Together with a few buddies from my paper, we played most of a round of golf with Bo several years ago at Cog Hill No. 2 (not the Western Open, er, BMW Championship course) near his home.
He joined our threesome with a simple introduction, "I'm Bo," and proceeded to hit the crap out of the ball the rest of the way. On some tees, he used a custom-made 0-iron with a triple-stiff shaft (OK, that sounds weird, but golfers will know what I mean). Just absurd.
As this story says, he couldn't have been more of a regular guy.
When he noticed I was limping on a bum ankle, he offered me a ride on his cart. We went our separate ways after the 18th green, but when he saw us slamming our trunks in the parking lot, he stopped to make sure we knew our way back to the highway.
Just thought I'd share...