So I'm standing at the bar in the clubhouse of the King and Bear golf course at World Golf Village a little after six or so Sunday evening. Because I'd spent the afternoon playing a round after a morning at The Players' Championship, sipping a well earned scotch after an exquisite round? Oh no.
No, my elder daughter's dance team was having their awards banquet at the club house. ONLY girly girls would schedule an awards banquet during the closing hours of the local PGA tournament event.
So, as the year-in-review video was playing, and the girls were shrieking in delight at the pictures of each other, I and another dad are watching 23-year-old Adam Scott try to protect a two-shot lead and win "The Fifth Major" on the TV behind the bar. Now, I doubt the TPC will ever achieve major status, but with the top players in the world, and a $1.44 milion paycheck to the winner, can you say screw the PGA Championship? I know what I'd rather win.
So Scott hits the green on the island hole at 17, the most infamous hole in professional golf, and has a good drive on 18. The problem came when he hit his second shot. Missed the green, and put it in the water. In the freaking water!
That is when I yelped "Shitfuck!" Or "Fuckshit!" I forget, exactly. A burble, really, not an actual shout, but people, it resonated. Thirty parents' eyes, including Mine own Bride's, spooled around to stare at me. It was not unlike the cartoon I had imagined, but had not been able to execute, to March of the Swivelheads.
Fortunately, the girls were too busy squealing to hear me, but the parents pulled out their notepads, and placed another black mark against Velocidad, scourge of upright, tightassed dance parents. The bartender, damn him, sniggered into his diet soda like a coach in a Porky's movie.
Oh, the outcome? Scott had to go up and down in two from the rough off the green to win, and avoid a playoff. His chip put him ten feet from the hole, and he drained it like a frigging twelve-year pro. His caddy was ecstatic, naturally.