AT CHECK-IN I’M USUALLY TRYING to remember my car license plate number. (Sometimes hotels want that information; I’m not sure why.) Beyond that, I make sure to get two room keys and the code—if there is one—for accessing the wireless internet. We’re in Stephens City, Virginia, just south of Winchester, where we toured Shenandoah University.
“Yes, I was there,” I told the man.
His eyes brightened a bit. Or maybe mine did. Hey, a fellow U.S. Open golf fan, I thought.
“Was the course as hard as it looked on TV?” he asked.
“Yes, it was really tough. That’s a hard golf course.”
“I went last year when the U.S. Open was at Congressional.”
“Me too,” I replied.
We completed the check-in process. He slid me my room keys, and I slid him a card about THE LONGEST SHOT, my book about Jack Fleck and Ben Hogan at Olympic in 1955. I couldn’t help myself. He didn’t seem to mind, saying he would pick it up.
It was an accidental connection between two golf fans. All because I was wearing that U.S. Open shirt. Has that sort of thing ever happened to you?