Showing posts with label golf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label golf. Show all posts

Sunday, April 08, 2012

No Peeps. Birdies.

I found this old golf ball three-quarters buried in the front yard next to our house, and I thought of the things we usually hide on the lawn this time of year.

Obviously, this one hadn't been found for a long time. That's because Arnold Palmer is the best -- and sneakiest -- Easter bunny ever.

Here's hoping, on this blessed day of our risen Lord, that you hung your Easter baskets on the mantle with care . . . and left a pitcher of tea, a pitcher of lemonade and a bucket of ice on the kitchen table for a late-night visitor with a sweet swing and a wicked short game.

Happy Easter, all.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

If wishes were birdies. . . .

Everything's a metaphor. Especially in Detroit.

On the other hand, I think the United States' transition to a banana republic is going pretty smoothly, don't you?

Thursday, April 08, 2010

Nothing sacred

What's all the fuss about "socialism" among the tea-bag crowd?

They think socialism is supposed to be somehow more inherently evil than a capitalist system that takes the shattering, sickening tragedy of a talented, vain and self-centered man blowing up his family because he can't keep it in his pants, then uses it as commercial fodder to sell people swoosh-bedecked, overpriced s*** they don't really need anyway?

This -- this sainted capitalism -- is the foundation of what it means to be moral, God-fearing and 100-percent American? Really?

WE'RE SUPPOSED to buy the notion that there's something foundational about an amoral, materialist system that, at its heart, is based on the motivating power of greed to encourage productivity and creation of wealth? In the 1950s, the American Way gave us doctors vouching for the superiority of Camels and the rise of the military-industrial complex.

Today, capitalism carried to its logical marketing extreme gives us a hypersexualized culture, then finds a way to profit off of one of the more notable tragedies arising from a society organized around a quest for the eternal G-spot.

Tiger Woods is a wreck. His family is a bigger wreck because of Tiger's appetite for fresh meat. And now Nike gets the perpetrator in a tabloid tragedy to trade on his sins against his wife and children -- and even drags his dead father into the sewer for good measure -- just so it can sell you s***.

Hell, it'll probably work. Because we Americans, after all, will walk a mile for a Camel. Or sell our souls to a Tiger.

Thursday, December 03, 2009

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Mind your divots when using the driver

What happens in Vegas sometimes ends up in Us.

And in the New York Daily News.

And in the Telegraph in London.

And in the Sydney Morning Herald.

And on CBS, ABC and NBC.

PITY TIGER WOODS, he shoulda known better -- if what an allegedly scorned woman in Los Angeles says is true, not to mention another one on deck in Vegas (in addition to other anonymous-source teases on the Strip) -- than to cheat on his supermodel wife.

No, don't pity Tiger Woods. If someone has the hubris to screw around on a supermodel with a cocktail waitress, he deserves all the hell he's about to get. Including being given advice by John Daly:
On Tuesday, golfer John Daly said, “the thing that Tiger needs to look at is, whatever happened, just tell the truth.”

Daly also thinks Woods will be able to survive this controversy. “He’ll get over this. The family will get over it. They’ll move on. Golf needs him,” he said.
WHAT MAKES it worse for Tiger is that Daly kind of makes sense. Ouch.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

How do you think John Daly got his start?

Carrie Nation and Billy Billie Sunday took their campaign against demon rum -- and demon whiskey . . . and demon beer -- to Nebraska's demon-regulating panel today, seeking to save unsuspecting Omaha children from possession by evil spirits somewhere between the water(ing hole) hazard and the big windmill.

AFTER ALL, it's a proven fact that kids can develop lifelong addiction from watching Mom and Dad have a cold one on the miniature-golf course. And, remember, today's plastered Putt-Putters are tomorrow's drunken golf-cart drivers.

As a matter of fact, the siren song of the liquor-soaked road to perdition is so strong that I had the overwhelming urge to climb into a bottle just reading this story in the Omaha World-Herald:
Officials with two groups opposed to teen-age drinking told the Nebraska Liquor Control Commission that while similar family-oriented businesses already have liquor licenses, giving one to the Boulder Creek Amusement Park would further risk mixing underage customers with grown-up alcohol.

"We need to send the message to our children that alcohol is not the center of all social life, and that we don't need alcohol to have a good time," said Susie Dugan of PRIDE Omaha Inc., a group that seeks to keep kids from using drugs and alcohol.

Dennis Schuett, a partner in the Boulder Creek mini-golf/batting cage complex near 142nd and S Streets in the Millard area, said he has been forced to seek a liquor license because competitors for corporate outings already have them.
UNFORTUNATELY, Miss Nation had the fairness under the law argument going against her here. So it was left to Rev. Sunday and her Plan B argument:
Schuett and his attorney, Mike Kelley of Omaha, cited the Pizza Machine, the Fun Plex, Skate Daze and Dave & Busters as similar, family-oriented amusement facilities that sell liquor in the Omaha area.

A representative of another group opposed to teen drinking, Diane Riibe of Project Extra Mile, told commissioners that while that was true, the bigger issue was the wisdom of allowing liquor licenses "on every corner of this state."
BECAUSE we all know that if we can only try Prohibition -- or at least some half-assed local imitation of it -- one more time, crime will vanish, men will quit beating their wives, teen sex will give way to Wednesday-night church, rehab centers can close their doors and no one will ever wreck a car again. Just like the nirvana we experienced from 1920 through 1933.

Just like raising the drinking age to 21 has eliminated binge drinking on college campuses everywhere. And the last high-school keg party took place when . . . 1985?

Fortunately, the commission voted to give Boulder Creek that liquor license. And frankly, I really could use that drink about now.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

DiMaggio isn't Italian for 'gopher' is it?

"Check me if I'm wrong Sandy, but if I kill all the golfers, they're going to lock me up and throw away the key."

"Not golfers, you great git! Gophers! The little, brown, furry rodents!"

"We can do that; we don't even have to have a reason. All right, let's do the same thing, but with gophers!"

FAST FORWARD 29 years. Put Bill Murray on the golf course . . . again.

And be afraid. Be very afraid, sez MSNBC:

Actor Bill Murray hooked a tee shot so badly during a Pro-Am event on Friday that the ball sailed across a street next to the hole and hit a woman in her front yard. She was knocked to the ground and had to go to the hospital.

Murray was on No. 9 at the TPC Tampa Bay during the first round of the Outback Pro-Am when he hit Gail DiMaggio as she was watching the tournament.

He was playing with Hal Sutton, Jeff Sluman and Fred Paglia. They continued while Murray's caddy took him in a cart to the woman's yard, where paramedics were attending to her. Tournament officials said DiMaggio was lying on the ground, but conscious and moving.

"I wasn't sure I was in bounds or not," Murray said. "And I saw this NBC golf cart coming at me and he said, 'I hate to be the one to tell you this but you hit a lady. She's down on the ground.' That is, you know, sobering."

Murray said DiMaggio was taken to a local hospital.

"She was overjoyed when she saw me because she said she had come out to see me and her husband had just said, 'I hope he hits it over here,' " said Murray, who did not finish his round.
GOPHERS, you great git! Gophers!