The scene: Team LOD is holed up in the Laid-Off Lair, eyeing the menacing stormclouds and Borneo-like humidity. Throughout Robert's various construction projects, the second round of the British Open is on TV, mostly for the background noise. The play is mostly drama-free, since Tiger is slapping St. Andrews and the competition upside their respective heads.
The only real point of interest is Jack Nicklaus, who, at 65, is playing in his final major golf tournament. The Golden Bear is chugging along--golfing and waving, waving and golfing--until it becomes clear that he won't make the cut, and this will be his final round. As he makes his way down the 18th fairway, the enormous crowd of affluent and/or underemployed white people roars with appreciation and affection.
Robert: Who is that man?
Me: That's Jack Nicklaus.
R: Why is Jack Nick-o-lus crying?
Me: He was the best golfer in the world, but now he's retiring. The people are clapping to thank him for his great career.
R: Oh. Can he die now?