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We head to this sketchy motel, and I’m struttin’ like, “This is our outpost!”—hell yeah, *Moonrise* style. She’s countin’ my crumpled bills, and I’m thinkin’, *I’m the king of this shit!* But then—BAM!—cops roll up, lights flashin’. “Aw, crap!” I yell, divin’ under the bed. She’s cool as hell, though, whisperin’, “They’re gone now, relax.” Saved my ass, and I’m like, “You’re my hero, lady!”—total Suzy savin’ Sam moment.

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Then, outta nowhere, this dog comes barrelin’ towards me. It’s a golden retriever, and it’s got a stick in its mouth. It drops the stick at my feet, lookin’ all proud. I’m like, “Dude, I’m not your fetch buddy!” But I can’t help it. I throw the stick, and off it goes, tail waggin’ like it just won the lottery.

Carnoustie launches £100m plan to host the Open again