Highlands of Cape Breton

      As I approached the main entrance of the now famous Knob-Hill Farms Rest and Rehabilitation Clinic, I was overcome with nostalgia, not quite sure of what I would find on the inside, but knowing all too well who was waiting.

     The scene hit me full force as I entered the common area, as there before my eyes were the fallen players of the No-Star Golf Association (NSGA).

     As a lump grew in my throat and I fought back tears, I surveyed this sad scene of wasted talent, unused potential and worst of all, former Wiseman trophy winners.

     My first encounter was a group playing Tarbish, Steve MacDonald and Kent “Homes” MacPherson were playing Roddie Drohan and Richard Smith, apparently no one knew what was trump. I noticed Eric “The Red” MacNeil in a flight attendant’s uniform serving peanuts to Donald “Sketti” MacDonald, Who was rambling about a moose; Jim “Chissy” Chisholm was playing a stringless ukulele as Paul Guthro and Jeff MacLean danced the River Dance. Almond MacDonald stood in front of a circus house mirror and for the life of me I didn’t know if he was fat or slim. Mylo Paruch busied himself on top of a ladder, screwing in and unscrewing a lightbulb, as Joey Martell puffed on what appeared to be Popeye cigarettes rolled up in export papers. Al Colbourn was busy selling even split tickets on some dish towels to Brad Colbourn and Kenny McInnis.

Lastly, and probably the most painful, in a corner, alone, sat Bobby Murphy, a tear painted on his face, a roll of duct tape in one hand, a bent 9 iron in the other, mumbling to himself “The twentieth, the twentieth…”

     I spoke with the resident psychiatrist Dr. R.U. Nuts, and I asked “Why are these men here?”

“Guilt!” was his answer. The guilt which comes with having too much golf, too many beers, laughing till your gut hurts, and singing till you’re hoarse. Many Wiseman participants go through the guilt syndrome when the weekend is over and for some it takes months to reenter society.    

     Later, as I left the Knob-Hill compound, I was filled with hope that these past players and Wiseman champs would make it back, back to the fairways and greens of the beautiful Highland Links, back to their friends and competitors, back to a cold one around the fire, with the guitars playing, the boys singing and the kook dancing.

     With the nineteenth Wiseman a week away, and the twentieth coming in one year, we must all make an effort to visit these poor souls and aid in their rehab so they might join us again in 2009.

                                                                                                                                                  Gus Boyle