Drunkasaurusrex.com
Drunkasaurusrex.com

Golf and the End of American Masculinity - Part II - September 7, 2005

The first sign of trouble for me came a couple years back at the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am. I went for Saturday and Sunday with a friend of mine who was a local club pro at the time. He had special super-secret double probation "pro" passes or something for the whole week so we had almost totally unfettered access to the sponsor tents and clubhouse.

We arrived on Saturday at a reasonably early time and it felt like we were hours late. The dirt lots were packed with cars and the grounds were a sea of people. I asked Ryan, the club pro, if this was normal for PGA events or if this was specific to the Pro-Am. He said, "dude, this is typical...maybe less since it isn't even a real Tour event. These guys are as bad as Raiders fans lining up to get in the lot for the tailgate."

I had no idea.

The worst of the worst, I have discovered, is the Tiger Group. I've come to call them the Swooshbags. These are the guys anywhere from their late 20s to their early 40s covered head-to-toe in Nike gear. They sport the black "TW" hats and wear the same color shirt Tiger wears each round. These are the guys who scream "GET IN THE HOLE!" on every one of Tiger's strokes whether it's a 2 foot par putt or a tee shot on a 600-yard par-5.

Walking through the auxiliary parking lot, Ryan and I saw two men in their early 40s rocking identical salt n' pepper goatees, black Nike hats, and wraparound Revo shades with what looked to be a dozen Nike polo shirts spread out on the hood of their SUV. There were two of each color and they looked brand new; folded like they just came off the shelf at the Pro Shop.

"How much for the light blue one? Do you have any XLs?" They turned and glared at me like I asked them if I could come in their butts. "Well, do you or don't you?" The shorter of the Swooshbags expelled one of those disdainful 'you just don't get it' chuckles and turned back to his friend.

Ryan stepped in front of me and laughed at my ignorance. "DrunkRex, they're not selling those shirts. They're trying to figure out which color Tiger is wearing today so they can match." I was unclear how he knew this just by looking at them, but then he nodded toward their matching Nike "TW" hats.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?!

He was quite serious. I turned back to Tweedle-Douche and Tweedle-Swoosh. "Are you guys really trying to co-ordinate with Tiger Woods' wardrobe?" With darting eyes and deafening silence, Tweedle-Douche confirmed my worst fear. They were, in fact, trying to figure out which color shirt Tiger'd be wearing because they were going to follow his group from the range to the 18th green.

Not stalkers, my ass.

When asked why they didn't just go in and find out, the Swooshbags looked glumly at one another. Not only were there no ins-and-outs at Pebble, but they lacked "someone on the inside like at the other Tour events" they go to.

Before I could comment on the utter absurdity of the situation and the plainly obvious fact that they were born with the umbilical chord wrapped tightly around their necks, Tweedle-Swoosh spotted the badge hanging around Ryan's neck. To say the Swooshbags were excited would be to say Wilt Chamberlain banged lots of chicks.

Their tone went from snotty indignation to tempered reverence in an instant. They asked Ryan how he got our badges, who he knew on The Tour, what we had access to, who we were going to shadow (they said "shadow"), and finally, if we would go in, find Tiger, and then call one of them on their cell phone to report back (they said "report back"). Each produced a business card from a billfold before we had a chance to decline. The sobriety and seriousness with which they asked this last question would lead even the least stable of people to wonder what flavor the Kool-Aid was.

Ryan grabbed the cards and told them he'd give them a ring no later than 30 minutes before his group's start time. As we approached the entrance, Ryan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "felching dildos," tore the business cards in half and threw them on the ground.

Once inside I saw the strangest thing around the range and the practice greens. There were these swarms of polo-shirted white people moving independently of each other like gnats around streetlamps during summer evenings. There were no words. Their movement was completely organic and absolutely dumbfounding. They stepped backward and forward in unison. They murmured to each other. They moved from station to station fluid like the tide.

So I asked Ryan what they were doing. "They're following golfers."

I didn't get it. You mean like stalking them? Like groupies? "No dude, more like NASCAR fans. You know how every Cup fan has a favorite driver? Those guys all have favorite golfers."

So all those guys over there behind Justin Leonard. They're all big Leonard fans? "Most of 'em, yeah, probably. They use the same clubs as Leonard too. Those guys leaning over the rope right there are probably trying to figure out exactly what type of shaft Leonard has on his driver--just like NASCAR fans. Rusty guys drink nothing but Miller Lite. Leonard fans use nothing but Nike balls and irons"

Are they trailer-dwelling sheepfuckers like NASCAR fans, too? "Nah, no way. Those guys are all pretty successful and there's no way they're not more educated. They're just huge, huge dorks. Dude, remember when I played in that qualifier tournament when the U.S. Open was at Olympic? When people at the club found out I was trying to qualify for the Open they started following me on the course. They started hanging around the range when I gave a lesson. It was cool at first, but after a week it was just creepy."

No shit. Anyone who thinks it's a good idea to follow you around needs to re-examine their priorities. "Fuck you, dude. Do you have any idea how much pussy I pulled from that club?"

