Playing games with my head

I love the game of baseball. I played the game of baseball. I can’t standing watching the game of baseball on TV. Moves as fast as an open-air molasses chugging contest in the Arctic Circle.

I love the game of football. I’ve never played the game of football. I don’t even know half the rules of football. But I can watch football on TV all day. So much so that I can’t allow myself to watch it, as that’s all I’ll end up doing all Sunday long.

Four score and seven irons ago …

Now, I can’t stand the game of golf. You couldn’t pay me to play a game of golf. You might as well put a baseball bat in my golf bag and throw out all those other things, clubs, whatever they call them. You know, those things called “woods” that are made out of metal, and the ones called “irons” that are made out of titanium. And chuck out that putter thing too. Throw in a fungo bat for that for me.

Why aren’t there any manufacturer recalls for golf clubs just because of those two issues alone? Metal woods and titanium irons. You think Toyota could get away with taking a spare tire, installing it on the driver’s side and calling it the steering wheel? Rots-a-ruck on that one.

Anyway, as I was saying, I cannot and will not ever play the game of golf.

But I will spend the day watching it on TV, no problem. For most of yesterday and today, the U.S. Open has been playing, ala background music, on my television.

And I’ve actually been watching it. With near rapt attention. And I almost know what the hell is going on too.

I think this is called schizophrenia.

“Is that a sand trap?” My wife knows and cares even less for golf than I do.

“Yeah, actually they call it a bunker.” Don’t I sound knowledgable.

“Isn’t that a bad thing? Why do they put them out there right near the holes if the players don’t want to get in them?”

“You got me. Maybe it’s like comic relief for all of those people sitting around there. Maybe they think it’s funny to watch these guys hit their balls into them, get mad and blow boogers or furious even and start shooting off double-boogers.”

“I think those are called bogeys and double-bogeys.”

“Bogeys, boogers. You say tomato, I say booger.”

“Why are you watching golf? You don’t even like golf.”

“I’m expanding my horizons.”

“Expanding your horizons? More like taking too much medication. I need to count how many pills you have left. Do you even know anything about golf?”

“I know plenty about golf. The little round white thing’s the ball. Those sticks are the clubs. The guys hit the ball with one of the sticks and gets pissed when it doesn’t go into the little hole in the ground.

Personally, I think they’d do better and be much happier if they moved the little holes … maybe put them right in the middle of those bunkers.”