Walking For Idiots

My dad and I have slightly differing recollections of the time he caddied for me in an amateur golf tournament. His version of events is that I royally fucked up all on my own and, not having the maturity to take the blame, loaded it straight onto him, in eviscerating dollops. “HE STOOD THERE ON THE GREEN AND GAVE ME A RIGHT BOLLOCKING,” he will still tell friends and family now, a quarter