Ah. The first tee time. Morning light filters through the distant trees, lawn mowers playing the song of dawn. Wet feet and the smell of fresh grass. Putt lines on moistened greens. Nothing like it.
In this case, it means Mike’s in last place on Sunday. Though last place at a USGA major championship is not half bad. I’m sure we’d all like to be there, smelling the grass and warming up, below . . .