There is a sadistic wrinkle that some degenerates include in their regular golf matches — we hear some of them actually play for money — that is truly evil.
It’s called a reverse mulligan. Once each during the 18-hole round, you and your opponent get to say “Nice shot. Now hit it again.”
Like, you’re 195 yards up hill to a green guarded by traps and water and you thread an approach shot to within six feet of the hole. Then you hear the dreaded words. “Nice shot. Hit it again,” and, of course, you hit the re-do 20 yards off line into the hazard and that’s the shot that counts.
I mean, golf is hard enough without siphoning off the joy of that one semi-perfect shot per round that keeps you coming back.
Building championship baseball teams is hard, too, especially when you start from a place like the Boston Red Sox started from at this time last year, buried at the bottom of the American League East, their clubhouse a cesspool of disgruntlement.