Not enough to help you outdrive me. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Your driver has a right hand turn signal. You're a menace in the tee box."

Yeah, but I still outdrive you. "Sorry Pythagorus, but we don't count the hypotenuse on the big kids' golf course. 170 yards down the fairway and 100 yards out of bounds to the right does not equal a 270 yard drive. Take your shit to the par-3 course."

You're not very smart. "Fuck you."
------------------------------------------

Jason Gore didn't become the darling of the U.S. Open this year because he came out of nowhere to play an amazing couple of rounds on Friday and Saturday on one of the most challenging courses in the world. He captured the imagination of male golf fans because he's short, fat, and balding. He snuck onto the biggest stage of them all not so much through hard work and determination as by swallowing his professional dignity and playing every single tournament on a minor league tour. Buddies hanging out that Saturday afternoon looked at each other and said "hey, we're from Dingleberry, U.S.A! We'll play any tournament that comps our drinks and we sweat profusely upon the slightest hint of humidity! Maybe we can eek out a tour card and make something of our pitiful, meaningless existences!" HIGH-FIVE!

Can it really get anymore depressing for the prospects of male identity and masculinity? Has it really gotten so bad in this country that we have masses of adult men sitting on the edges of their IKEA sofas on Saturday afternoons during the spring and summer pulling desperately for a short fat bald guy who is trying equally desperately not to fuck up? What a great message for American teenagers and adolescents.

Son, go grab your brother and come here for a second. Boys, I know it's tough for you guys right now--having below average intelligence and not a lick of athletic ability--but let me tell you something: I don't want you to worry. You can still be somebody some day. All you have to do is pick something you don't hate that much, do it for long enough without screwing the pooch, and hope that a major television network stumbles onto your story when the people they are really interested in aren't doing much. You can be the next Jason Gore!

Wonderful. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go down in the basement and grab the drainsnake. The American Dream is clogging the shitter again.

Posted by nils at 7:36 AM

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Bastard. You just had to call out my entire existence didn't you. Don't you know that wearing my black Tdub hat, mock polo (Sunday red), silky Dri-fit black slacks, Dri-fit TW shoes with Qlock spikes, and Dri-fit glove all while swinging my 460cc Ignite driver into a One Platinum golf ball brings me that much closer to greatness?!?!

Posted by: GolfingAndy at October 7, 2005 10:08 AM

Anyone who blogs really has no place lamenting what pussies everyone has become. Why don’t you take the first step in recovery by no longer contributing to the problem?

Posted by: Duke at October 7, 2005 03:47 PM

Law school must be really tough for you, because it is October 7th, not September 7th. I hope next semester you get to work on the names of the four seasons. If not, you should ask for a full refund from the Newark International Skool of Law.

Posted by: Anonymous at October 7, 2005 04:32 PM

Doesn't the fact that you guys have nothing better to do with your free time than read blogs that poke fun at how sad you've become and then reply in a vain attempt to justify you not being man enough to stop putting on cologne and stalking golfers just prove DrunkRex's point? I'd say that you guys should be ashamed of how lame you are, but if you understood enough of what it is to be a real man, then you would've laid down your TW hats a long time ago.

Posted by: Glor at October 7, 2005 11:42 PM

BURN!

Posted by: Jim at October 8, 2005 04:41 AM

I want to do naughty things to DRex.

Posted by: KT at October 9, 2005 12:49 AM

GOLF
hardy fuckin har,Drex?? ARE YOU SEROUIS??? are you surprised that golfers are mostly fags now, i'm not a golf fan but i appreciate it as a complex skill, But seriously, its a game for suburban, experianced deprived business men who have no purpose except to pay the mortgage and build up a tuition fund or two. What else have they got besidews to obsess about golf fashion and statistics, its a safe (and pathetic) subject that doesn't threaten their masculity facades and subversive self conciousness. Fuckin losers

Posted by: lucas at October 10, 2005 10:16 PM

You might want to learn how to spell there Lucas before you poke fun, retard!

Posted by: Anonymous at October 12, 2005 05:35 PM

Fags amillion. Every non-tour golfer I ever met says the same fucking thing " I could'a earned my tour card,(insert excuse here)". The same jerk-offs who were semigood enough at some high school sport are now the axact same turds who live the chance to go hack up some golf course with the other semi- talented wannn-be's and never-were's of yesteryear.SSDD. Just what is golf anyway? Not a sport, just a game, fucking losers, still the same.

Posted by: BRUCE at October 13, 2005 04:04 PM

Golf was created so that on sundays instead of going to church or spending time with the family, men could get together, drink and wander through fields hitting stuff with clubs. But I digress, watching golf is for pussies, play rugby.

Posted by: Charles at October 14, 2005 09:49 AM

New Line Cinema Presents -

THE LEGEND OF JIM NANTZ

Starring:
Steve Carell .... Jim Nantz
Kevin James .... Jason Gore
Charlize Theron .... Mrs. Tiger Woods
Chris Rock .... Tiger Woods
Vincent D'Onofrio... Phil Mickelson

Plot Summary:
Jim Nantz, the broadcaster, can boast about many magical moments of his distinguished career. His hynotizing effect on audiences as well as players is legendary. Only Golf, the gentile man's sport, can highlight the spellbinding effect Mr. Nantz had on the world of athletics.

