On the United States Open telecast, Sean McDonough just said that Jordan Spieth was “a revolution shy of a share of the lead,” and I thought, well, he’s in the same predicament as Castro in 1958.
Then I heard another announcer say, “Once the ball has moved, you are deemed to have moved it,” and I started giggling because that’s what happens when you’re sitting behind a laptop writing and your information about a golf tournament comes in bits, snatches, and whatever penetrates the preoccupied consciousness.
Remember, “The rules of the game are unflinching,” and little is more pretentious than golf.
Golfers have “class,” which rhymes with “ass,” which sounds like “ice” where I come from.
Hmm. “Where I Come From.” It might make a country song.
What if other sports were broadcast, written about, and packaged like golf? Rodeo, for instance, where the average cowboy is named Cheyenne Bodie, or Cody Brodie, but never Benton Farnsworth. The X Games, where it has been proved that stoners can be very athletic. Or NASCAR, where cars are quite often “tight on entry.”
What if John Madden had been a golf commentator? “See, when you putt the ball, what you’re trying to do is just, boom, roll it down the hill until it goes in the hole. It doesn’t do it every time, but that’s what you’re trying to do is put it the hole. Or putt it in the hole. Whatever. See what I’m saying?”
To which Pat Summerall, who also announced golf, could’ve still said, “Right you are.”
Johnny Carson would have been great at golf. “You are wrong, mint-julep breath.”
Chris Berman, inexplicably, is participating in this telecast. Berman doesn’t dare refer to Rickie “Don’t Lose That Number” Fowler, though, because, at the course, on the links, and under the influence, Berman has “class.”