So, yesterday I went to see the Famous Golf Course for the first time. I must say, I was a little starstruck, as this is generally regarded as the Greatest Golf Course Evah. However, as I walked along th 18th hole for awhile I realized that the teensy pile of rocks in the middle of the fairway was, in fact, the bridge that Famous Old Golfers habitually hobble across accompanied by deafening cheers. "This is it??? This is the legendary hallmark of golf?" I wondered (though not aloud for fear of being torn limb from limb by packs of rabid golfaholics). It looks pretty insignificant in real life though, to tell you the truth. Then as I stopped to watch a group of middle aged American men in sweater vests play through, I realized that the emotional value of a place cannot be calculated by its flashiness, as this group stopped for at least five or so minutes on said bridge, taking pictures in every pose conceivable, their jocular laughter ringing like that of a gang of schoolboys. They loves it, I thought. They really loves it. And that, I guess, is what matters.