On a business trip to Africa, Wilson Pickford decides to play golf on a free afternoon. The hotel concierge sets him up on a breathtaking course at the jungle’s edge.
Wilson is received warmly on arrival at the course, and the pro informs him he’ll be playing as a single with a caddie. “May I have your handicap, sir?” the pro asks.
“I’m a 16,” Wilson says. “Does it really matter, though, since I have no competitors?”
“Oh, yes sir, it’s quite important,” the pro informs him, calling over a caddie for Wilson.
“Marcus, you will be caddying for Mr. Pickford today,” the pro tells the caddie. “He is a fine golfer with a 16 handicap.”
Marcus greets Wilson with a smile and a handshake, picking up a rifle along with the golfer’s bag. Surprised and slightly concerned, Wilson decides not to ask why the gun is necessary.
On the first hole, Marcus advises Wilson to avoid the trees to the right side of the fairway. Naturally, Wilson slices his tee shot straight into the scrub. The pair locate his ball and Marcus steps aside. Just as Wilson begins his swing, out rings a deafening “crack!” A huge snake drops dead from a tree a few feet away.
“That, Mr. Pickford, is the deadliest snake in all of Africa,” says Marcus, smoke pouring from the rifle’s barrel. “It is a good thing I brought this gun.”
A bit shaken, Wilson manages a bogey and moves on to No. 2. “The left-hand brush is no place to be, Mr. Pickford,” Marcus explain. Once again, Wilson drives his ball into the most dreaded spot.
They find the ball easily and Wilson prepares to hit. “BAM! BAM! BAM!” comes the rifle’s report. This time, Marcus has felled a lion. Wilson looks at the caddie with a mix of terror and awe. “Thank you, Marcus,” he stumbles. “That’s twice you’ve saved my life.”
The third hole is a short par 3 across a small lake. Clearly off his game and perhaps a bit shaken, Wilson chunks his shot. It barely carries the water and lands on the bank. The golfer arrives at the ball, removes his shoe and takes a stance, his right foot in the water, with Marcus watching from a few feet away. As Wilson waggles over the ball, an enormous crocodile slips up and bites off his leg at the ankle.
“Marcus!” cries Wilson, screaming in pain and bleeding profusely. “Why didn’t you shoot the crocodile?!”
“I apologize, Mr. Pickford,” the caddie replies calmly, “but this is stroke hole No. 17. You do not get a shot here.”
