Back in Scotland, where the ancient game of golf was first discovered, two craggy Scots were sitting before the clubhouse fireplace after 18 holes on a raw, blustery day. The ice slowly melted from their beards and collected in puddles under their chairs. Outside, the wind howled off the North Sea and hail rattled against the windows.
The pair sat in silence, while the gloom of the northern winter seemed to penetrate every corner of the room. Finally, one spoke,
"Next Tuesday, same time?"
"Aye," answered the other, "weather permittin'."