The Golfer's Wife

Jigger says.....Get a Golfer

[ Jigger has been rather busy lately. Brassie is a full time job. He has lost 3 pounds since she joined The Household, and he was certainly not overweight to begin with. He has been paying attention to golf. You can’t avoid paying attention to golf in this house. He has just been to busy playing with Brassie to feel like rant…uh, voicing his opinion. But you had to know that wouldn’t last forever. Perhaps because his new BFF is a girl, he has been paying more attention to woman’s golf lately. And he has a definite opinion on the recent turmoil surrounding Carolyn Bivens. Although actually the turmoil isn’t all that recent. People have been unhappy with her for quite awhile. But the situation has finally reached the breaking point. ]

So The Brand Lady is out. About time. If the woman had lost any more tournaments the tour would have disappeared. But now you gotta replace her. Who you gonna get? Well first and foremost, get a golfer. That was Bivens problem. Well, that and an apparent total lack of people skills. But look, as the owner of this blog ( who, by the way, totally forgot the biscuits this morning. She handed out some cheese, like that could substitute. Cheese or no cheese there better be biscuits tomorrow or I might just suggest to Brassie that a certain pair of shoes probably tastes really good. Just sayin’. Anyway. ) has repeatedly noted golf is nothing if not TRADITION. A golfer would know that. The Brand Lady didn’t.

When you got long time tournaments with long time sponsors you don’t go changing the rules on them. You don’t go telling them that now it’s going to cost them 3 times as much for tournament rights as it did before, especially when the economy is tanking around you. And then to top it all off, threaten to take them to court if they can’t afford it. Isn’t there some book out there about winning friends and influencing people? Never had any trouble with that myself, a wag of the tail seems to do it. But someone may want to get The Brand Lady a copy.

Way more than PGA tournaments, LPGA tournaments are community affairs. Held in the same towns, sponsored by those towns biggest employers. The same towns people volunteering at the tournament year after year.  Tradition. That’s what kept the LPGA alive. Make those people mad and not only have you lost the tournament, you’ve lost a legion of long time fans. And that’s gonna hurt you a long time.

I know, I know, that’s not the way to make money and keep the tour going long term. Changes had to be made. And The Brand Lady did manage a nice TV deal. But she talked about revenue and player pensions, and then lost tournaments right and left, which sorta undercuts the main purpose the players are on the tour, to Play. What good is a pension if there are no tournaments to play in to earn money towards that pension?

Listen, I may be of a different species but I know a good lookin’ female when I see one. Instead of pissing off sponsors why wasn’t she out marketing Natalie Gulbis and Paula Creamer and Morgan Pressell? Every tournament has a pro-am, and most US Companies have an abundance of  male executives. Why the heck wasn’t she offering a cut rate deal on tour sponsorship this year, with options for renewal when the economy was better? You can’t tell me those execs would have passed up a chance to play with those lovely ladies. For someone hired for her marketing expertise she sure doesn’t know how to make use of what she’s got.

So this time around, get a golfer. Someone who understands golf, and the tour, and tradition, and can deal with people without pissing them off. Someone for whom the LPGA as an organization means something more than a chance to demonstrate their business skills. Which she seemed to lack anyway.

Look, I…..ooooo, wait a minute. Squirrel on the fence at 2:00 and Brassie is busy with the neighborhood kids by the fence at the other end of the yard. Gotta go. Hate those damn squirrels………

 [Standard disclaimer: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog. Also, may I just point out it was a very good sharp cheddar and I thought they would enjoy a change of pace from the biscuits. Apparently golfers aren’t the only ones who hang on tradition. ]

Jigger says....I got a puppy!

[Editors note: once again, the mouthy terrier speaks. And as a refresher you may want to check here. ]

So first up I have to report some sad news. We lost The General. He got pneumonia, and when a 7 year old guinea pig gets pneumonia there isn’t much you can do.

RIP Mashie.  You are missed.

Without The General whistling commands things have gotten a little lax around here, which the timing is bad. See recently a bit of chaos has been introduced, by way of a puppy. Yup, I got a puppy. See me and The Old Lady used to play and dig and make daring escapes. But she’s going on 11 now, and she’s half blind, and mostly deaf, and her hips are giving out. If I even butt bump her a little she goes down and has trouble getting back up. And she spends most of her time sleeping. I try to get her interested in smelly stuff in the yard, and playing in the house. But she just sighs and takes a nap. Can’t even get her to bark at the damn squirrels anymore. But a guy has to keep busy right? So I made a few daring escapes on my own. And dug a new hole under the fence. I bark a lot more. And follow everyone around and pretty much make a nuisance of myself.

