I was in Fonthill, Ontario on Thursday of last week when it was 8 degrees C. The sun was shining, not a flake of snow in sight, and about 20 white-haired duffers in plaid pants had parked their cars alongside the course - looked like they'd scrambled over the fence at the 10th hole and were gleefully getting in a round.
They all looked happier than I've felt for months (since November 10, to be precise, when I played by last round at Cartier).

To make matters worse, I had my clubs in the car, but I had to go pick up my wife right away to drive back to Ottawa.

So I stopped at an outdoor driving range along the highway and was two buckets of balls late picking up my wife....