Four of us went to Scotland for a week of golf, golf and more golf. One of our group had knee problems and required a cart (buggy as they call it over there.) We had a superb guide who knew all the in’s and out’s of Scotland golf. One morning, our guide looked sheepish—almost weepy when he said: “I let you men down; no buggies available. I talked to the starter. We are out of luck.” Mike walked up near the end of that sad conversation…and said:
“No, no, we got one. The starter is getting one shipped over from another course. No worries, boys.” And just like that, our friend had his ride. It was that Mike Magic.
Our guide wanted us to get on another course the next afternoon—a hard tee time to secure. So…he asked Mike to go along and make the ask. Guess where we were the next afternoon? Mike Magic.
If there is golf in heaven, I suspect Mike already has found the best course, talked his way onto it, and is waiting for the rest of us with that beautifully boyish and handsome smile.
“We will play again. No worries, boys.”