And eventually it was decided that maybe I needed someone new to play with. So I got a puppy. This is her.

Her name is Brassie. They say she is Red Heeler + something. Whatever. Cute? Good Lord and Butter she is freakin' adorable. Cuddly? Not so much. Which is great. Haven’t been bored one minute since she got here. Right now it’s mostly chew on stuff and chase around the yard. But she’s got real potential. I see many daring escapes in our future. And those damn squirrels better watch out.

Hersh pretty much ignores her. But she will let Brassie sleep next to her. If Brassie gets to be too much Hersh just goes to which ever side of the doggie door Brassie isn’t on. She hasn’t quite figured out the doggy door yet. But she’s a quick study that Brassie. Won’t be long. 

As for Nibby. Well I have been surprised. I remember when I met him for the first time. It was all puffy tail and hissing. One little sniff and I got a nose swipe that stung for hours. But he lets Brassie come right up. He doesn’t like it, and one wrong move and she’s going to be nursing a sore nose. But just the fact that he lets her get within 6 inches of him….well, he must be mellowing a little as he gets older, is all I can say. Except once she made the mistake of sticking her nose in his bowl when he was eating. Whoa boy, talk about your death wish. Fortunately someone was watching and whisked her away a split second before Nibby shredded her. So he hasn’t gone completely soft or anything.

Anyhow. I’ll let you know how it goes. But I see nothing but good times ahead. I mean the kid already hates those damn squirrels, so she’s gotta be okay, am I right?

Opps, gotta go. Brassie picked up the reindeer. Which is mine. So I have to go tug on the other end of it and swing her around a little. Catch ya later.

[Editors note:  This is the deadly obstacle I was talking about in the previous post. Once Brassie finds one, the life span of a whiffle ball is about 7 mins. Their plastic-with-holes is no match for sharp little puppy teeth. And I did explain about the way animals get named here in The Household, so no comments on the name. Plus, if you met her, you would think Brassie had more to do with her general attitude, then with golf. Jigger is right. Freakin' adorable. Cuddly, not so much. ]

Jigger says...Go Stevie!

[Editors note: I’m not sure starting out the New Year with one of Jigger’s ran..uh, opinion pieces, is the smartest thing to do. But during his convalescence from the sugar-free-gum-incident he was reading up on current events and he came across something that, as a mouthy terrier, really struck home, and he has been griping about it ever since. In an effort to get him to shut up I have agreed to let him gripe in print, in the hope that this will put an end to it, and he will move on to something else. Like maybe squirrels. That’s a permanent pet peeve ( ha ha, pet. Get it?  ). Anyway. When injury ended Tigers season back in June, his caddy, Steve Williams, went home to New Zealand. Where lately he got into a bit of hot water. See here. Here is Lorne Rubenstein’s take on things. And here is a wrap up of commentary on Geoff Shackelford’s site. So after all of that, here is Jigger’s opinion of the whole thing. At the end of which I will tell you what FIGJAM stands for. ] 

So Stevie is at a charity event down there in New Zealand and he makes a few comments. Down at the bottom of the world they tend to feel a little left out of things so he was probably trying to make the hometown crowd feel better by getting a little personal. So he said what he thinks. Big deal. I do it all the time. Y’all all know exactly how I feel about the cat. And squirrels. And those damn coyotes. He probably thought that way down there no one would really be paying any attention. And they wouldn’t have if it weren’t for two things. First off, nothing else going on. World of golf is dead right now but all those golf writers have to do something to get paid. So they scour the inter-webs looking for something, anything, golf related to write about.  They jumped all over a few off hand comments made by a guy at the bottom of the world. If he had made those comments during the British Open the writers would have been so busy covering the goings on in England they never would have noticed what Stevie said. Bad timing on Stevie’s part.

