Allow me to set the stage for you.
You and some buddies head to South Carolina for a golf vacation. You end up in Myrtle Beach, the Las Vegas of golf trips, and you prepare to nine rounds of golf.
The preparation didn't go as smoothly as you wanted, and some of you are left calling a golf course in hopes of finding a free time that doesn't exist. Lucky for you, someone just canceled and you guys are in at 8:20 at Oyster Bay, just about 50 minutes from now.
You start your round on the 10th tee, and when you get to the 15th hole, your sixth of the day, you decide to take a little more club because you haven't been hitting it that well.
You cash that 9-iron for your first ever hole-in-one. Friends go ballistic. This trip has become "that one you won't ever forget" and you still have 12 holes to play.
Your golf game might not be as sharp as you had hoped, but when you get to No. 6, your 15th hole of the day, you pull a club and hit it right at the stick. The ball lands and releases. It's headed towards the pin. Things don't seem real. "What in the world is this game I'm playing?!"
It's in. A second ace in 15 holes. With your friends. On a golf trip.
That's what happened to John Ponter on his vacation, something that is calculated at 67 million to one, and it is one of the rare moments that make you both happy and extremely jealous at the same time.
Hey John, save at least one for the rest of us! We've been trying to knock down par-3 flagsticks for decades without any success!
(No, but seriously congrats, this is one of those stories you'll be telling people for the rest of your life, even if most of them will never believe you.)