St Andrews Memories

Just about 10 minutes before this edition was heading for what we scribblers of an older generation still call “press,” our esteemed managing editor invited me to the party with a reflective think-piece on my memories of St Andrews, The Old Course, my long association with the place, and the people who have passed through its historic portals across too many decades touching my golf writing life. That’s a lot like CBS asking Jim Nantz to explain American football to a drunken North Berwick sheep farmer inside the 10-second time barrier. So here I am sitting in my study with only a bottle of Clynelish to deaden the effects of a recent failed root canal treatment while my dentist languishes on a Mediterranean beach and my managing editor is very likely 2-under on one or other of the world’s top 50 greatest golf courses. Such sacrifices one makes for friends…

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