Miracle on the 17th Green (15 page)

Whistling like Fuzzy, I bent over to tee up my final drive of the year.
But as I stood back up, a strong gust lifted my Pebble Beach cap into the wind, and when I spun to snatch it back, I saw the same Christmas display tethered to a nearby house that had snapped me out of my reverie the year before.

Once again, it sent me fishing for my watch in a panic.

When I read the time, I had the urge to drop to my knees and kiss the semifrozen Winnetka dirt. I had spent a lot more time stretching than I thought. Maybe I even zoned out there for a while. But even if I ran into a parade and caught every red light in town, I could still walk into my house with plenty of time to shower and shave before Christmas dinner.

In fact, I could probably finish my round and still get home on time.

But I’d be cutting it close.

I didn’t even bend down to pick up my ball. I just threw my bag over my shoulder, and started running for dear life.