Friday, May 9, 2014


Let me paint a little word picture for you. A guy wakes up on the couch still reeking from the 9 Bud Light Limes he drank the night before as his kids finished the Internet on their iPads. His wife doesn’t appreciate when he “gets that way” because he acts weird and snores in his sleep. Hence Sofa City. He’s recently taken up permanent residence in Chateau Bowwow, but he can claw his way out of that tomorrow. Today, he and a few of his old fraternity brothers scored free tickets to the Quicken Loans National PGA Golf Tournament just outside Bethesda, Maryland. 

He claims to love golf because it’s a nice excuse to be outdoors and enjoy a sport that not only relaxes and challenges him, but gives him a chance to ponder the big picture. The real reason he loves it is because he can drink all day, be away from his kids and gawk at that friendly cart girl with the epic rack. He’ll never do a deep enough emotional dive to come to grips with the fact that he actually hates the sport. He has no talent for it, so it’s slowly becoming one more thing that makes him feel small. What he really wants to do is paint landscapes, but fears the razzing he’ll get from his friends about how much a cock-gobbling homo he is. 

Apathetic is the best word to describe the way he feels about his job as an outside sales rep for a large medical equipment company. But he endures it. After all, it’s too late to change careers at this point, right? He’s recently taken out a 2nd mortgage on his home and borrowed a sizable chunk of money from his sister, unbeknownst to his wife. Not because times are tight, but because of a few bad decisions involving penny stocks. 

Still, he’s obsessed with having the latest and greatest golf equipment. He loves the look of pure covetous jealousy when he whips out his surrogate wang on that first tee box. He always pushes to hit from the blacks, but is secretly bummed when his friends acquiesce. After he throws on his pleated shorts, striped polo, ankle socks and a visor, it feels downright criminal to wear normal running shoes. It’s like he’s offending the great and powerful golf gods. Plus, he’s wants to get close to his favorite player, a 22-year-old Aussie who’s as sharp on Twitter as his is around the greens. There will be grassy knolls and uneven terrain for him to contend with all day long. He’d hate to miss out on seeing his hero. Or worse, spilling any of that sweet sweet hair of the dog.   

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