By now, you likely have seen photos of the piles of golf bags stacked like French fries somewhere in or around Scotland’s Edinburgh Airport.
It’s a discouraging scene, travel bags piled atop one another like beer bottles after a lively frat party.
Somewhere in that pile – or another pile – were my golf clubs.
I choose to believe my clubs eventually made it from London’s Heathrow Airport to Edinburgh on July 8 en route to the Open Championship but on a different flight than my suitcase and I were on.
That’s what an email from British Airways told me while promising to deliver my golf bag once it was located.
Here’s a hint: It has been in that giant pile of golf clubs on the floor at the Edinburgh Airport that horrified tourists keep taking photos of, as if it’s the Eiffel Tower or some other attraction.
More than one person told me I should have put an air tag on my clubs. First, they had to explain to me what an air tag is, but it wouldn’t have mattered because no one is getting access to the pile. I’m not sure the Navy SEALs would tackle that challenge.
... the customer-service line at the Edinburgh Airport received so many hostile phone calls about missing luggage (that means golf bags) that they quit answering the phone.
Originally, the airline said it would send my clubs to an address in Scotland where I stayed for more than a week. That deliver-by date passed, and my hope of ever seeing my red travel bag, stuffed with a full set of clubs and balls and outerwear, plus a rangefinder, a rain jacket and a pair of shoes, began to melt, and not just because of the July heat.
Like learning to hit the high fade, drive it like Rory McIlroy and being confused with Brad Pitt, the reality of my situation seemed as pleasant as banging a shin on a coffee table.
According to one report, the customer-service line at the Edinburgh Airport received so many hostile phone calls about missing luggage (that means golf bags) that they quit answering the phone.
They probably had to step over all of those golf bags to answer the phone anyway.
As this empty car-trunk story entered its third week and I was convinced that Cameron Smith's mullet would be dragging the ground before I heard anything about my clubs, an email alerted me Sunday that my clubs have been found and are on their way to my North Carolina home.
That's the airline's story, and I'm sticking to it.
Maybe there is something to this Christmas-in-July thing.
Ron Green Jr.
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