling my leg, so I called Ty only to find out it was true.
Rock made a hole-in-one on number 15, and among the first words out of his mouth were, "Steph called it."
It can probably be attributed to chance more than anything, like the circumstances surrounding most hole-in-ones. Most people have hit really solid shots and come really close in their lifetime, but whoever really knows why a certain shot decides to drop in the cup?
I've played more rounds at Westwood than most people. I've even had several close calls. But the ball has never dropped in the cup for me.
Fate's never been on my side. But maybe I should test my gift and try calling another hole-in-one. My brother said he would like me to tell him the same thing before his round Saturday morning.