Competitive moments through the modern history of modern golf involving greats such as Tiger Woods, Jason Gore, and Phil Mickelson have been recreated by an ensemble cast with Jim Nantz, played by Steve Carell.

The common theme through out the story is the Jim Nantz's soothing voice taking us from one climatic event to the other, and his narration of side plots. Tensions rise as Mrs. Tiger Woods is caught cheating with Jason Gore, the people's champ. Phil Mickelson comes out of the closet revealing his crush on Mr. Jim Nantz. This dynamic plays out into an explosive climax: A three way playoff, a love triangle, and player favortism by Jim Nantz himself.

Posted by: Anonymous at October 14, 2005 04:17 PM

I really enjoyed the way in which you presented the conversation between you and your golfing pro friend. I don't know if you originated the style (probably not), but it was cool nonetheless. Commentators 2 and 3 are so stupid, I don't even know how they manage to breathe. Keep up the good work.

Posted by: jahed at October 17, 2005 12:49 AM

I don't get it - you think American teenagers and people in general need slim athletic people as role models? This is the American draem? Isn't that a bit narrow-minded; there are plenty of those sorts already, and a lot of kids get hung up on looks and sexual appeal. Ok so the fat guy wasn't very good, but at least he makes a change from the Gucci golfers/sportspeople.

Posted by: kasey at October 23, 2005 01:38 PM

if you wear a polo shirt to play the sport it is instantly homosexual and hardly even a real sport. and if you are sad and pathetic enough to try begging your way into a golf tounrament like it is a middle school birthday party...... kill yourself. fucking pussies if i saw you i'd kick you in the uterus on general principle

Posted by: nick at October 29, 2005 09:45 PM

how come so long since the last entry?

Posted by: stixy at October 31, 2005 03:14 PM

Both of these articles are kick-ass. Even without golf masculinity in America is at an all time low. This is obvious from the popularity of "metrosexuals", the new "ubersexuals" and "emo" boys making out with each other. Can't wait for the next Drex entry.

kasey: It is completely untrue that "a lot of kids get hung up on looks and sexual appeal." If that were true, the kids in this country would look more like children and less like bleached Samoans.

Posted by: benn at November 11, 2005 11:40 AM

Freakin sweet! A "man" complaining about the decline in masculinity in this country by getting bitchy about other "men's" outfits and accessories. You're one funny lady!

Posted by: The Man at November 16, 2005 06:56 PM

Where are you Drunk Rex?

Posted by: stix at November 18, 2005 03:38 PM

Sport? no

Game? yes


There is absolutely no characteristic about the GAME of golf that qualifies it as a sport besides the fact that a select group of shitheads who have developed their skill to be better than 99.99% of the populace are able to become millionaires due to the average shithead American media sheep's indulgence in a hugely commercialized profit machine.

Posted by: dingleberry milkshake at November 18, 2005 07:27 PM

wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Posted by: voob at November 20, 2005 01:04 AM

Take your time writing the new posts. Twat.

Posted by: luke at November 24, 2005 11:57 AM

Golf is a solid sport/game whatever you want to call it. It takes a while to "find" a swing to get good enough at the game to enjoy it. That is why most people detest the sport. They figure that they can pick up the club and hit it dead straight 300 yards and well thats not the case. Instant gratification doesnt come in this sport, so those who dont have the ability to learn a useable swing can do nothing more then complain about it, and will never learn to appreciate the simplicity of the game.

Its the same people who fail at everything else from business to relationships, anything worth while takes time and hard work. Fortunately for the minority, the majority of people give up to soon, leaving the riches for those who are persistant in their daily struggle to attain...

Posted by: Barry at November 28, 2005 03:26 PM

are you still going to post?

Posted by: ? at December 11, 2005 01:34 PM

hah! i bet you're going bald too, aren't you?

if you were short and skinny, you'd be saying something like, "as if athletic talent matters at all. all you stupid feeble minded fucking posers can go have gay football sex, for i am drex, the man who isn't quite as funny as tucker max. i repeat: i would in no way be known to the world if tucker max weren't funny. i can however, state my opinions in an authoritative manner on a biased blog and then rationalize how i'm not that funny by saying something like how my audience just can't find the funny."

yeah, i that's EXACTLY what you'd be saying if you were skinny, word for word.

Posted by: Joey [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 11, 2005 11:41 PM

Speaking of golf....skindheads are cocksuckers.

Posted by: Alfonso at December 14, 2005 04:29 AM

are you going to post still?

Posted by: G at December 16, 2005 01:02 AM

Nice, I just wanted to comment cuz I live in Carmel for 18 years and went to the pro am most of those. I still live in the 831 and enjoy it very much. Props on visiting!

Posted by: Darion at December 18, 2005 03:14 AM

Posted by: sexything at March 20, 2006 12:16 AM

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