He wasn’t my favourite player in the group anyway as there was an amiable elderly attorney who was a very decent guy. And he had referred to me as Kevin which really gets my goat. Suppose he got the ‘K’ right and the ‘e’ for that matter but after that it’s a whole different name.
I was caddying for a fourball and as such had to advise the clubbing to all. It had gone fairly well until the seventeenth, which is a beautiful par 3 over a gorge to a cliff edge green with a stunning view of St Andrews in the background. I guess it’s an important hole as it’s always photographed and rightly so. You know the one you can show the grandchildren and then add the fact that you birdied it or had a par at. However it’s a tough par 3 and requires a very well hit shot.
So I advised that the yardage given the following wind was a hundred and sixty and I gave the line which is a tree in the far distance. A perfect shot would land to the left on the fairway and take a bit of time to feed down to the green. So this chap, who has basically had a few very bad holes, stands up and hits a lovely shot on the tree with his 160 club. Of course I couldn’t see it land because I had put the wrong strength contact lenses in. However this chap thinks he’s overcooked it and seen it go into the rough. He basically slams his club into his bag and declares ‘He said hit it 160’ and there is no doubt that I did, and I told the others too. There is a momentary lull and quietude, and slight air of awkwardness and embarrassment, until suddenly the ball trickles twenty five feet past the pin. The chap has a massive guilt hit and his tone of voice changes dramatically and I feel pleasantly vindicated.