ByEdward Horan, writer at

Get that win. That's what they always told me.

I'm Shooter McGavin. You may know me as that guy who stole that jacket from that jackass Happy Gilmore back at the golf tournament, and you know what? I will bet you money that that's the only time you've ever followed anything, anything, even remotely related to the sport of golf. Nobody cares about golf. Nobody ever has. Except that one time, maybe.

But I digress. I'm here to talk about my early life, right?

When I was a kid, my parents signed me up for classes in everything. They were sure they'd birthed a genius in something, and eventually they'd find it. But I couldn't draw, sing, or play piano, basketball, or soccer-not even to save my life. They always said they were still proud of me, but the look on their faces every time I screwed up again... I still have nightmares about that face.

Well, they were right in the end. I had a genius in me-for golf. My parent's didn't even think of it, so I didn't learn until I picked up my dad's club at 16. It felt so good... my parents saw and instantly signed me up for golf classes at their club. I got better so fast, the teacher thought it was a record. I entered my first tournament 9 months after I started taking lessons... and I won. I won! Me! I was a genius! My parents were happy, but they weren't too surprised. That was the best part. They knew all along.

I played golf at college, hit the pros, and the rest is... history. I mean, you all heard about the last part, but none of you know that I had that too! I was the golf genius! I cared! I worked for all this! Me! Don't you get it? Me!

God damn it.


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