The Cider Cup Fool

I'd never been on an organized golf holiday until a few years ago, when I conceived the Cider Cup, contested in England between idiot friends of mine from both sides of the Atlantic. After conception, I ran from responsibility. Mitch, my great pal and ex-agent, took care of the arrangements, from travel to lodging to tee times, and it went smooth as Nantz's bottom. But for the second go-round, I wanted the boys to see my native Northern Ireland, so heroically I took the organizing upon myself. It was just 20 or so morons drinking and golfing — how hard could it be?













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