There’s no worse feeling than showing up to the first tee knowing you’re already at a disadvantage.
For the last year, my 'Golfer's Knee' had become a running joke in my Saturday foursome.
My handicap had blown out by five strokes, and I was losing bets I used to win in my sleep.
Last month, my buddy offered me a pity stroke. It was the ultimate insult. The pain wasn't just in my knee; it was in handing over the Benjamin at the end of every single round.