My Dad belonged to a club in South Florida. They were fanatical about pace of play. After Mom died and we no longer had a foursome, the pro shop would hook us up with a single. One day it was a 90 year old guy who, guess what, couldn't play in 3 hours and 45 minutes. My bro and I were raking the traps for him, helping him find his balls which although didn't go far did outreach his failing eyesight.
Sure enough, we fall behind, and the guys behind us are livid. THey send the ambassador around. He took one look at the guy, who was well known and well loved (deservedly so), and said to me, "Oh, you have Charlie. And your only one hole behind? Good Job!! I'll tell those guys behind you to relax."
Another time I heard the guys in the locker room all bragging about how fast they had played."3 hours today" etc. etc. etc. I didn't hear one guy brag about his score, though.
And these were retired folks... I wonder what they were like to work with.
Dan L
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