Reginald “Reggie” Weston kneeled and closed his eyes. He reached out his right hand and delicately brushed against the grass on the first hole tee ground in veneration.
It was a freezing June morning at the Blue Course of the Virginia Beach Resort. The air smelled of dew and grass, along with a rare mix of adrenaline and promises.
In a nutshell, it smelled of golf.
The young American opened his eyes and smiled. He was twenty-two years old and just a rookie. He had started the pro circuit, the famous PGA, a year earlier, but knew the quiver shaking his body every time he held the club in his hands was the same one felt by more seasoned players.
“A great course, isn’t it?”
The voice behind him interrupted Reggie’s private moment, forcing him to turn.
“Yeah, it’ll be a privilege to play
