There's Your Karma, Ripe As Peaches

Tiger Woods Masters Drinking Challenge!

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:

• 1 shot - Layoff, rehab, scandal, sex
  
• 2 shots - Transgressions, 2008 knee injury
  
• 3 shots - Any mention of public apology or sponsors
• 4 shots - Family: Earl, Kutilda, Elin Woods or pictures of children
• Shot and a beer - Commentary from a golf legend (Nicklaus, Palmer, Player, etc) OR Jesper Parnevik
• Ultimate Warrior Challenge - Gentle Path Rehab Facility
• Blackout Bonus - Any named mistress

Why Can't Men Cheat with Hot Girls?

I don't have much of a clue about life, the universe or anything that matters, but one thing I do know is that most athletes are cheaters. It doesn't matter if they're men or women, in the professional ranks, college or high school, to paraphrase Chris Rock, an athlete is as faithful as his or her options. Naturally, the ease (and therefore likelihood) of infidelity is often directly proportional to the athlete's status, skill and renown.

So when news broke about Tiger Wood's International Cooze Tour, my only surprise was that people were, well, surprised. The shocked were divided in two camps:

1. "How could he cheat on Elin Nordegren? She's a goddess!" Yeah, she is. But show me one woman that no man would think of cheating on and I'll show you twenty that only the strongest of men could resist.
2. "I don't understand. He was such a focused family man!" No, he's a billionaire, larger than life athlete whose best friends are Michael Jordan and Charles "Around the Corner for a Blow Job" Barkley, two men whose four interests are money, sex, glory and the annihilation of anyone who interferes with that short list.

Unless you were a child or a naive fool, learning these things about Tiger shouldn't have been shocking. The only real surprise here is this:

These are some nasty bitches.

When a man has the ability to not only sleep with 98% of the women on the planet but also be permitted to have degrading, dehumanizing sex with 80% of them, why opt for the paper baggers? And this isn't just a problem that afflicts Tiger. A lot of men cheat with uglier and/or skankier women than they have at home. Maybe it's self-esteem, maybe ugly girls are freakier and easier, maybe these guys are addicts who don't mind dipping their puckers into toxic, cavernous wastelands. I really can't say. The one thing I know for sure is if a man disgraced me with random infidelities, the broads on his ho stroll had better be top shelf tail whose natural beauty would cause even me to nod begrudgingly with understanding. It's the least that cheating bastard could do.

At least then I could rationalise his behaviour. At least then, I could salve my wounds with the false belief that his fidelity was only compromised because a seductive temptress and her hypnotic vagina got in the way. But I tell you this. If he dared rub salt in my wounds by having sex with a woman whose face looks like a foot (see 3rd row, middle), I wouldn't take it out on him with an ironic 6 iron. I'd have a fucking weapon. You want to disrespect me with other women? Fine. Pack your bags and go. But if those women are gutter sluts who look like they just got bukkaked at a truck stop, I'm gonna fuck you up and then call a couple of hard, pipe-hitting fellas to go to work on you with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. What's that? I don't need to get medieval? Oh, well you must be confused. You see, this is what happens when you cheat with a bitch who looks like a fried running shoe.

So a much delayed bravo to Elin Nordegren for taking action. Maybe next time, she'll knock Tiger out on her own instead of having a tree and a fire hydrant handle the end game for her.

Awesome picture from: dlisted

Keith Richards and Ryder Cup WAGs

Niko, Guest Poster

Hello, mates! My cousin is still down and out (she should be back on Monday), so you're stuck with me again.

The first thing I'm supposed to touch on is an article by the bloke at The Wade Blogs -- he sent something to my cousin for her "consideration" (she said that means I have to write on it), so here we go.

The Wade Blogs takes a look at the Ryder Cup pairings and evaluates their WAGS (wives & girlfriends for you non-Brits). Let me tell you, mates, some of these birds are a right vomitous mess. Laurae Westwood, Melissa Lehman, Glendryth Wooseman (who looks like Mrs. Doubtfire), Lisa Cink, Amy DiMarco, Tabitha Furyk -- Hideous.

I can maybe see shagging them if my life was in danger or if I had a burlap sack to cover up their mannish faces or if I was being blackmailed but bloody fucking Christ. When you're a professional golfer making millions of paper, you're allowed to have trophies and/or standards -- just look at Phil Mickelson. If he was an everyday bloke, he'd be clamoring for the likes of the above-mentioned Glendryth Wooseman instead of a woman completely out of his league like his wife, Amy.

I'll bet when Phil chats up God, the only thing he asks for is more championships and more money. If he lost it all tomorrow, something tells me Amy Mickelson's knickers would be coming up mighty fast. But rather than follow Phil for example, some of these blokes look like they waved the white flag and settled for women whose best skill is probably making pies.

