The race was under way by the time I made it to Reddick, and the Barnburner team was working like a Nascar pit crew. Massage table, lunch buffet, mechanic station, they didn’t need me, or Larry (who was official timekeeper) or Hammy, or Martin the Scot. I don’t know how the math works for you, but that added up to a foursome to us, so we headed back across the street to play a round of golf in the first ever Barred Owl Invitational.
There beneath the noonday sun, sangrias in hand, we passed around the old persimmon woods and enjoyed a primitive version of the great game. Martin the Scot went off the tee heroically, lofting the high fade over the 100′ pines and dropping the ball 10 yards from the brown. “Wow” I said, “beautiful shot there, you look like you’ve played some golf before”.
Squinting in to the distance, casually evaluating the shot he answers, “Well, we did invent the game.” Damn smug Scots.
To be continued…