We walked toward the green. The big clubhouse was dark and foreboding the town deserted. My heart skipped a beat when I finally saw my ball: perched tenuously on the precipice of the Valley of Sin 20 feet below the hole.
Times change. Last week I was at Carnoustie until dark every night — typing for GOLF.com tweeting taping videos and podcasts. My clubs were locked away in the trunk of my rental car like a dirty secret.
I consider him a really good friend so I’ll give you the Cliff Notes on the story that sticks out in my mind. It’s 2015 we were paired at the Presidents Cup all of the matches and we didn’t lose.