It's the balls fault

After missing a putt four times in a row Sunday my golf ball went flying into the L.A. river.  I threw it in. It was a childish reaction to say the least and my mom made sure I knew it. My dad, Ross, and her proceeded to give me a good amount of shit for it. I needed it, because as a smile came across my face I realized, I’ve never played better pissed off.