Forest Lake on a Friday afternoon after the time change isn’t a golf course – it’s a flash mob for middle-aged dudes with misaligned life priorities.
The parking lot looked like they were giving away free Miller Lites with every bogey. Dirt lot overflow. A hundred people on the practice green. The driving range had more bodies than a Black Friday TV sale.
You didn’t show up to golf – you entered the system.
Duck Hook Jason and I rolled in for our 4:45 tee time knowing one thing:
We were about to be absolute trash.
Six months since we’d touched a club. No warm-up. No expectations. Just rusty swings and irresponsible optimism.
And then we got paired with Pat and Mike.
Pat is the dad – head to toe in New York Giants gear. Hat. Shirt. Headcover. Probably underwear if we’re being honest.
As a Lions fan, I recognized the look immediately:
A man who has suffered… and survived.
Which meant he might have the emotional resilience required to watch what we were about to do to this golf course.
Mike, his son, early 30s. They both work at Costco. And they had that energy – not chasing millions, not grinding hustle culture, just happy they carved out Fridays and Saturdays after ten years to go play golf together.
Honestly?
That’s the whole damn point.
Life’s still great when your KPI is “got a tee time with my dad.”
And here’s the thing – they were cool.
Like, genuinely cool.
Jason hits his first drive maybe ten feet – I’m talking closer to the ladies’ tee than the ball washer – and without hesitation:
“Breakfast ball.”
(Yup – 15 yards)
No judgment. No sigh. No “tough one.”
Just immediate forgiveness from the Golf Gods via Pat and Mike.
Life’s still great when your playing partners hand out mulligans like Halloween candy.
We settle in.
Ready golf. Good vibes.
Mike is clearly the best player in the group – mid-80s guy. Smooth swing, solid drives, decent touch.
…except when he wasn’t.
Because every now and then, Mike would find himself in the right-side bushes attempting what I can only describe as a multi-episode flop shot series.
Attempt one: optimistic.
Attempt two: concerning.
Attempt three: now we’re invested.
Attempt four: this is a Netflix original.
Pat, meanwhile, was respectable off the tee…
…but around the greens?
Absolute chaos.
Chipping for Pat wasn’t part of the game — it was a separate sport he had not yet been introduced to.
And then…
We caught the group in front of us.
These guys were playing golf like it was a historical reenactment.
Full pre-shot routine. Every shot. Every player. No ready golf. No awareness. Just four guys moving at the speed of AOL dial-up.
They weren’t even good.
Which, as you know, is a violation of golf chakra.
If you’re going to be slow, you better be chasing the course record.
If you’re going to be bad, you better be fast.
These guys chose the worst possible combination:
Bad… and ceremonial.
And that’s when Pat and Mike…
lost their absolute minds.
I’m talking about full transformation.
These were the same guys handing out breakfast balls like Costco hot dogs 20 minutes earlier.
Now?
We’ve got mid-fairway pacing.
We’ve got arms in the air.
We’ve got audible “HURRY UP!” calls.
Mike – who, again, we met 90 minutes ago – goes:
“I’m not afraid to throw hands.”
Sir.
We are on Hole 6 at Forest Lake, not the 18th at Augusta during a playoff.
The contrast was incredible.
Patient saints with two hackers actively committing golf crimes?
Totally fine.
Four strangers taking too long? Unforgivable.
Eventually, two of the slow group bailed after 10.
And to their credit, they rolled by and said:
“Hey, have a good round, guys.”
Totally normal. Totally friendly.
No tension. No drama.
But Mike?
Mike came flying over in his cart like a NASCAR pit crew chief.
“What’d they say?”
Ready. For. War.
We had to explain to him that no one had insulted his honor, his family, or his Costco membership.
Turns out Mike is a regular.
Beer cart lady gives him a hug before we even tee off – not a “nice to see you,” more like a “you again, you beautiful disaster” hug.
He’s talking about calling Thaddeus – the unofficial pace-of-play marshal of Forest Lake — like he’s got him on speed dial.
These guys weren’t visitors.
They were part of the ecosystem.
For me?
I had one moment.
Par 3.
7-iron. (Tee’d up, obviously – I generate zero loft otherwise.)
And I hit my one miracle shot – you know the one – where it’s in the air and for a brief, beautiful second…
Lands soft. Rolls out.
you believe.
Ends up about five feet past the hole.
Missed the putt, obviously.
But for one swing?
I looked like a guy who belonged on a golf course.
And that’s the thing.
You can be terrible for 17 holes.
Top drives. Chunk chips. Miss everything.
But you hit one pure shot…
and suddenly you’re back.
Hooked again.
Ready to come out next weekend and do it all over.
Because at the end of the day:
You’ve got Pat and Mike.
You’ve got a couple laughs.
You’ve got one shot you’ll remember.
And honestly?
Life’s still great with an 8!
Snowman Pairing Rating
8.5 / 10 – strong pairing.
Would I play with these guys again?
Absolutely – Great vibes, zero judgment, elite mulligan distribution. Slight deduction for potential on-course fistfight escalation, but honestly… that’s part of the charm.