“Fore…”
“Again? ”
When watching the little white dot disappearing in the sands in the irregular contoured traps, my heart was turning colder.
I don’t remember who the first person was that called me the Bunker Prince. To me, it wasn’t a nice name, while at least I wasn’t fond of it at the beginning, but I was forced to accepted it after the numerous times that I stroke my golf balls into the bunker, I fulfilled my destiny.

There is no way for me to accept that I am doomed to fail in Golf. I love this game, but I just… a bit lack of luck, while the luck maybe comes with tens of thousands of practice or maybe just… course managements. For me, I must accept, it is a bit different that my problems are always related to the self-inflating moments. When the striking condition is tough, I refuse to take the safer strategy. The tipping points of my game lie in the moments when I am boasting my “skills”. The unrealistic stretching of my luck has brought me the most of the painful depressions.

“Prince?” why not “king?” Is it another sneaky expression that in it the satire would be seemed wiser? Maybe when being called king, the person should be the really good at the technique when facing the bunker and the rescue moment would be pretty enjoyable and with better “luck”. I believe the answer is “who knows…” However, one thing is for sure that golf is a mind game that it means everyone who loves this game should face the challenges from self. Fighting self is the toughest thing for every individual but it is an unavoidable fate of human beings—no one can escape.