Hancock

Whereas some of the courses we played were cow pastures, Hancock was instead an abandoned logging project. Fairways were basically just dead grass, and you essentially were hitting off berber. Easily the crappiest course we played, but home to maybe the best moment of the year. Some guy in a stained polo shirt (later determined to be brother of the club pro) walks behind the bar, mumbles something about 5 o'clock somewhere, takes out a styrofoam cup, fills it with ice, and then fills that with just vodka, and walks out. It was almost, but not quite, noon.