At any open tournament you can stand in the Locker-room and see the maulers of the par-wrecking crew come stomping in, sorer than Aunt Sally’s bunion because the round has taken a stroke or two over Par figures. What are Pars anyway? Just scan the scores of the professional tournament circuits and you will find that the trouper who gets around seventy-two, after deducting his expenses, doesn’t take home enough kale to buy seed for the canary.

No, no, little Rollo. If they are not able to batter and better par they can save money by staying right at home and playing Jackstraws with the family. These lads, who are averaging frequently in the high sixties to win a tournament, when they really get hot will murder any course when it happens to their day, naturally butchering the pushovers with more brutality. How many dubs would give a right arm for one blissful day when by some miracle he might score within a dozen strokes of the most despised card of these great ones? The value of Par depends entirely on the estimate of Big Shot or Punk.