It was only a mere two holes before that I said to myself, "I don't think I play well with these Titleists." I had just taken out the fresh pack I allocate for myself each round, thinking I would be less likely to lose my precious tour distance golf balls if I waited until after the front nine to use them. The banana slice off the tee was not reassuring. I got through the next hole without too much difficulty. Then, my dad and I parked at the tee box of the 14th hole par 3 at North Shore Golf Club. I measured 139 yards to the pin, which made it an easy club choice. I took out my PW and gave it a decent effort. I was fortunate not to pure it, as the wind would have surely carried it well past the green. I watched the little white ball sail through the air the way only a titleist can, never once wavering off line to the pin. I new this could have a chance. Unfortunately my dad never saw it in the air, but he could see the white circle plain as day against the sharp green backdrop once the ball bounced not 5 feet from the cup. That Titleist 3 never hit hit the grass again. I raised my arms to the heavens in utter disbelief. At 22 years old, I had achieved a feat some wait their entire lives to accomplish! The crescendo of dad's cheers matched the waning of my initial shock. Neither of us could believe what we had just witnessed plain as day. As I walked off the green on that eventful Friday, I said to my dad, "Maybe these Titleists aren't so bad afterall."