The shanked golf shot is more disease than disability. It seems to come out of nowhere and often disappears just as suddenly. For the unlucky few, the shanks can linger on and play in the background like an unwanted song that you just can't shake; "I Love the Nightlife" by Alicia Bridges, "Super Freak" by Rick James or just about anything from Air Supply come to mind. The truth is, I have been prone to the occasional shank for more than two years now. Every time I think I have gotten rid of it, out it pops again. Shanks for nothing, Rick!

The shank occurs when the club's hosel hits the ball and the resulting shot careens to the right like a motorist trying to avoid a stray dog. Unlike the motorist, odds are you will hit the dog, or more likely one of your golf buddies. After yet another shank-filled round of golf, I decided it was time to figure out my ailment once and for all. I was looking for a little shankshot redemption.

I worked on it all weekend and only took breaks to eat, drink and find my stray shots under the hedge. It went on like this for hours, days, then weeks, but it always ended the same: head hung low, sand wedge dragging behind me, and my daughter encouraging me to "keep up the good work." Most days I could muster a smile, but some days I just mumbled under my breath about watery graves, buried lies and blind second shots. I needed a shank shrink.

But before that could happen, I snapped. After 10 shanks in a row, I put my wedge over my knee and snapped it in two. I stormed into the kitchen, showed my family the current state of my game, and vowed never to play again. They say the best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago or today; in that spirit, I planted my club in the garden, right next to the tomatoes. Shanks for the memories.

My daughter was waiting for me when I walked back into the house. She had a grave look on her face — equal parts sadness and disappointment. I was in trouble, I shouldn't have broken the club, it was immature.

"Dad, you can't quit golf, it's your passion, it's what you love to do. Sometimes, we get frustrated, but that's no reason to quit," she said.

I was shocked; I thought she was going to bring up the broken club; instead she spoke to my broken spirit. "You don't understand, I can't take this anymore. Nothing's working."

"Dad, consider this your opportunity to overcome adversity. This is a difficult time, I know, but it's your time to prove what you are made of." She was right, of course, but when did she become a 12-year-old Tony Robbins?

Her words were pointed and on mark, but it was the look on her face that got me. I saw the concern in her eyes, concern for me, and I knew I couldn't quit golf any more than I could quit breathing. It is my passion. I still need a shank shrink, but it's nice to know that my first lesson in golf and my latest in life was a success. Shanks kid, for believing in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.