When Pete Rose got home we were relieved. Afterwards we arrived at the links, got off the bus, then Pete and I got up, did the usual routine: bathroom, brush teeth, dressed and then slowly, very deliberately chewed off each other’s clothes. There were eight balls of steam, suspended in bacteria from our four hands that were Idylls-of-the-King and clean. I was standing vertical. I was amazed that my insides didn’t fall through the cargo-lock, out-knowing the air vortex, the balls, the game, and probably the season were lost.