Two old buddies, Jack and Tom, are out on the golf course on a sunny Saturday morning.
They’ve been playing together for years — same course, same banter, same small bets that neither of them ever actually pays.
They’re on the 18th hole now, the game tied, and there’s just one short putt left to decide who “wins.”
Jack crouches down, studying the line like he’s reading a map to buried treasure. He takes his time — maybe a little too much time.
Tom grins, watching him fuss over the tiny two-foot putt, and finally says,
“Hey, no pressure, buddy… but if you miss this one, you’re walking home.”
Jack freezes for a moment, glances up with a dead-serious face, and says quietly,
“Good thing I wore my walking shoes.”
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