So Tiger Woods is making his triumphant return to sport at Augusta. Fantastic news, really. Tournament sponsors and networks get their ratings; tens of millions will watch a round of golf without waking up 3 hours later in a puddle of their own drool; and Phil Mickelson gets a valid reason for that “No one knows I just took it up the arse” look he always has on his face. We’re all winners.
As such, the only thing that can spoil the 2010 Masters is mind-numbing commentary about Tiger’s time away from the game and how that’s affected his play, the sport itself and, really, the world at large. Even though all of that has been covered ad nauseam since last December, it’s all we’re going to get from Thursday to Red Shirt Sunday (even if Tiger doesn’t make the cut). Sure, they’ll try to even things out by mentioning Camilo Villegas’ new haircut and making remarks about Phil Mickelson’s banned Ping fiasco, but by and large, we’re effed.
So like any immature drunkard, I have devised this simple yet effective game for surviving the Masters (or dying in the middle of it).
Take a shot or chug any time the following is said:
I have an inkling that Tiger will tee it up at Bay Hill, so there’ll be an opportunity to get my body acclimated to this level of abuse. But if that doesn’t happen, I’d really appreciate it if one of you could be a pal and call the paramedics for me around 8 pm on the first day of play.