The countrywide quarantine was only days away, too bad none of us humans could have predicted the future. I get on the bus early in the morning and head over to my first pro golf tourney, The Phoenix Open in Scottsdale.
I’m not really into golf, but I do enjoy a day on the links, cold beer in hand. It is the one thing that I can do with my father and brothers, and for those times together, I am grateful.
Those are the thoughts that stay with me as I move from hole to hole, taking in the lovely scenery and the spectacle of costumes people wear to an event such as this.
I dreamed about coming back next year with hopes of getting a pass to the infamously rowdy 16th hole, but who knows when spectators can return to watch sports in person.
It wasn’t long after this tournament that I was quarantined to work at home. A week after this I got sick. Did I get the corona virus, and if so, how?
It could have been at the Renaissance Festival, the Spring baseball training game, or at the golf tournament.
Or, I may not have contracted Covid, but just gotten sick. We’ll never know.
The next couple of months were pure darkness for me.
