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Takin' His Whuppin' like a Man Posted: Wednesday May 21, 2003 9:51 AM
Now, you know me -- Dan Scruggs, PGA Tour pro, just like all a you. I called y'all here tonight 'cuz ever since I finished behind that broad, Annika Sorenstam, my life has been 'bout as much fun as shavin' with No. 2 sandpaper. Fans throwin' bras at me as I come onto the greens. Feminine hygiene products in my locker. That wise guy who keeps standin' by the ladies' tees holdin' that DAN, YOU HIT FROM HERE! sign. It's all just so damn amusin' I could bust. So what if I was the only pro to lose to Annika at the Colonial? Dan Scruggs ain't ashamed! She's plumb good if you wanna know the truth! Stop laughin', you damn hyenas! How many a you bums ever shot 59? O.K., except you, Duval. The point is, you guys gotta stop mockin' me! I cain't live like this! And whichever of you jerks changed the name on my locker to DANA -- I will hunt you down! You do damn too know what I mean: You idiots askin' when I'm gonna sign my endorsement deal with Midol. Writin' my name onto the LPGA money list. Sneakin' pom-pom headcovers onto my woods. O.K., so I went to Fort Worth and I lost to a girl. At least I didn't WD like 17 of you yella bellies! Like you, Bomber! You fire 78 on Thursday and then tell the press your thyatic nerve was actin' up. Hail, I don't think humans even have thyatic nerves. And how 'bout you, Sponge? Funny how you turned yer ankle with one hole to play and yer ball sittin' under that Häagen-Dazs cart, huh? How'd you turn it, hoppin' the fence on the way to your car? Hail, 13 of the top 25 of you pigs didn't even play. That's perty convenient! Like you, Jay Bob! "Wife might go into labor," my ass! I happen to know you and Darlene are adoptin'! You jokers have no idea how hard it was bein' paired with Annika. No wonder Vijay said he wouldn't play with her. It wadn't any protest! It was self-survival! The damn TV people covered every shot she hit! Do you know how embarrassin' it is to get outdrove by a 5'6" Swedish chick? And have all my buddies back in Biloxi know it? I mean, how'm I supposed to show my face at the Spittoon Club? Hey, it's not that funny, Mickelson! I mean, she averages 275 yards off the tee! That's longer'n you, Faxxy! She hits 77% of her greens! That's better'n any of us! For cripessakes, last year she won 'bout as many tournaments as she lost! Besides, that's the biggest crowd I ever played in front of in my daggone life! I was nervous as Craig Stadler at a cannibal convention. I'm Category 3, you know, lowest rank out here for startin' times. Usually I get about two Toro mowers watchin' me. All of a sudden I had 10,000 people. My mouth was dryer'n a stray dog in Lubbock. At least I went through with it, unlike that Brit bastard Nigel. He was s'posed to be our third and backed out at the last second. I still ain't believin' his excuse -- sayin' he didn't wanna be beat by a "bird." Hail, I been beat by plenny a birds. And eagles, too! I'm tellin' you, boys, it was like a damn zoo out there! Hail, we had more reporters'n J.Lo! That Entertainment Tonight crew was a pain, and Ashleigh Banfield didn't know the first thang about golf, neither. And I just wanna say one thing: I didn't come anywhere near Geraldo with that drive! Plus, it didn't help havin' Martha Burk and all her gals wearin' them SCREW MEN: WE CAN KILL OUR OWN SPIDERS T-shirts. And them gals could punch, couldn't they? See, I did some research since all this happened, and it turns out women beatin' men ain't all that weird. Julie Krone has beaten plenny of 'em on horses. Women drivers have finished ahead of 93 different men at the Indy 500. Hail, every marathon, the best woman beats most of the guys entered! And I ain't the first Tour player beat by a gal. Turns out this Babe Didrickson Zaharias played four Tour stops way back in the '30s and '40s and made the 36-hole cut at three of them. So why do y'all keep gettin' on the tee with me and sayin', "Ladies first"? Not only that, but I looked up our bylaws. Don't say nothin' about havin' to have no penis to play on this tour. So you just keep laughin', you monkeys, but some day some filly's gonna come along and kick you in the groin too. Well, shoot -- if y'all are just gonna keep rollin' around on the floor laughin' and peltin' me with pink tees, this meetin' is done. I'm spendin' the rest of the season on the Nationwide Tour. Yeah, it's the bush leagues, but at least hecklers won't be askin' if it's that time of the month ever time I make a bogey. And I won't never have to play a girl again, neither! What? No, I ain't ever heard of Michelle Wie. Who's she? Issue date: May 26, 2003 Rick Reilly, a senior writer for Sports Illustrated, has been voted National Sportswriter of the Year eight times. His latest book, Who's Your Caddy?, his misadventures caddying for tour pros like Jack Nicklaus and David Duval, hit bookstores in May. He is also the author of the best-selling compliation The Life of Reilly, and the cult classic golf novel, Missing Links, as well as five other books.
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