Second off, Golf Coverage Is Boring. Seriously. All gentlemanly and polite. No one EVER says ANYTHING bad about ANYONE. They’re a bunch of guys, who see each other every day for weeks on end. They can’t all like each other all the time. You know there have to be some of them that don’t get along. You know they have to have habits that just bug the heck out of each other. You know there has to be a few personalities that just plain clash. But would any of them ever admit that? Oh nooooooo. It’s always sunshine and rainbows. And every once and while when someone does let a halfway interesting comment slip out they are immediately jumped on. It’s like the tour is full of a bunch of zombies or robots or the Borg or something. Give me a trash talking football player, or a nice fight in a hockey game any day. At least you know how they really feel. And the trash talk has to be really bad, or it has to be a bench-clearing brawl, before it makes news. A coupla relatively mild comments by what is basically an equipment manager, wouldn’t register on anybodies radar for any sport except boring old golf. They set them selves up for this kind of thing is what I’m saying.  No body pays attention to what they say during the season. Even here at The Household they skip right through any coverage that has anybody talking, commentator or player. Who cares what they say any more. Just shut up and show them hitting the ball. And then when the dead season hits the writers are so desperate for something to say that when a guy tells a little bit of truth it gets blown all out of whack. If they would let a real opinion escape every now and then this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.

So here’s what I think they should do. Get rid of Nick Faldo and bring Stevie on as The Golf Channel regular guy. Let him tell what really goes in the locker room. What the players really think about Phil (and Nick, come to that), and ‘in-the-hole’ yelling spectators, and Ian Poulters obnoxious outfits, and squirrels. Stupid fence crawling, nut throwing, chattering-will-they-ever-shut-up squirrels. Now there’s something everyone has an opinion on. Speaking of which, gotta go. Looks like Nibby has one of the little monsters treed. Cat’s good for something anyway.  

[Standard disclaimer: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog. Oh, and FIGJAM stands for F*** I’m Good, Just Ask Me. ]

*Yawn*

Jigger and I had a, rather heated, argument this morning. About the need for barking at 1am. The Golfer is out of town. Tuesday morning at about 1am I was woken up by the sound of dogs barking. Loudly. The barking dogs turned out to be Jigger and Hershey. In order to avoid the wrath of the neighbors I got up, went downstairs, locked the doggy door, called the idio….uh, dogs in, and went back to bed. But of course the adrenaline is flowing from being woken up and mad at the dogs and hoping I didn’t get a call from the neighbors in the morning so I didn’t exactly go right back to sleep. So I started Wednesday off with a sleep deficit and it didn’t help matters any that the Avs played in Calgary so the game started late and then went to a shoot out so I had to watch the whole thing, so instead of going to bed on time even, I went to bed late. And once again was woken up at around 1am by the sound of dogs barking. Loudly. Repeat Tuesday nights processes except I didn’t quite get the doggy door completely fastened so about 5 minutes after I went back to bed the idio…uh, dogs were back out side barking up a storm. This time I actually looked at what they were barking at before I made them come in. They had some animal treed in the back yard. It was to dark to see what it was, except that it was large. About the size of 4 Nibbys. So it wasn’t a cat ( actually I think it was probably a young raccoon ). This time I made sure the doggy door was locked. But of course there was the same adrenaline-didn’t-go-right-back-to-sleep issue.  Which means I was really sleep deprived when I came downstairs this morning.

I informed Jigger that tonight I was locking the doggy door before I went to bed, because no matter what kind of animal it was, there is no reason to be barking at it at 1am in the morning, when you should be inside asleep. He disagreed. Rather vehemently. Normally Hershey doesn’t even bother to get up in the morning. But this morning, when Jigger and I were arguing, she got up and came to the kitchen and stood next to Jigger wagging her tail while he barked at me. I swear she was standing there saying ‘What he said.’.  Offspring #3 was watching all this while getting his breakfast. ‘I think you’re losing Mom’.  ‘Ha. He can yell at me all he wants, but I will still win. You know why? Because I have opposable thumbs and he doesn’t, that’s why.’

Opposable thumbs mean I can lock the doggy door and there is nothing they can do about it. Although I imagine they will spend most of the night thinking up ways to get me back.

All of which is a long winded way of saying I’m too tired to think about golf so there is no new golf content here today. If you are disappointed, you can take it up with a certain mouthy terrier. He’ll be more than happy to share his view of the situation with you. As for me, I’m locking the doggy door and going to bed.

Jigger Says..... Stick to delivering packages

[ Editor’s note: So he has been rather calm all summer. I think it must have been the heat. Dog days of summer and all that. But things are starting to cool off. And the FedEx Cup is starting to heat up. And so is Jigger. He has promised to stop barking at the coyotes at 3am if I let him ran….uh, post. And an uninterrupted night of sleep would be very nice, so….. ]

First off let me say I love FedEx. Well actually I love our FedEx driver. He makes a lot of stops here at The Household, and he always gives me ‘an Hersh a treat. And if no one is home he leaves the treats on the box on the porch. Real good guy that FedEx driver. BUT. The FedEx Cup is just silly.

