Ah the fabled winter league. The holy grail for middle-aged men who don’t garden and want to avoid Christmas shopping until the very…last…minute. This year I signed up in September for the winter league in the hopes that someone would take pity on me and put their name next to mine– and someone did! I’m not a great golfer – and in my more paranoid moments I worry that everyone knows this and wants to avoid partnering with me and, well, loosing most of the time. But I try hard and I always buy a round of drinks after eighteen holes. This year I’m determined to get my handicap down. Read more…
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