Like many sports fans, my interest in professional golf is confined to the four major tournaments. Many prefer the Masters, some like the back-to-roots British Open, but I’ve always liked the U.S. Open the best.
I love the idea that anyone can theoretically qualify (though “anyone” almost never does) and that it’s played on our toughest courses from coast-to-coast. The U.S. Open is rarely tamed. It humbles the best golfers in the world. Merion has once again proven that adage to be true this weekend despite predictions that said otherwise. I like that.
Between work duties, I’ve watched my share of the U.S. Open this weekend. Even my kids have joined in – mainly to guffaw at Ian Poulter’s retro 70s slacks he wore in the opening round.
Whenever I watch, I start to get that feeling. Maybe I should go out and hit a few?
Those are dangerous, forbidden thoughts. I’m tempting the wrath of The Beast. I’ve successfully kept The Beast suppressed for two decades. You don’t want him to re-emerge.
At this point, you may (or more likely É may not) be thinking to yourself, “Hmm, I’ve never seen Todd Golden out on any of our fine area golf courses. There’s plenty of events he could likely participate in. And every time I’ve seen him at an event, he looks like he’d be immensely gifted at just about any athletic endeavor he’d consider trying.”
Wait … I should strike that last part? Just keep your thoughts to yourself.
It’s true. I’ve been asked many times to participate in the many golf events that take place annually here in the Wabash Valley. My boilerplate response is to politely decline in a self-depracating manor, usually ended with a simple phrase that describes my game, “I stink.”