A couple years ago some geniuses sat around a room trying to find a way to make golf more exciting. Which, okay, once the Major’s are over, interest kind of wanes. But, it’s golf, ya know?  Drama maybe. Excitement not so much. Anyway, so these geniuses take a look at other sports, and decide what keeps people watching for a whole season, and what golf really needs, is…playoffs. Because if it works for everything else it will work for golf, right? Where they found those geniuses I don’t know. But I can take a guess at the general part of the country they were from. ‘Cuz you know what they modeled their playoff system on? Football? Noooo.  Baseball? Noooo. Lacrosse even? Noooo. NASCAR. That’s right people. The geniuses in that room figured the way to keep up the interest in golf through the season was to emulate the points system of the only sport more boring to watch on TV than golf. Round and round they go. Left hand turn after left hand turn. Extremely nap inducing. And they say watching golf is just watching the grass grow. Don’t even have grass in NASCAR, just long stretches of plain black asphalt.

Anyway. So the geniuses decide that through the year every tour win is worth a certain number of points, each 2nd place finish is worth a few less points, 3rd place a few less, and so on. And the 144 players with the most points ‘get to’ be in the 4 remaining tournaments of the year, which are now ‘the play off’. So guess who has the most points this year. Tiger. How messed up is that? Guy with the most points hasn’t played since July. And he sure as heck won’t be in the play offs. So how’re things looking now geniuses?  But it’s even more messed up than that. If you win, you know what you get? Nothing. Supposedly the winner gets 10 million dollars. But they don’t cut you a check, they put it in,.. are you ready for this?....tax deferred retirement accounts. I can just imagine how the conversation with the players went. ‘Hey guys, we have this great new idea. You play for points, for the opportunity to play in 4 tournaments you were going to play in anyway, and if you win it all you get money you won’t be able to touch for 30 years.’.  I bet there was some stunned silence after that little announcement. Geniuses. Hunh.

And of course none of this works without a sponsor. I don’t know how a company smart enough to hire a driver who gives out treats could be dumb enough to be talked into sponsoring this mess, but some how those geniuses talked FedEx into it. I dunno. Maybe they got the CEO a round on Augusta National or something. In any case, the result of all this silliness is The FedEx Cup. And….

….wait…wait…..Is that a squirrel? A squirrel in MY yard? Gotta go. Promised not to bark at the coyotes ( damn sneaky things, those coyotes. Almost as bad as the cat. ) but squirrels are still fair game.

[Standard disclaimer: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog.]

A Face With The Name

I got a new laptop back in January, and The Golfer and me bought each other a brand new fancy digital camera for Christmas. So I have been looking forward to taking pictures and playing with them in PhotoShop. Things have been crazy busy around here since then, and I haven't had time. But this weekend I thought I would take some pictures and upload them, just for practice. Like Jack Calthorpe and his walking, I do better with these kind of things if I have a goal. I explained about The Animals ( which is actually how we collectively refer to them here at The Household ) in this post. And they do occasionally bury their differences and work together as was explained here. So my motivation for actually taking some pictures and uploading them, was to put some pictures with the names. It was incredibly easy. Much easier than the previous computer/camera combination. The lack of artistic merit in the actual pictures has everything to do with the photographer, and nothing to do with the equipment involved. So here you are. The Animals.

First up -

Hershey. Hersh. Sweetie. The Grande Dame. Hershey is a chocolate lab who is the sweetest dog in the world. She plods happily through life and only 3 things upset her equilibrium - Thunder( she hates it. She goes down to the basement and hides under a desk till it's over ), another dog in her yard ( having another dog visit with it's owners, like say my brothers, makes her very nervous. She pretty much stays on her bed and pouts ), and Jigger. Her relationship with Jigger is basically that of older sister and annoying younger brother. Half of the time she hates him and will growl at him if he bothers her, the other half of the time she loves to play with him. But when he's gone ( like when he goes to the groomer ) she wanders around at lose ends until he comes back.

