All that separates me from the hole is one hundred fifty yards. That means perfection. At the age of ten my father brought me to the golf range and showed me a game I'd end up loving for the rest of my life. The range was as wide as texas but I was still managing to hit each of the sides like a madman playing pinball. He surprised me with a bazooka set of clubs made for someone who was much taller, but I made do with them. They weren’t the greatest set but the fundamentals they produced in my swing quickly became sharpened. As I grew bigger and my club head speed got faster, my old clubs started to deteriorate. As I would swing the clubs would bend like twizzlers. This spawned a new, unwritten chapter in my golf game. He had a set of Taylormade
