I was 22 years old and I had a plan. I was a golfer, a pro, and I was going to make a fortune. I was right, but somehow I managed to spend one in the process. I played for a living for 20 years and never really got in front. However, in one way I did get rich.
Friends come and go, but enemies accumulate, that's what they say.
I'm sure I have a few of the latter, but they have always been outnumbered by the good guys. Tuesday night I was ambushed by Sam Torrance, the European Ryder Cup captain, and my former cellmate on the European Tour. Who Must Be Obeyed, and was a bonus for all involved. Forgive me if this seems uncharacteristically melancholy, but I wish he could have hung around for a few days. As I write this on Wednesday night, he is heading east at high speed, undoubtedly snoring like a tranquilized rhino, in the first-class section of a British Airways jumbo.