THE PUTTER

“A little tap, nothing but one more stroke and I win the game” thought Peter taking his position about 70 cm from the hole. A shudder of emotion ran through his body and a teasing smile brightened his features. He was already basking in victory.

His joy was proportional to the unavoidable deception that began to color the face of his rival and friend, Tom. “I need to grip the club, aim well and reproduce the swinging of a pendulum, ok, that’s it, exactly the rhythm that I need to tap the ball.”

He took his stance, placed his shoulders in the direction of the putt, relaxed and tapped the ball perfectly. But just at that precise moment, arrived a totally unexpected breeze that nudged the ball a couple of centimeters. A sudden, horrible, detestable, rotten breeze which for months will deeply trouble the sleep of Peter.