Home, Sweet Home
'WELL, IF IT ISN'T JACK NICKLAUS," Jimmy bellowed as I entered Roy's with Cathy and Tom. 'When did they add Port Huron to the tour?"
"The Golden Bear! This is such an honor! Can I have your autograph?" James Murray gushed. "It's for my wife, of course!"
"Did you win a trophy or something?" Roy wondered. "Slow down, guys," I replied. "I feel like I'm on "Meet the Press." No, Port Huron is still not on the circuit. Yes, you can have my autograph. And yes, Roy, I won a trophy."
"What club did you hit?" asked Clyde, offering me a doughnut.
"Yes, let's relive the whole event," Tom cut in sarcas-tically. "Hey, I've only heard the details two hundred times. It is a sunny, windless Tuesday afternoon as Dave Richardson steps up to the third tee. One hundred and sixty yards stretch before him. Water lies on the left. A bunker lurks on the right. Perils abound. Dave laughs in the face of danger, pulls out a seven iron, takes a smooth, sweet swing and . . . the ball rockets straight ahead, takes one small skip,