"You Want My Home Club, Do You, MacDougal?!"

So it's off to Scotland for me and 7 other knuckleheads to battle the finest of the finest in historic links golf courses. As you may have heard, the stuffy courses over their sometimes require players to carry with them PROOF of being a registered, handicapped golfer of at least a certain skill level (22 handicap or lower).

Well, the tour group that booked our excursion, made sure we gave a contact number of our home course and handicap about 11 months ago, so they could go through the "lottery process" to get times at The Old Course, St. Andrews.

Done.

Once we cleared that hurdle, I figured showing actual PROOF of my "Can't-Play-To-It-8-Handicap" was no longer necessary.

Then Pete, our group leader said happily on Monday, a mere 7 days until leaving: "Oh, and make sure to bring your USGA Handicap Index card, JUST IN CASE."

Well, what the fudge!?

While I USED to keep an up to date handicap at Westfields GC in Clifton, VA, I have not entered any scores for some time. Probably 18 months.

Why?

Well, for one, I realize that my dream of pushing that official index down to a - don't laugh - actual ZERO, was just not going to happen until maybe I retire. For another, I don't play any events that require a certified handicap.

Pretty much the few competitive trips/outings/friendly games that I play in anymore, are with guys who know every nook and cranny of my game, and it's weak points.

None of them complain about me being an 8 handicap. In fact, they probably laugh and whisper behind my back.

Part of me thought about claiming this honky-tonk driving range up in Ellsworth Maine as my home course! Take that Shamus! I'm a MEMBER!

So in lieu of an official UP TO DATE handicap card with the USGA imprimatur stamped upon it, I was told to get a letter from my club's pro,

Hopefully, they let me play.

Or, if it's 52 degrees, and blowing 30 mph of sideways rain at Carnoustie, then hopefully they will just send me to the clubhouse with a complimentary snifter of Black Label on the rocks.

And if the REAL letter from my pro Jason Paul doesn't do the trick, well, this one (below) from "Captain Touchback" should certainly clear me from play!