Many of the WAGs fall in the middle of the pack and are not worth comment; there are also some that are rated a little too high -- e.g., Morgan Leigh-Norman who scores an "eagle" even though she looks like Greg Norman with female parts. But the article does include mentions of Elin Nordegren Woods, Amy Mickelson, and Diane Antonopoulos (all fully clothed, sadly), as well as a Sonya Toms shot from an SI Swimsuit issue. Bravo. I advise that when you visit this site today, don't go past Amy Mickelson... the further down you scroll, the more tragic it becomes.

Here are some of the unfortunate looking ones:

+

Keith Richards has quit drugs because he thinks the quality has gone down.

“All they do is try and take the high out of everything. I don’t like the way they’re working on the brain area instead of just through the blood system. That’s why I don’t take any of them any more.”

That's a bloke who knows his drugs, so maybe he's right. But Keef may want to consider the fact that one could make speedballs by using drops of his blood as a base ingredient. When the plaque that lines one's arteries is made of cocaine and heroin, I don't think a line will have the same effect as it did when you started drugging in 1946.

+ Today is Elephant Appreciation Day!

Send a card to the bird in your life and see if she comes looking for a fight.

Cheers!
Niko

Mickelson Channels Jean Van de Velde

Before we get moving, I'd like to offer a job well done to the United States. If their ball skills matched the heart displayed, they would have won by 4, but that was a spectacular effort from end to end and precisely the type of fighting spirit that was expected against the Czechs. It's anyone's guess how Jorge Larrionda's blatant cheating affected the game's actual outcome. The US hasn't scored a goal of its own in 180 minutes... would they have found a way against Italy were Larrionda not such a barrier? Who's to say? The speculation will continue until 2010, especially if the US fails to advance, but who knows - it could be a good thing.

Nothing rallies Americans together for a cause than better than their national teams getting screwed over by foreigners.

As an aside, I was talking to Chad on Saturday and he said that Larionda is lucky he screwed over a country that doesn't give a damn, otherwise, he'd probably be dead by now. I couldn't agree more. He wouldn't have survived the night.

----------------

They're calling it one of the greatest collapses in the history of the U.S. Open. I call it the return of Sunday Mickelson. If you didn't see this exercise in choke, you missed out on quite a show. After I saw Mickelson in share of the lead with Ferrie, I stopped watching the coverage. See (for the newbies around here), I have this petty, immature hatred for Phil Mickelson that is based solely in my dislike for his his FIGJAM attitude and the "I just took it up the pooper and no one knows" look on his face... oh, and the fact that he doesn't like Tiger Woods [For some unknown reason, I take this as a personal afront, much in the same way that I did when Gary Payton said Michael Jordan "isn't that good."] I hate him and I root for his demise at every turn.

So I got word on Sunday that Colin Montgomerie was preparing to take the lead and likely, the championship, at Winged Foot, but by the time I tuned in, the Scotsman had already choked away his chance for greatness by picking out the wrong club in the middle of the fairway, hitting a second shot into deep grass short of the green, and then finishing with a double bogey. So had Jim Furyk - he missed a five-foot putt for par at the 18th. And Padraig Harrington, only a shot behind with three to play, bogeyed his last three holes. All that was left was Phil Mickelson and he was teeing up on 18.

I was about to change the channel when Johnny Miller (who should be a commenter at every sporting event) said, "He better be hitting a 4-wood." When Johnny Miller is on somebody's case, I make it a point to hang in for a listen. And with that, the fat bastard took his drive over the crowd and onto the hospitality tent, a move that, according to Miller, had Ben Hogan turning in his grave. And from there, Philthy clipped a freaking tree and the ball landed around the point his original drive should have.

The amazing thing is Hefty still had a chance to pull off the Mickelslam and knowing my luck when it comes to a hated sports persons [the term "athlete" does not apply in this case] doing well, I refused to get my hopes up. I just knew he'd lay up on the green and hole it out for certain victory and smugness. Bu it didn't happen. Hefty landed dead in the sand trap. By that point, Johnny Miller had completely lost his mind, putting millions of viewers in hysterics:

"This is a nightmare. You couldn't have worst decisions on this hole. I know you all like Phil, but come on, all you have to do is make par on this hole. Just hit a 2 or 3-iron and another long iron onto the green (easier said than done) and see you later. You don't have to run down the stretch on a white stallion. You can limp in there and say 'thanks for the trophy'."

But why? What could have gotten to him?

Mickelson had one double bogey in the tournament and it happened on the 72nd hole. Did he not want to be apart of the conversation with Tiger in the way of being a true rival? Was he not prepared for the heap of expectations going back to back to back in majors would inspire? I haven't the slightest clue but Mickelson, and his record for most second place finishes in the history of golf can reclaim his seat in the Pantheon of Chumps. The only thing missing from a final like this was Tiger Woods returning to glory... Oh well. Maybe next time.

