From the unfunny to the obnoxious, a plan for dealing with golf's undesirables

By Matt Paulson,
Contributor

We've all been there. We've sat idly by while the pompous dork in the skintight dockers sauntered back to his bag after poking a drive down the middle from the white tees. We've let the guy with the bankrupt sense of humor crack bad jokes. Even worse, we've given him the utmost satisfaction of a courtesy laugh. Shame on us. We've listened to the guy that won't shut up about his game. We've let him speak without stopping to breath for the entire 18 holes. We've even obliged with a slight head-nod as we pseudo-listened in searing pain.

There are many out there, too many: the undesirables of the golf course. The ones that we wish would jump back up into the womb. The ones that commit no true malice upon us nor anyone close to us, but we dream every night about delivering them a swift kick in the arse. We want to roll up a newspaper, smack them in the head with it, and sternly command, "No, bad," every time they pick up a golf club.

Well, let's do something about it; it is time to take action. We have to devise a plan to combat every obnoxious flaw, every blood-curdling, ear-wrenching foul attempt at humor. So here they are: Defense against the undesirables.

Disclaimer: This list is extremely open-ended. No one can truly capture the nuances of every jackass on the course. They are as rampant as the crabs at Christmas Island every year. Everyone knows one. If you don't, you're the guy.

First off, there's the guy that cracks jokes that could not possibly be construed as humorous to anyone with any level of brain capacity. Not even at the premiere of a Pauly Shore or a Tom Green movie. He just simply isn't funny, and he's the last person in the world to realize that. Take him down. The next time one of these undesirables cracks a joke and proceeds to laugh unnecessarily loud at it, beat him at his own game. Laugh back. But not a one-breath courtesy laugh. Give him everything your lungs can expel. Laugh back with a ferocity so great, Alice Cooper would shush you. Guffaw like you were at the bottom of a well, and someone hearing your laugh was the only thing that could possibly save your life. Let your eyes bulge out. Let your face redden. Let your muscles clench. Let the air from your expulsion blow his face back like an industrial fan. Then when your lungs are tapped, just stop. Walk away. It will leave him dumbfounded. He's going to have no idea what to think. But one thing is for sure. He's going to think you're a little bit crazy, and that's going to keep him away. Mission accomplished.

Next there's the guy that will not shut up about his game. He talks and talks. Then he talks some more. He defies physiology by negating the necessity of actually breathing in between syllables, words or sentences. His voice eats at you like a rotting necrosis. So make him stop. The next time you're sitting at the bench or on a cart at a tee box waiting to hit, survey his rhythm of when he opens and closes his orifice while talking. Once you have a good handle on it, make a fist and quickly jam into his open mouth. He's going to look at you as if you're crazy. That's good. Don't actually punch him. That's too sane. People do that all the time. We need something better. Just jam your fist in there, look him in the eyes for 5-10 seconds and remove your fist. Once again, he will be convinced of your insanity. And he'll call another fourth next time. Well done.

Finally, there's the guy that is good and he knows it, and he makes sure everyone sees that he knows it. When he hits a good shot, he gloats. When he hits a bad shot, he spews excuses, which generally stem back to being your fault. He is that guy that plays on all the mini-tours, but you never see him win anything. He uses all the clubs the pros use, but he just can't hit them like they do. But he's still better than you. He still somehow consistently beats you. For this guy drastic measures must be taken. This is not to be dealt with lightly.

Here's what you do: Point at something in the distance and make him turn his back to you. As soon as he looks away, swiftly reach for his lumbar region, specifically zoning in on his Fruit of the Looms (which most likely have his name on them) and tug for all you're worth. Once available, get two hands in there. If you really want to be prepared, bicep curls and gripwork in the offseason will buff the target wedgie areas splendidly. Once you feel the burn, continue to pull harder. He may cry, if not at least whimper a little bit, but that just means it's working.

Keep pulling. Once your arms are throbbing and you feel fully relieved at your level of painful infliction of retribution, put him down. Let him retrieve his delightfully bunched undergarments. The final step: Smile. Grin at him wildly without reserve or relent. Let him know that you did what you did clearheaded. He's not coming back to play with you. He'll move on to another group, but hopefully, if we all abide by this simple suggestion, the same discomfort will be inflicted upon him the next time he decides to be an idiot. And maybe he'll change his ways.

That's what it's all about: Changing the golfing world, one jackass at a time.

March 23, 2005