There was a new first hole at Rebsamen Park Golf Course, and it was impossible. Rock saw it for the first time with his former golfing partner Erin, a friend from Texas he had played with regularly ten years earlier. She was in town with her husband Chris, who hadn't yet arrived at the tee box.
The tee was enclosed except for a ten-by-thirty-foot opening, through which Rock could see the island green, five hundred yards away, further than he or almost anyone could or ever had hit a golf ball. The former fairway was under several feet of river water from tee box to green.
He pulled out a five-iron, which he proceeded to severely slice. His shot nearly hit an island a hundred fifty yards away before it splashed just in front, but Rock's second attempt took off like something from a dream, like no shot he or anyone else had ever hit. For a moment he thought it might actually reach the green. It fell a handful of yards short but was nevertheless an incredible, unprecedented effort.
Rock was disappointed when he looked to see that Erin missed it. Chris arrived a moment earlier, and she had walked to an adjacent room to meet him.
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