Of Course Mickelson Won

Since I called the guy out, I probably owe it to you to close the latest chapter in my book, Phil Mickelson Sucks It.  I'll try not to be completely obnoxious, which means this will be really short:

Phil Mickelson proved my point and won the Masters over the weekend thanks to his magical, no-effort clubs. He played well, this is true. But I believe he blew away the field on the final 18 for a reason... while the rest of the world's best were struggling against an unbelievably difficult, mentally taxing course, Philthy was swinging easy and free. It's a lot easier to command a course when you're one of the most talented golfers in the world and your clubs are doing all the work on the toughest holes. Bravo, Phil.

On a less obnoxious note, I was drafted as a shortstop in the first round of our summer baseball league last night. I'm currently in the hunt for a bat that will help me pull the ball. If anyone has any tips or knows how to create a legal bat like this, please email me. I'd appreciate it :)

Phil Mickelson's 2 Drivers Should Lower Odds of Choking

When I was 4 years old, my grandfather had his old clubs cut down to runt size so I could learn. I was re-fitted for new clubs whenever I grew and figured I was on the path to junior greatness. But when I turned 15, I got new clubs. Left-handed clubs. Though a lefty, I'd played righty golf for 11 years with no cause for complaint, but swinging the club left-handed always felt so much more natural for me. The transition was a smooth one. So as you can probably figure, I remember when Phil Mickelson first came on the scene. Like any person under 25, I was/am a diehard Tiger fan, but as a lefty, I was eager to support anyone standing on the "wrong side of the ball." This guy was young, left-handed, and the most obvious foe to Tiger's greatness. I awaited with great anticipation the backA-9 battles soon to come; head to head duels between once and future champions that would define an era. Woods-Mickelson would become synonymous with Borg-McEnroe, Palmer-Nicklaus, Chamberlain-Russell, Ali-Frazier, hell, even Fischer-Spassky. But alas.. Choke after choke after choke, Mickelson exposed himself to be the master schmuck of the PGA Tour... one of the greatest chumps of all sports, and the only athlete out there that could get a sponsorship sporting Frank Costanza's mansierre. And though Lefty finally won the Masters, I maintain that he only found his game after Tiger lost his and I'm still waiting for a head-to-head matchup with Woods where we don't see Mickelson wilt like a morning glory in the noonday sun. Don't get me wrong - I don't mean to be difficult but his FIGJAM (Fuck, I'm Good, Just Ask Me) attitude makes liking and respecting him SO trying. And now he's made matters worse by taking two drivers into play at the Masters. Perhaps I'm overreacting but I think this is a problem.

Players are permitted 14 clubs and replacing a sand wedge with an extra driver is certainly no crime. But six holes have been lengthened at Augusta National and Phil Mickelson discovered that though his predominant ball flight, a fade (right to left), was still needed, there are several holes where he'll need to hit draws (left to right). Most pros can change their ball flight simply by adjusting their hands and swings... that, among other things, is what separates them from the rest of us. But not Mickelson.. he's not interested. He'd prefer to have the club do the job for him and Calloway has custom-made two drivers, one for the fade and one for the draw, so Hefty, basically, doesn't have to make swing adjustments on the Augusta fairways. I'm not a purist and I'm not against technological advancements but this is pure bollocks. I wouldn't make a sound if every duffer in the world ran right out and picked up these Calloways to take a little suck out of their game (and they soon will).. obviously, the blokes need them. But Phil Mickelson is a professional. And like my expectations of other professional athletes, I enjoy watching golfers of Mickelson's caliber wow me with their skills and talents. I like sitting there in amazement and saying, "How in the hell did he hit the green from there?" I don't like sitting there in amazement while some tosser blows away the field at the world's most revered tournament because his sponsors blessed him with magic clubs! Golf is a game of perseverance, skill, and discipline, both physical and mental. And no matter how much they juice the balls for flight or change clubs to improve power and control, the last time I checked, a certain level of skill is still required to play the game. And to be at Mickelson's level and proudly play with clubs so specialized that you don't need to make basic adjustments is a shame. This is a tournament that tests a golfers skill and mettle, not their advantages in technology. I don't know why I'm the only person having a problem with this - maybe I'm just a foolish brat - but to me, happenings like these ruin the game and who knows where it'll end. Soon there'll be clubs for wet conditions and windy days and afternoons with too much humidity... It only figures that it'd be Phil Mickelson paving the way in the next level of corner cutting.

I hope Mickelson sails through to Sunday. And then, while teeing off at the 5th hole on the final 18, I hope his fade driver snaps in half, only to be followed by the draw on the 6th. That's when we'll see what he's made of.  My guess is he'll tighten up like a sorority girl in a bucket of ice water... it'll be classic Sunday Mickelson.

