18-1. There are tee-shirts done in Patriots colors to mock the blemish on my home team’s just-short-of-epic season. Yesterday, baby-bro threw a one on the board and “the streak” is over. Today my ego is bruised and my muscles sore after a miserable 118 from the blue boxes. Yeah, I spent the glorious afternoon flailing aimlessly like a peasant swinging a sickle in an endless field of weeds. Still, I have to credit bro for playing a smart game. While I hack away with the heavy lumber spraying errant orbs every direction but straight, Corey wisely pokes an iron safely into the fairway. The big difference though, is in his putting. The three and four putts are history, and that was always my advantage.
Win or lose, it was a way over par day for golf and a heartwarming experience to see how far my brother has come.