Long before there was Internet, a few of us gathered in the manager’s office of what was becoming a routinely glum clubhouse. The manager was a large man. When he was glum, he glummed enough for everyone.
After losses, and there were a lot of them, it could be difficult to get the conversation going. Every question seemed fine in your head and even as it began to form in your mouth, but, somehow, by the time it had wriggled loose, freed itself and fell sadly into the abyss of glumness, it was the dumbest question since, “Really, Brute, you too?