We’d like to thank Fred Joy for sharing today’s story
My father-in-law and I were on vacation in Charleston, South Carolina in 2009. We booked a round at a semi-public course for a Tuesday morning tee time. We unloaded our bags, stroked our beards, I put on my Georgia Tech Yellow Jacket hat, and then we walked into the pro-shop.
Upon opening the door, there were two loud voices, clearly having a ‘spirited’ discussion that stopped my father-in-law and I in our tracks. Within seconds it was apparent that the two voices were equally arguing and teasing each other. And both voices were good at it.
We turned the corner – there was Bill and the Pro, arguing over a bag of range balls. Bill was under the impression that the small bag of balls should be honored to be set free upon the open range, and it was his duty to do it. The Pro wanted his $5.
My FIL and I stood there motionless, periodically looking at each other dumbfounded. That was Bill Freakin’ Murray, and this just got awesome. Bill continued to be ‘cheap’ as the Pro called it, and at some point, the pro suggested that for reparations of his ‘cheapness’ he should buy our rounds.
Bill looked over at us, and said:
“I don’t think so. Insects and facial hair make me nervous.”
Then in one swift move, he grabbed his range balls, and ran out the door with the Pro yelling at him from behind the counter.
The pro looked up at us and said, “The bastard did it again.” He started laughing, then we started laughing – it was 2 minutes of solid belly laughs before I could speak. We went outside, and there he was. I approached him and asked for a picture, he smiled wryly and said sure.
We were in the 4-some behind his group that day. Every 30 minutes or so, you could hear laughter from the hole ahead of us.