Next -

Niblick. Nibby. 'is Nibs. Hunter, killer, neighborhood bully, napper extraordinaire. He is 20 lbs lean. The first thing people say when they meet him is 'That is one BIG cat'. After they spend a few minutes with him they say 'This is the friendliest cat I have ever met.'.  He is an extremely social cat - with people. If you are another animal he is your worst nightmare. You are either prey, or something to fight with. The neighbors love him, the neighbor's pets give him a wide berth, even the huge golden retriever. Hershey totally ignores him, and he ignores her. They don't exist in each others world. But he loves to torture Jigger. As an example, he will sit inside by the doggy door and swipe at Jiggers nose when he tries to come inside. Hershey just barrels through and he has to get out of her way. But Jigger sticks his nose through first. If he knows Nibby is on the other side Jigger will sit outside for hours in rain and snow and whine rather than risk the claws. The first couple times we moved Nibby. But after that we figured Jiggers should just buck up and barrel through like Hersh does and if he couldn't figure that out, that was his problem. He spends a lot of time outside the doggy door whinning.  And if ever a cat had an evil grin it is Nibby when he has Jigger on the ropes.

And -

Mashie. Mashie is on the small side for a guinea pig, and especially for a male guinea pig. This has resulted in Mashie having a Napoleonic complex. He may live in a cage, but he rules the world. He is very social with people. He likes to be held and he will chat away forever. But if dinner is late you can hear him whistling down the block. And he takes no guff from the other Animals. When he is out running around he will scratch and bite any animal that comes near. Which usually means Jigger. Jigger just can't seem to leave him alone, and so there is usually biting and yelping involved. Hershey, as usual, totally ignores him. And even though he has brought home the occasional rat that is as big as Mashie, even Niblick knows better than to mess with him.

Last, but ( as he will be the first to tell you ) not least -

Jigger. Guy in charge. Supervisor. Busy body. Nose into everything. Not just here, but those neighbors need watching too. You just never know what they are up to. Loud mouth. Comments on everything. The Household would fall apart if he wasn't running things. And he has ADD. Goes from one thing to another. Can't be serious and concentrate on one thing for more than 30 secs. As evidenced by this picture. Hershey was happy to look up. Nibby glared at me, but he's vain, so he consented to have his picture taken. Mashie posed many different ways to make sure I got his good side. Jigger. SIGH. Jigger wouldn't hold still for the 2 secs. it took to snap a picture. He finally sat down, but like a little kid he just couldn't smile nice and take a straight picture. At the last minute he had to cock his head. But he certainly keeps us entertained. And, most importantly, he does pay attention to the golf.

Jigger says....I usually have to bite some toes.

[Editors note: So I did a post on my opinions of The Masters. As you might expect Jigger has an opinion ( or two or three ) on The Masters. Only as it turns out, in this particular case, he actually speaks for all the animals in The Household, including the cat. Niblick and Jigger being on the same side of anything is rare, to say the least. So in the interest of interspecies harmony ( not to mention avoiding finding a hairball in my shoe ) here is another perspective on The Masters, by Jigger et. al..... ]

It's here again. The weekend when they all turn into total zombies. They come rushing home after work and turn the TV on and sit and watch that damn tournament, and a bomb could go off and they wouldn't hear it. Important things, like walks and FEEDING THE ANIMALS are totally forgotten. The thing is Tivo'd. You'd think they could take care of the important things, like FEEDING THE ANIMALS, and then sit down and watch. Or wait and catch up on Saturday. But no. There seems to be some rule about watching the current days round ( for the first time anyway ) before the next days round starts.

And what is the big deal about The Masters anyway? Weakest field of any major. Heck, weakest field of any tournament. Top 50 world wide. Uh huh. Based on what exactly? No Colin Montgomerie? No Davis Love III? No Chris DiMarco? They didn't qualify? But all those old guys, all those previous winners, with an average age of 70, who don't stand a snowballs chance in h**l of winning, they get to play? Yeah, that's fun to watch. You can take TRADITION too far ya know. And then all those amateurs. Nice gesture and all, but once again, not going to win, who wants to watch? Maybe 1 top amateur. But that's it. Unless you want to trade in some of the old guys on an amateur or two. And then there's the 'world' golfers. Huh. Golfers from countries with large populations with whom Augusta National has signed lucrative TV contracts you mean. Poor schmucks no one has ever heard of who, once again, stand NO chance of winning, and are only invited so that their country men will watch. Explain to me, us really, since Hersh and the pig don't get it either, how this translates into a field of competitors where any one wants to watch anything other than the top two groups?

