Tiger Woods has nothing on me!

So, I'm pretty sure that everyone BUT me will find this extremely hillarious...
On Wednesday, I had "man-time" with Paul, a PhD student that Kristin and I have gotten to know. We both like to golf but don't have a ton of money so we decided to go to the driving range. This would be a good time to mention that I don't have my clubs out here either, so I had to trade-off with Paul.
On our way out I told him a story about how once I had watched another friend lob the head of his 4 iron about 100 yards while the ball only went 20. Mind you, I did not belabor the issue, nor did I belittle the friend whose club ment such an untimely and unfortunate demise, so this wasn't a karma thing. Little did I know....
Everything was going fine (I actually hit quite a few good shots!)-it was warm-ish, cloudy (but no rain), the deer were grazing about 325 yards out (knowing full well that very few shots, if any, would ever hurl their way)...I decided it was time to break out the big guns and start using his driver. Again, things were going well-some long shots, a lot of slices, a few that ricocheted off the awning directly above me. Then, it happened. I wound up, swung and, like always, looked up to see how far my ball went. I thought to myself: "Man, that felt really good." As I looked up, I thought: "My, that's an awfully strange looking pigeon." It all started to make sense. The club felt a little lighter than before...Pigeons weren't round. Or shiny. It dawned on me. Then, I exchange some words in French with myself (clearly, I've never done that before) and look over at Paul. He was laughing, although I'm not sure why. This was the worst moment of my life (well, it felt like it). I hardly know this guy and I've just broken his driver.
I am speechless. I don't recall ever breaking someone else's stuff. All of the color drains from my face and I just stand there, hoping to wake up from this bad dream. I don't.
My round was done. I went over to the old man working the counter, showed him my new graphite pointing stick and ask tell him the head is somewhere around the 100yd stake. He hopped in his armoured golf cart and retrieved my severed appendage.
Thankfully, nothing else went wrong. I later described this as the friend version of the worst date ever.