What is that?
Jesus Christ, you’d have to wonder, wouldn’t you?
Now look, I know you’ll probably disagree with me about this, but really, seriously, how could anyone call golf a sport? An activity where prematurely-old people walk around a field talking shit and selling each other toxic assets is a sport? I don’t think so.
A money-making scam that knocks down more rainforest than a McMillion McDonald McOutlets is not a fucking sport. It’s a criminal conspiracy
What is it about golf that pisses me off so much? Is it the stupid trousers?
Is it some of the smug self-satisfied bastards who play it and follow it?
Is it the fact that they don’t play against anyone? Certainly.
Golf is a sport in the same way that doing a crossword is a sport.
That’s right: it isn’t a sport. It’s a mental illness.
And yet, golf takes up huge tracts of land, swallows endless supplies of water we can’t afford and attracts the worst gobshites in the whole world all onto the same field to talk utter shite and finalise crooked deals to rob the rest of us blind, the fucking bastards.
That wouldn’t be too bad, if golfers weren’t boring.
You don’t believe me? I give you Exhibit One: Pádraig Harrington.
Surgeons hire Pádraig Harrington to talk to patients before castration operations. He talks and people pass out.
Bee-keepers pay Pádraig Harrington to lull swarms of killer hornets.
Police forces engage Pádraig Harrington to sedate PCP-crazed killers and quell riots.
Padraig Harrington can knock out all communication withing a hundred-mile radius just by talking. He’s a one-man electro-magnetic pulse, and yet this man is one of golf’s heroes along with Tiger Woods and some seventeen-year-old who can hit a ball further than Saturn.
So what? It’s just guys with a crooked stick hitting a ball.
It isn’t a sport.
I’m going to organise marches on the homes of known golfers in our area and drive them out. Concerned parents Against Golf.
Did I read recently that they were going to put it in the Olympics?
Golf? In the Olympics? I thought the Olympics was for athletes, and now they’re going to put fucking golf in it. What next — darts?
The precedent is there. Synchronised swimming, for Christ’s sake. Synchronised swimming. A sport. And that jumping around in a swimsuit waving a ribbon. What is that?
What the fuck is that? Pre-pubescent pole-dancing isn’t an Olympic sport for fucksake.
You might as well have tap-dancing in the fucking Olympics.
You can just see those ancient Greeks after the wrestling.
Come on Leonidas, let’s have a game of naked golf.
Oh all right then, Androcles, just as soon as I scrape this oil from my bronzed pectorals. How did you get on in the synchronised swimming?
Not too bad, Leonidas, but I was probably better in the running-around-like-a-complete-fool-waving-a-ribbon competition. And then I met this guy who tried to talk to me but I fell asleep.
Really? Who was that?
Don’t know, but he plays something called ????
????. You mean golph?
That’s it. Fella by the name of Harringbone, or something like that.