It's 1981. Tom Lehman is manning the counter where students rent skis at the University of Minnesota, and wondering if he should give up that silly dream of playing professional golf to become the Gophers' coach.
You walk up to Lehman and offer him a deal: If he's willing to slog through the minor tours all across the globe, he'll make dozens of millions of dollars. He'll become the top-ranked golfer in the world. He'll win a major. He'll build golf courses and raise four children and become one of the best-liked players in the game.
But there's a catch: He'll have to live with the torture of missed opportunities. His career will pay homage to the Minnesota sporting tradition of wrenching almosts. He will lose when he seemed destined to win. His near-misses will fight for space on his mantelpiece with his trophies.
Would he take that deal, back in 1981? Of course. Anybody would.
But in sports, more so than in any other walk of life, No. 2 is treated with disdain.
If you become the second-most-powerful person in your company, you are a success story. If you finish second in a field of 80 professional golfers, as Lehman did this weekend at the 3M Championship, you are left to lament every stroke that could have cost you the tournament.
So I asked Lehman, late Sunday afternoon, if he thought of himself as a grand overachiever, or whether he lamented the championships that got away.
"That's a great question," he said. "I see both.