Stories submitted by: The Order Archive - Brother MacLaing

Editor’s Note: The following account has been preserved from the Order’s archives. Some minor adjustments to wording have been made for modern readability, but the spirit and substance of the original telling remain unchanged.

I wasn’t chasing glory, lads. I wasn’t chasing the game either. Truth be told, I never loved striking the ball. What I loved was what came after. The talk. The laughter. The way a man’s pride could melt in the right room with the right drink. That was my game.

Leith Links, 1744. They nailed the first written rules to a board that spring like commandments from on high. Tee here. Drop there. Hole out proper. Men argued over every word as if salvation hung on a ball. I watched them storm off the course with mud on their boots and fire in their eyes, ready to tear each other apart.

One day, a match for heavy coin went sour. A laird and a merchant, both stubborn as stone, finished eighteen holes with no clear winner. Voices rose. Chairs scraped. The innkeeper looked ready to throw them both into the street. That was when I stepped in.

“Gentlemen,” I said, soft as a prayer, “the game ends when the glass runs dry.” They stared at me, then at each other. I called for ale, poured slow, and let the fire do its work. The laird laughed first, then the merchant, and before the night was done they were trading stories instead of insults.

That was the moment I understood. The scorecard ends at eighteen, but the round does not. A man needs space to lay down his anger, his confession, his boast. So I made myself the quiet guardian of that space. I delayed carts so losers could finish their ale. I steered rivals to the same table. I taught innkeepers the art of listening.

I thought I was keeping the peace. I didn’t know I was building bridges that would outlast me. They call it finishing properly now. Back then, it was just a nod and a seat by the fire.

So raise your glass, lads. To the rules on the board, the men who broke them, and the one who kept the game alive after the last putt.