Elderly Golfer Dies of Heart Attack After Seeing Collarless Youth on the Fairway
It is with a heavy heart that we report the untimely death of 76-year-old Bradley “Biff” Henderson, a longtime member of the prestigious Willow Creek Country Club. Biff, known for his immaculate wardrobe and unfaltering devotion to golf etiquette, tragically passed away yesterday after witnessing a catastrophic breach of decorum— a young golfer strolling onto the green wearing a shirt without a collar.
The scene unfolded as Biff was approaching the 18th hole, preparing for his final swing of the day. “It was all going so well,” said his playing partner, Dale Wethersby, 77. “The weather was perfect, the fairways pristine, and then… I saw it. This kid— this absolute sham of a golfer— strutting around in a shirt that had no collar. I knew right then something bad was going to happen.”
According to witnesses, Biff immediately froze. His eyes widened, his grip tightened around his driver, and within moments, he collapsed, clutching his chest in what can only be described as a fashion-induced cardiac episode. Paramedics arrived on the scene shortly after, but attempts to revive him were unsuccessful.
“This kind of thing can’t be taken lightly,” explained Dr. Lionel Thorne, cardiologist and honorary member of the country club. “The stress of seeing such a disrespectful display can be overwhelming, especially for someone who has spent decades cultivating their golf wardrobe with the utmost care and consideration. For a man of Biff’s age, it was just too much.”
Biff’s death has since sparked an impassioned debate on golf etiquette across the nation, with many lamenting the slow death of the traditional collared shirt on the greens. The Willow Creek Country Club, where Biff was known to have spent many a sun-dappled afternoon, issued a statement this morning, vowing to implement a “No Collar, No Play” policy for all future tournaments.
“We are deeply saddened by the loss of Biff,” said the club’s president, Randolph Snodgrass III, whose ancestors founded Willow Creek in 1892. “However, we must ensure that his death was not in vain. This is a wake-up call for our younger generation. There is simply no place for this collarless chaos. What’s next? Are we going to allow golf carts with radial tires? A world where we don’t require proper shirts is a world where everything is lost.”
The young golfer at the center of the controversy, 22-year-old Tommy “The Tornado” Jenkins, has since issued an apology for his shirtless affront to tradition. “I didn’t realize my shirt didn’t have a collar. I’m sorry if I offended anyone. I was just out there trying to have fun, you know? I didn’t mean to cause anyone a heart attack,” Jenkins said, looking slightly bewildered.
As for Biff, his memory lives on in the many golf courses he frequented and the countless pithy remarks he made about “those darn kids and their untucked shirts.”
Biff Henderson, wearing his favorite matching polo and hat, which he won after finishing 3rd place in the Fourth Presbyterian Church Scramble of 1998.
In a touching tribute, Biff’s son, Greg Henderson, announced that his father would be buried in his favorite polo shirt—collared, of course. A memorial service will be held at Willow Creek, where attendees are kindly asked to wear their finest collared shirts in his honor.
The Family Biff Leaves Behind: A Legacy of Polo Shirts and Deeply Held Grievances
Biff Henderson leaves behind a family who will forever remember him not just as a man of passion for the game, but also as a patriarch whose love for proper attire was only rivaled by his inability to hit a fairway. His widow, Margaret Henderson, spoke tearfully of her husband’s dedication to his golf game, despite the fact that his skills had seemingly plateaued around the 40-handicap mark.
“Every Sunday, without fail, Biff would head out there in his perfectly pressed collared shirt and talk about how ‘today’s the day.’ He would putt for hours on end, cursing at the ball like it was a personal enemy,” Margaret said, eyes welling up with emotion. “But no matter how much he practiced, he never got any better. It’s kind of funny—he was so obsessed with the game, yet somehow couldn’t hit a fairway to save his life. He could drive a cart with precision, but when it came to actually driving the ball? Well, let’s just say the only thing straighter than his swing was his collar.”
Their children, Brad and Cindy Henderson, each recalled their father’s unwavering commitment to a game he could never truly master. “Dad would always say that ‘golf is 90% mental and 10% physical,’ which, to be honest, probably explained the 40 handicap,” said Brad, the eldest. “He had a heart full of hope, but a swing that could make a pitching wedge look like a boomerang. But we loved him, you know? He was our guy—steadfast in his ways and never compromising on his principles, especially about golf attire.”
Cindy, his youngest, pointed out the most enduring part of her father’s legacy. “He was the kind of guy who’d spend more time picking out his socks than most people do choosing their career path. I swear, he had a spreadsheet for his golf wardrobe that could rival any Fortune 500 company’s annual report.”
As the family prepares to say their goodbyes, they have requested that attendees wear their finest polo shirts to the funeral, in keeping with Biff’s “commitment to tradition”—and also as a subtle hint that, in this house, golf shirts were always collared.
Biff’s Game: The 40 Handicap Legend
Biff Henderson’s golf game, despite being a point of pride for him, was also the stuff of club legend—mostly because it was so spectacularly bad. With a handicap that hovered around the astonishingly high mark of 40, Biff was known as a man who could turn a simple round of golf into a theatrical display of frustration, confusion, and the occasional expletive directed at both caddies and trees.
“I’d say Biff had a unique style,” said fellow club member Clarence “Tiny” Wallis, 72, who often found himself paired with Biff for Saturday rounds. “He was just… well, he was determined. Every swing, whether he topped the ball or sent it into another state, was a triumph in his mind. And the best part? He never blamed the club. Always the grass, the weather, or that dang caddy who ‘misplaced’ his tee.’”
Biff’s golfing prowess, if we can call it that, was notoriously unpredictable. He had the ability to putt from 2 feet out and somehow miss it by 3 inches, yet drive the ball 300 yards into the woods and still consider it a “good start.” His specialty was the “unintentional slice,” which meant that no one ever knew where the ball was going to land—least of all Biff. He could hit a ball so far right that it often became a neighborhood problem.
“Honestly, the guy couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, but by God, he’d make that barn look good in a collared shirt,” said longtime rival and occasional playing partner, Jeff “The Master” Mason. “I’ll miss his commitment to the game, even if his swing was more a cry for help than a display of skill.”
Perhaps Biff’s most endearing trait, however, was his unwavering optimism. He was a man who, despite a handicap that could only be described as “an obstacle to the game’s enjoyment,” would show up each week with the same fervor. Every bad shot was a lesson, every lost ball a “learning experience.” He may have never shot under 100, but he shot under par for being a genuinely decent human being who loved the game—even when it didn’t love him back.
So as his family and friends remember Biff Henderson, they’ll also remember the 40 handicap that kept him humble, the countless golf balls he lost (sometimes in places that defied physics), and the joy he found in the simple act of putting on that collared shirt—knowing full well that it was the only thing in his game that was always on point.
A young Biff, standing watch over his collection. Seen in background, award for Best Wardrobe from the Collinsville Senior Citizens Golf League.
In honor of his life, the Willow Creek Country Club has decided to rename the 18th hole “Biff’s Tee,” ensuring that future generations of golfers will never forget the man who would forever be remembered not for his scorecard, but for his devotion to the sacred collar.
