It was summer in the year 1999 and I was visiting a friend, John Mick, in Kalamazoo, with plans to travel north to a disc golf tournament in Grand Rapids, at Earl Brewer Park. We made the trek, but I didn’t play due to a recent injury I’d sustained. Instead, I followed a few groups during the two rounds, watching as a spectator.
When the last round had concluded, players were milling about as the tournament director prepared to close the competition. An announcement was made informing folks that a disc golf cart was being given away to the winner of a long putt contest, as part of a local fundraising event.
Just as everybody turned and began to move with interest toward the designated area, a second announcement was made: nobody had made a hole in one during the tournament, so money in the ace pool remained unclaimed and a shoot-off was getting underway. Not surprisingly, most everyone turned to head in that direction.
So, there I was, standing approximately 100’ from the basket, ready to take my shot. Aside from the guy in charge of the contest, I was the only participant on hand. I placed my folded $1 bill through a cutout slit in the lid of an empty coffee can, assessed the moderately strong right-to-left tailwind, took several steps and launched my running putt out to the right. My 172 gm KC Aviar was airborne…
Wouldn’t you know it, I canned the putt! A few other people were in route to take a shot, but saw that I had already made it, and walked away. No one else tried, and I won the disc golf cart for $1.