9th hole Penmar. Crisp Sunday morning. Blast starts his takeaway. One piece, on plane, weight transfers to the right hip. Turn continues, hands in front of chest. Transition. Left knee moves towards target, right elbow drops into side, right hip starts to clear. Release. BLAST! Stay down. Follow through. Stop. Hold it. Watch it. 280 yards. Fairway. Kid Blast - The peoples champ.
Too bad they don't all go down like that. Like on the sixth hole when I snap pulled a bullet, bounced off 6 inch wide tree. I'm in the fairway, but only 75 yards from the Tee Box.
Up steps Todd "Coolest Nigga In America" Washington. Mr. "No warmup swings". He's been on some shit all day. This cat damn near drove the green on the first hole. 10 yards from Green. 15 yards behind Skill (Yes, Kid Kaboom drove the 1st green). 65 yards ahead of Bob Mack. Keep in mind T Wash is a brotha who routinely hits foul balls to the right out of the Tee box.
Not today. Bam. Straight. Fairway. Waayyy past my Pro V.
As we walk down the fairway, T Wash hits me with the: "Where you going Slade? You know your shit is back there."
Yeah. Real funny Washington.
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