Blake Snow

writer-for-hire, content guy, bestselling author

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What’s my age again?

This just in: Further proof that I’m a teenager trapped in a man’s body.

After a rather disappointing 16 holes of golf last month, I decided to hit a practice shot into a ravine while waiting for 17, which was on the outside edge of the course. As I setup my shot from the side of the tee box, my buddy threw down a verbal challenge: “Try and hit that moving truck on the opposite side of the valley.”

Without thinking, I quickly teed my ball. Since the distance to the other side was so far, I swung half-jokingly, paying no mind to what might happen.

It was a beautiful shot. The farthest I’d hit all day. And it was headed right for the 18-wheeler hauling two trailers of who knows what.

“It’ll miss,” I thought to myself, only to see my ball fade to the right, on exactly the same trajectory of the moving truck.


I hear the sound of metal being struck (possibly the passenger door). It was loud, but it didn’t break anything. The truck driver slowed, obviously trying to figure out what hit him. Poor guy. There was no way he could have spotted me. I was several hundred yards diagonally behind him.

Nevertheless, I was overcome by embarrassment. In amazement, my buddies were laughing. “What were you thinking?” left my lips for the umpteenth time.

“Don’t worry,” my other friend jested. “It’s only vandalism.” (Thanks, Tim.)

Fortunately, no harm was done. The truck resumed his speed and went about his business. But imagine if I would have hit his window. What a dumb thing to do.

The takeaway: Never drive a semi near a golf course with me on it. And ladies, don’t let your husbands hang around other men for prolonged periods. They do dumb things together. Even at 31. At least man-children like myself.