|"Must be a nice change from|
writing about the dreary old NFL."
|This is going to end badly.|
The game plan for Sunday was apparently to provide a demonstration of the definition of insanity by taking the same approach and expecting a different result. His tee shot with the driver flew way right where it landed safely away from the water but under a cactus. He then used his putter to rake it back about 15 yards into the first cut of rough from which he promptly hit a fat 5-iron into the water, made a double and lost by two shots. CBS of course kept the camera on him expecting an outburst but all Spencer gave us was the standard "hold the club behind your head" in anguish pose. I personally felt cheated. If I had hit that shot under those circumstances, some inanimate object would have paid dearly. Can't we please just once have a golfer go completely Lou Piniella ballistic on camera after he screws-up? You know they want to. Maybe they've been repressed for so long that they're not sure exactly how to express themselves (except for Tiger). If that's the case, I'm here to help with some suggestions from my personal meltdown catalog. In reverse order of seismic magnitude:
|"Keep it together Spencer . . .|
SPENCER . . . SPENCER!!!"
4. I was in high school and had probably played 8 rounds of golf in my life so I shouldn't have had any expectations for my game much less high expectations but that didn't stop me from losing my mind after topping a 3-wood. My ensuing goal was to launch the offending club down the fairway in the direction of the ball but I somehow managed to hang onto it a second too long and pulled it deep into the swamp to the left of the tee. I never found it. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised considering the trail of broken tennis rackets that led to that moment. This might also explain my tendency to slash the shit out of every defensemen who took the ball from me. What a great stress reliever it would be in golf if, after you hit a bad shot, you could walk over to your opponent and crack him in the ribs with your driver? It would definitely spice-up the Ryder Cup.
3. This one actually happened on a PGA course so the pros could copy it verbatim. It was the first and last time I was invited on a client golf trip. We were playing the 10th hole of the Blue Monster at Doral which is a 530 yard par 5 with water running all the way down the left side. I hit a good drive and had about 265 left so I decided to lay-up with a 5 iron which I promptly pulled into the water. This time there would be no errant throw as I took dead aim and helicoptered the 5-iron in the direction of the splash with the instruction, "you hit it in there, you fucking find it." I think the clients were really impressed. I've since been banned from golf trips and relegated to playing the annual company outing with the guys from the warehouse.
|"You . . . get in the goddamn game!|
And you . . . get me a defibrillator!"
1. My personal favorite. I was about 24 years old and playing enough that my game had progressed to the point where I could occasionally put together a string of about 12 holes at even par so of course I expected this to happen all the time (some things never change). I don't know what the circumstances of the round were but I know I was walking off the green having a temper tantrum and I took a swipe at my walking bag with my putter. For a second, the bag just stood there like a guy in a samurai movie who's just had his head cut off but doesn't realize yet. And then, almost in slow motion, one of the legs on the bag gave way and it slowly collapsed to the ground followed shortly thereafter by my playing partners who went down in hysterics. They then proceeded to snicker every time I went to put the bag down and the one healthy leg would stick out (it looked like one of the Rockettes) before I would have to lay it down sideways. After about five holes of that, I ripped the other leg off and threw it in a pond. The snickering nevertheless continued.
(Editor's note: In case you were thinking of throwing a random golf invitation my way and the last four paragraphs have given you pause, fear not. That type of behavior is in my past. Now when things go wrong, I just mutter a never-ending stream of F-bombs under my breath and stop talking to everyone for 20 minutes so, while I still might not be the ideal guest, at least I won't embarrass you).
|No Spencer . . . you're the man.|