As I stepped off Pappa’s PJ and felt the balmy Georgia air, I felt like the narrator in “Heart of Darkness.” Thankfully, I am a straight white male, so this did not bother me at all. I was at the Masters because I have a long history with golf (see straight white male). Ever since my Scottish ancestors stepped off the Mayflower and founded the Plymouth Rock Country Club on Native American territory, we’ve been dodging bunkers and land acknowledgements. Plus, like most pro golfers, my favorite thing to do is cheat on my girlfriend. On paper, my handicap is +3, meaning I have to give my friends three “strokes” whenever we play. Others suggest that, in reality, my handicap is debilitating alcoholism and “ADHD.” That’s why I’ve come to be known as the John Daly of Andover (and the John Daly of Casino Night. Also the John Daly of the Sanctuary policy). Due to my WASP heritage, it was tough seeing an Irishman win the Masters, but a car bomb did explode his golf cart during the playoff on 18. Thankfully, no one was injured in the blast (14 caddies were killed). I did relate to Bryson Dechambeau, because when Rory McIlroy ignored him, I remembered the hundreds of women who ignore me at Andover. If things keep up like this I might have to switch to LIV Golf. While the LIV tour doesn’t offer history, prestige, class, or top-tier golf, at least the money is good!
