Here’s a short story based on your prompt. The Losers Foursome
Leo took the card. “Same time,” he said. “We’ll get ‘em next Tuesday.”
Then came Sam, the group’s designated “good athlete who inexplicably chokes at golf.” He had shanked a warm-up putt so badly it had rolled into the creek. Now, with genuine terror in his eyes, he swung. The club slipped. The ball rocketed backward, missed Leo’s ear by a centimeter, and embedded itself in the base of the starter’s sign: “Welcome to Crestwood Pines.”