**Just as an afterthought, maybe baseball will take a cue from Calloway and have Louisville Slugger  manufacture a bunting bat for the small ball teams - I bet Ozzie Guillen would be all over it.

British Open: Fashion Bogeys

The Claret Jug is supposed to be a sacred trophy among golfers, right? So what's it doing etched on this Ian Poulter's pants leg? The Englishman is known for his wacky attire, and this might be the strangest one to date. The only good thing about the outfit is The Arsenal crest on his shoes. Check out the rest here - British Open: Fashion Bogeys.

In an unrelated note, my mum yipped at me today about cell my phone bill. "I just paid it a couple hours ago and I cannot believe you would ever be so incredibly careless and irresponsible. And no, I haven't told your father yet, but this time, I'm going to because you simply refuse to respect the rules that we set for you." The "this time" is in reference to "last time" when a phone call from my boyfriend last summer started around 8 am on a Monday and ran for nearly 3 days. Yes, people actually do talk that much, and I think I exhausted my daytime minutes about an hour into the call. Luckily, I eventually lost my signal and, after realizing my major error, stuck to speaking with him during the day by using AIM. Eventually my parents received the bill and it was in the ballpark of $500. Mum freaked out but let me off the hook with the stipulation that next time, she'd get my dad involved and take my phone away. As it turned out, she ratted me out anyway and I got blistered, but moving on.

So it was today that she tried to take my phone from me, as I apparently ran up my bill to $85.45. I pleaded with her - I check my minutes all the time, always conscious of how many are left on my plan. Surely an error had been made. "Well, I saw the bill just hours ago and was horrified by your continued displays of woeful immaturity." At first I was suspicious. My mum is a Londoner and it takes an awful lot to either shock or impress her, let alone leave her horrified. I don't know if my woeful immaturity even registers on the scale. So for a moment, I stopped taking her seriously and tried to imagine her as Mo'Nique - the plus-sized, black comedienne that's on the Parkers, the Queens of Comedy, and Showtime at the Apollo [the Apollo is always on at 5 am. I think I'm one of the few late-night viewers]. With Mo'Nique yelling at me, all was well, until she said, "Now cough up the bloody phone." I was taken aback. My mum is engrained with that annoying level of politeness stereotypical of most Britons and she doesn't make negative comments; she rips you between the lines. So telling me to cough something up was a bit abrasive for her and I briefly wondered if my father had harassed her before she began harassing me. But this little period of contemplation was interrupted when she tried to grab the phone out of my hand. I pulled it away and fought back... with Sprintpcs.com.

And what do you know?! SOMEONE forgot to pay the bloody bill last month.

"Well I don't know how that happened. The bill must not have come in or I must have misplaced it."

Yah huh. Save it.

Flash 1
Mum 42,000,000

I'm on the board!

The Return of Sunday Mickelson

When I was 4 years old, my grandfather had his old clubs cut down to size so I could learn. I was re-fitted for new clubs whenever I grew and figured I was on the path to junior greatness. But when I turned 15, I got new clubs. Left-handed clubs. Though a lefty, I'd played righty golf for 11 years with no cause for complaint, but swinging the club left-handed always felt so much more natural for me. The transition was a smooth one. So as you can probably figure, I remember when Phil Mickelson first came on the scene. Like any person under 25, I was/am a diehard Tiger fan, but as a lefty, I was eager to support anyone standing on the "wrong side of the ball." This guy was young, left-handed, and the most obvious foe to Tiger's greatness. I awaited with great anticipation the back-9 battles soon to come; head to head duels between once and future champions that would define an era. Woods-Mickelson would become synonymous with Borg-McEnroe, Palmer-Nicklaus, Chamberlain-Russell, Ali-Frazier, hell, even Fischer-Spassky.

But alas. Choke after choke after choke. Mickelson exposed himself to be the master schmuck of the PGA Tour, one of the greatest chumps of all sports, and the only athlete out there that could get a sponsorship sporting Frank Costanza's mansierre. And though Lefty eventually won a major, I maintain that he only found his game after Tiger lost his. How can you respect that? Further, how can he truly think he has emerged as one of golf's greats if he can only do so amongst lesser competition? As such, I've waited patiently for Tiger to return to form. I had full faith that if forced to match Tiger stroke for stroke, Mickelson would wilt like a morning glory at noon. And on Sunday at Doral, I got my wish. While all the articles spout off about this great titanic battle on the Blue Monster, I saw two things: the return of Sunday Tiger and the return of Sunday Mickelson. Mickelson entered the final round with a 2 stroke lead and managed to lose by one. He simply couldn't hang. Sure, he didn't collapse like Greg Norman or Nick Foldo, but when it mattered, he tightened up like a sorority girl in a bucket of ice water and got the wood put to him.



Welcome back to reality, Phil.