The sticklers at the Royal & Ancient Golf Club have lived up to their curmudgeonly image by forbidding former Open champion, country music artist and golfing jelly pile John Daly from using a cart to whizz around the Royal Portrush when it tees off on July 18th.
The R&A, in characteristic style, said “walking the course is an integral part of the Championship and is central to the tradition of links golf which is synonymous with The Open,” bringing uptight stuffy nonsense to new levels of pure niggly jobsworth b*llocks.
So we got to thinking about the best way for the long-hitting hick to haul his considerable frame around the 72 – okay, it’s probably going to be 36 – holes at the Open Championship.
The contest returns to Northern Ireland for the first time since 1951, and if there’s one thing some people love more than anything in the region, it’s a march. Surely a band could get the big lad on the kettle drum and a few flute players to hoist the former champ on their shoulders around the course, all to the tune of a jolly ditty that celebrates a time when plague was still an existential threat and you’d have had a better chance of winning the lottery than making it to the age of four.
So you may not be on the best of terms with your four ex-wives, but it’s at least worth floating the idea that they could form a caravan to carry lift you around the course. And as your song says, “All my exes wear Rolexes”, so if they don’t fancy doing it personally, they could chip in together for a few useful bodies to do the job.
Game of Thrones is finished and the unemployment rate among giants in the region is through the roof – there’s only so many Jack and the Beanstalk pantos to go around. What better way to stamp your authority – literally if you like – on the competition than from the broad musculature of a huge, hairy warrior? Let’s see Tiger Woods take the piss when he’s clamped in the mitts of your personal humongous chaperone.
You’ve got to watch these giant lads at the 19th hole though, I’m told they can get a bit lairy after nine gallons or so.
When you say “golf”, you think of vast rolling expanses of green real estate. Make use of the undulating fairways of the Antrim course by strapping in and out of a massive inflatable ball and rolling from hole to hole. Admittedly it’s not the most convenient mode of transport, but the R&A started this, and what use is a caddy if they can’t stop you rolling through the links’ sand dunes into the sea?
Seriously, you’re supposed to be the rebel of the USPGA. Where’s the spirit of 1776? Time to ride your three-horsepower motor like Paul Revere along the Northern Irish coast and show the effete, toffee-nosed colonial masters a bit of good ol’ American grit. Yee-ha!
Plus, you’re only there til Friday, so is it really worth the hassle of doing anything else, is it?