I'd like to talk about golf for this column. Not a reality show.
By which, I mean I'm writing about golf while hearing my voice as I type these words. And envisioning my wife not paying attention because I'm talking about golf.
Golf is pretty much my most favorite thing to watch on TV. And I've become fairly skilled at watching golf on TV. I know exactly when to order a pizza and almost exactly how much beer I need to purchase for the major tournaments. And when the time comes to drink a few beers and eat pizza while also watching golf, I've learned to multi-task. Even if chicken wings are involved.
I often try to think up scenarios that would feature me somehow becoming a golf commentator, which surely has to be the best job ever invented. Because you're sitting in a comfortable chair – I’m very good at doing that – and talking about golf. My clever golf comments are usually greeted with a standard response from my wife: "Hmmmm."
Which means: “I sure hope this tournament is over soon and doesn't go into a playoff.”
The main problem with my clever commentary is that it’s way too honest. It even surpasses Johnny Miller's outlook, which is essentially: “That was a terrible shot. He should not have done that. I would not have done that. If he makes another terrible shot like that, he is doomed. What was he thinking? And now back to 16.”
My comments are usually: “Hey look. There's John Senden moving up the leaderboard with another birdie. Will he win? No, he won't. He will make like Sergio and come apart like a rusty beach chair. Senden is the guy no one wants to be paired with during a pro-am. Those CEOs are like – I got Senden? I paid 50 grand and I get Senden? Can I trade him for Briny Baird?”
Although I think The Masters is the best major of the season, my favorite TV viewing tournament of the year is the U.S. Open. Or, as my Dad calls it, "The U.S. by-God Open." He definitely didn't borrow that phrase from Dan Jenkins or Lewis Grizzard, I'm fairly certain.
The reason our national championship reigns supreme follows thusly: It's right around my birthday and it's on Father's Day weekend. And that gives me carte blanche to spend a lot of time ... watching TV. And eating plenty of delicious food so I can soldier through another four or five hours of TV viewing, which often requires three varieties of chips.
I'm curious to see how interested our almost 3-year-old son will be in watching golf. Right after he wakes up from his nap, I've found he will watch golf. For about four minutes, but then he realizes there's no talking dogs thwarting trouble around Adventure Bay, nor are there amusing British pigs getting into the type of amusing adventures that well-mannered British pigs typically get into.
“Peppa Pig” anyone? It's way better than “Paw Patrol.” Not as serene as “Caillou,” though. (He's awfully confident for a bald 4-year-old, no?)
I actually tested the water last Saturday and as Joe Joe walked by the TV, he glanced at The St. Jude Classic and said, "I don't want golf. Let's play hide and seek."
Which is really what golf is for most amateurs – and also for the FBI agents shadowing Phil Mickelson ...
Did you like that transition?
The big question this week is, of course, will Phil Mickelson win the U.S. Open? In case you're interested in millionaire golfers adding a few more millions to their pile of cash, Mickelson's wholesome image is being threatened with the tarnish of an investigation into insider trading.
If you don't know about insider trading, it's basically just trading stocks based on ill-gotten information. It's kind of like fishing in a stocked pond.
Other big questions this week: Will Rickie Fowler dress like a box of European cookies? Will Matt Kuchar smile a lot regardless of what happens? Will Henrik Stenson ever smile? How many times will an announcer make note of Tiger Woods' absence? Will Jim Furyk and Kevin Na get paired and bring everything to a screeching halt?
Will I have enough beer?
Also, Happy Father's Day to my Dad and my brother, Will.
I love you and I'll call you after Mickelson loses.
