I carried two bags for 18 holes. The boss asked me if I could go again.
I looked at the time. I wanted to watch the match. I figured “F**k it I’ll go again”
So I went again. I got home and crashed on the bed. I’d carried 60lbs of bags. Gave yardages and advice how to play the course. Read the greens.
I crashed on the bed. Pretty much exhausted.
My son called me. He said “Dad. They won.”
I said “Awesome. What was it 2-1 or 2 nil”
He said “No Dad they won 4-nill.
I said “You better not be f**king with me”
I hung up and looked up the result. Called him right back and we had a real celebratory conversation.
My son is only 15 years old.
He and I are (Even though we are thousands of miles away from Liverpool). True Reds.