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But if you're playing Troon's 11th -- or the blind hole at your course -- you need a plan of attack.

All he deserved to live in was some filthy sty, some blind hole in the ground.

He sank his 8-iron approach from 155 yards to a blind hole location for an eagle.

I remember another exclamation of his that gave us purest joy at the time, when, having made what he believed to be a lovely shot over a brow to a "blind" hole in a hollow he ran up to the top of the brae in exultation, only to turn back with tragic dismay on his face and on his lips the eloquent expostulation, "Oh, 'ell, they've haltered the 'ole."

It was not a "blind" hole, for you could just get a glimpse of the flag between the stems.