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Archive for the ‘pga’ Category

Officially golf season is upon us. Yeah, I know that the PGA Tour schedule started last month. Big fucking deal. Memo to PGA: When football is on, nobody gives a shit about golf. Go ahead and CC that to hockey and basketball while you’re at it. Come to think of it, nobody really gives a shit about either one of them regardless. Except during March Madness. Because gambling is good.

But I digress.

Typically, the first golf tourney after football is the AT&T Pebble Beach. As referenced here earlier, also known back in the day as the Crosby Clambake. I must also echo the sentiment that the word “celebrity” is being stretched to the limits of the definition.

Forget Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. I’d be happy if actual living celebrities showed up for this tournament. Face it, the only time this tourney lives up to the hype is when Bill Murray shows up. Clint Eastwood owns the joint and is too busy writing checks and putting up with the general ass pain of being the host. So he doesn’t get to play anymore. Get Sam Jackson or Vince Fucking Gill at least. Instead of generic no-name country star and actor who has been dead to me since this godawful career choice. And when, exactly, did Chris Berman become a celebrity? He’s a sports anchor. That rates somewhere between advertising sales executive and child molester on the Douchebag Scale. Besides, he’s a fucking crybaby. I’m sorry that’s not true. A FAT fucking crybaby. David Feherty is a bigger celeb and he’s actually COVERING the tournament.

The local and national media quickly run out of angles to cover at Pebble. Other than gratuitous shots of whales in Monterey Bay and important investigations into Who Dressed Costner Like A Dickhead, there isn’t a lot going on.

The San Jose paper brings up a good point, “Where are the chicks?”

The article specifically mentions Jessica Alba as a chick whose good with sticks. I’m sure they mean this Jessica Alba.

Less clothes!

This would really give the Clambake some sex appeal which it desperately needs. Especially if there’s a swimsuit competition.

That’s much better.

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I’ve never been on to talk about the “good old days.” It wasn’t better back then, walking up hill in the snow and all that. God knows I wish I had titanium drivers and perimeter weighted irons and one-piece balls and views of Kristy McNichol’s shaved snatch at the touch of a button back when I was growing up. But, back in my day, the hottest celebrities at the time didn’t shave their snatches and flash them for the cameras. But I digress.

We did, however, have the Clambake. The Bing Crosby Pebble Beach Pro-Am. We watched Dean Martin and Bob Hope and Jack Lemmon and Joey Bishop and Sammy Davis, Jr. play golf and hit people in the gallery and try to shake off hangovers and it was cool, oh, yeah it was cool. OK, most of the celebs were at their zenith during my parents time (at least), but still they were cool. Damn cool. And the tournament was won by people like Nicklaus and Miller and Watson.

What do we have now. Kenny G., (irrelevant smooth-jazz sax blower) Clay Walker, (irrelevant hasn’t-had-a-hit-in-20-years Country singer). Chris “Big Loud Fat Ass” Berman. Michael Bolton. Joe Kernan. Chris O’Donnell.

And then, there’s Danny Gans. The poster boy for irrelevance. As far as I can tell, he is famous for finding any live camera he can find and doing a markedly unfunny impression of Mike Meyers doing, Dr. Evil.

Danny fucking Gans. What the fuck? He still does George Burns, for God’s sake. A man who was born in the 1800s. Bing is rolling over in his grave.

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God, I gotta cleanse my palette. Here’s Erin Andrews eating a sandwich.
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Tiger Woods, who overcame a four-shot deficit in Dubai and won with a birdie, birdie finish, took his winnings and his nine billion dollar appearance fee to the Dubai Airport and bought the world’s only super-sonic hovercraft. He is currently racing to the Phoenix area, where he will play all 72 holes of the FBR Open this afternoon, finishing ace, birdie, eagle, and winning the tournament by 17 strokes.

“I can’t let J.B. Holmes, or, God forbid, Mickelson win this storied tournament,” says Woods. “Plus, I owe it to the fans to make four holes-in-one on the sixteenth, as there haven’t been any since I started playing in Dubai.”

Woods has confirmed that he will be taking over as Giants quarterback at halftime of the Superbowl, allowing Eli Manning to spoon on the sidelines with Kenny Chesney. He may also spend some time shutting down Randy Moss on defense. Time constraints prevent Woods from arriving early enough to win the coin toss by seven and start in place of Manning.

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The big show is upon us. The inaugural FedEx Cup. The NASCAR rip-off that nobody understands. The one where if you win, you get a big check that you can’t cash for 20 years. The one where you earn a bunch of points all year then lose them then start over. The one where they cut the field down from tournament to tournament, so if you’re, say, 129th, you really got no shot. The one that Tiger is so psyched about that he’s given himself a first-round bye.

And on day one, the PGA’s ultimate wet dream has come true. The clubhouse leaders are (drumroll, please).

1. Brian Gay

2. Briney Baird
Heath Slocum
Jeff Maggart

That should fire up those TV ratings. At least Michelle Wie can’t piss all over this one.

Speaking of Michelle Wie, here’s a picture of Natalie Gulbis in a bikini.

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Nashville native and Vanderbilt graduate Brandt Snedeker won his first PGA tournament today by two strokes at the Wyndham Championship. Was it an all-star field? No, most of the big names were resting up between the PGA Championship and the Fed Ex playoffs. Was it even televised on a network with a two digit channel position? Nope. Is Forest Oaks Country Club a challenging track? Well, I couldn’t break a buck twenty there, but I don’t think it strikes Augustan fear into the hearts of PGA professionals.

But will the nine hundred thousand dollars that young Brandt will be bringing home to Nashvegas spend like PacMan money? Hell f-in’ yeah! I know you’re a level-headed young man, Snedhead. You have a degree from one of the finest institutions of higher learning in the South. You come from a fine family, and I’ll even bet you’ve been to church for a reason other than a marryin’ or a buryin’ sometime in the past decade unlike your humble author here. But take my advice: Make it rain, baby!

I’m sure that your Vandy econ profs talked to you about diversifying your assets, and there are some fine young ladies working at the corner of 12th and Demonbreun who I’m confident would like to diversify their asses all over you. Folding money is for spendin’. Have those Wyndham folks cash that big ass cardboard check for you and break it into at least a pillowcase full of ones.

Speaking of golf, here’s a picture of a friend of mine trying to hit from behind the shitter in Golden Tee.

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Happy 40th birthday, YellowHammer!

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Woody Austin, you have always been the lovable journeyman PGA dude. The guy with the really ugly shirts with eerie green and orange beach scenes on them. The guy who beats himself in the head with a putter. The guy sponsored by Tabasco who beats himself in the head with his putter. The guy who gets on TV every third or fourth year. The guy who beats himself in the head with his putter. The guy who shot 62 to win in Memphis this year making everyone like you. You know, the guy who beats himself in the head with a putter finally won this year. Cool.

Then you came in second in the PGA and you play the “no respect” card? You say you played better than Tiger on Friday when you shot a 70 and he shot a 63? You say that when you’re hitting it right you’re the best in the world?

Well guess what? When I hit it right, I’m the best in the world. How about that time I flushed a 195-yard uphill, blind 4-iron over a lake to 8 inches at that Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail course down in Alabama? I’ll give you a 20 buckets of balls to get inside my shot. No way you would do it. At that moment, I was the best in the world.

You went from lovable nut to idiot. Maybe you and Sergio should get together and write a manifesto decrying the vast conspiracy the golf media has against you two. Meanwhile, why don’t you beat Tiger before you start telling us you are better than him.

Speaking of golfers, here’s Natalie Gulbis in a bikini.

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