Two retirees, George and Sam, have been playing golf every Saturday for decades. Always the same time, same course. They leave their houses at 10 AM, get home at 3 PM.
One Saturday, Sam isn't home at 3 ... nor 4 ... 4:30. Finally at around five he staggers in, looking haggard and disheveled.
"Sam you look awful!" said his wife. "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"It was terrible!" Sam replied. "Worst day of my life. George and I were halfway down the first fairway when he clutched his chest and fell over, stone dead. His heart must have given out!"
"Oh dear," says the wife. "He was your best friend in the whole world! What did you do?"
"What could I do?" says Sam. "For the rest of the round, it was hit the ball, drag George; hit the ball, drag George."