Oh Tony. Tony, Tony, Tony. You just have to smarter than that, my man. It's never in one's best interest to tempt the golf gods with celebratory displays that are unbecoming of a gentleman's sport, but high-stepping all over the hallowed grounds of Augusta? He might have as well have been two-stepping on the graves of the legends that came, saw, conquered, and calmly fist-pumped before him on one of the most prestigious courses in all the land. Of course, I'd be liable to pull my dick out if - by the grace of blind luck - I got a hole-in-one on so much as a pitch-and-putt, but every time I step up to a tee I'm close to buzzed and far outside the jurisdiction of the PGA's holiest of thou. To be honest, I'm a little surprised that the all-seeing-eye of Augusta sent nothing more than the turf monster to do his dirty work in forcing a wince-worthy misstep that Tony Finau somehow feels comfortable playing through. I would have thought that his 'Neon Deion' impersonation would have landed him a spiteful lightning strike, a la Caddy Shack. I guess the greenest of grass and the most glorious of weeks had the golf gods feeling generous, because limping through 36 holes is the least one can do after breaking the most conscientious of codes of conduct. Let that be a warning to Tony Finau that his individualistic dance moves will not be tolerated, or - more importantly - let it serve as a reminder to tie his shoes a little tighter before sprinting backwards in the non-athletic wear of tight white pants.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Categories
All
Archives
January 2020
|