I recall reading an anecdote posted on an internet message board around the time of the 2010 Open Championship at St. Andrews. Its source, a British fan, claimed to have lingered in the vicinity of Rickie Fowler – then a source of infinite bemusement – as he hovered around the putting green, mobile phone in hand. His conversation was inaudible but for one telling sentence:
“What time do we have wardrobe tomorrow?”
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