And the course. Augusta National. Used to be approached with respect and awe. Bobby Jones was the original risk-reward golfer. Took big risks. Sometimes resulted in double bogey, more often in eagle, but the man didn't play it safe. And he designed Augusta as a risk-reward golf course. It was wide open. Very few trees. Standing on the tee box a golfer had any one of a dozen ways to get the ball to the green. He had to think. He had to strategize. He had to make choices. He had to be able to hit all kinds of shots. Fades and hooks and slices, to perfection. He had to be able to play every club in his bag. Take risks and you could win big, or lose big. But play it safe and you would almost always lose. But not any more. Trees everywhere. Narrowed fairways. You stand on the tee and you don't even have to think. There is only one way to get the ball to the green and more often than not that involves simply bombing it down the fairway. No choices, no strategy. No chance to come up big, or fail spectacularly. I mean last year Zach Johnson won without ever going for a par 5 in 2 in the final round. Totally played it safe. Unbelievable. Bobby Jones must be spinning in his grave over what they've done to his course

So you've got a mediocre at best field, where really only about 7 of them stand any chance of winning ( and this was even before Tiger came along ), and a no-skills-required golf course, and they can't even keep their sense of humor. I mean 'bikini waxed greens'? Classic line. Should've gotten McCord a permanent place in the announcer's booth. Instead, banned for life. Good Lord 'n Butter. Feherty and Faldo probably take benadryl before the broadcast to make sure none of their natural humor shows through.

So really. We don't get it. For this they turn into zombies? On Saturday there is a mad rush to get things done before the round starts, and on Sunday, forget it. Worthless all day. They forget the treats in the morning. No walks. And to top it all off they forget to FEED THE ANIMALS. We do our best. Hersh stands there and beats the side of the TV with her tail ( which is registered as a deadly weapon ). The pig whistles for all he's worth. Neighbors two doors down can hear him. Even the cat pitches in. Meows, jumps in their laps, waves his tail in their faces. Nothing. They just push him away and stare at that damn TV. Watching everything over again in slow motion. I bark at them. A lot. And get ignored. Eventually the stomachs are growling so bad I go for broke. I start on the toes. Gentle nips at first. Then biting down hard. That usually gets someones attention. Pain seems to pull them out of The Masters stupor. Good thing it's only once a year or we'd all have to find a new place to live ( with non-golfers ) or we'd starve to death.

Well gotta go. The pig has called a strategy meeting. My suggestion is I chew up the plug to the Tivo. At least that way they could only watch things once.

[Standard disclaimer: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog. ]

Jigger says...It's all green.

[Editor's note: The Golfer is out of town this week. Which means I am doing the single mom thing. Double duty. This means I could REALLY use an extra hour of sleep on Sunday. So once again I have struck 'the deal'. Jigger gets to post. I get an extra hour of sleep on Sunday.]

As usual around this place on a weekend, a tournament was on the TV. Did you watch it? Did you listen to those guys? They spent more time talking about the grass than they did about the golf. Poe. Kikuyu. Rye. And it was fluffy or airy or sticky. Make up your mind. One guy even called it cauliflower like. Good Lord 'n Butter people! It's just GRASS. I know grass. Spend a lot of time in it. Roll in it. Even eat it now and then. And I gotta tell you, grass is grass. They let the stuff in the park grow long, and keep the stuff in my yard short. But it's all green. Really can't see how it matters if it's Poe, Rye, or Kentucky blue. If the grass is wet the ball will stop where it lands. If the grass is dry the ball will roll. You can lose a ball in the long grass. Beyond that, well, it's all green. If you have to pay that much attention to the stuff you're walking on in order to play a decent round, maybe you should spend more time on the practice green, you know? If you really knew what you were doing it wouldn't matter what the balls sits in, as long as it's green.

And all this talk about 'shaving' the grass. I've been shaved. You don't shave grass. You mow grass. They are not interchangeable. You guys want them to mow your face?

I swear they spent more time fussing over the stupid grass than they did fawning over Tiger. You know if he was really that good he would have called himself The Fox, or Wolfman, or something. But Tiger? Speaks to a character flaw somewhere.

Whoops. Gotta go chase the cat off my spot on the kitchen rug. Sneaky creatures. Always gotta keep your eye on 'em. 

[Standard disclaimer: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog. She only lets him post so he'll let her sleep an extra hour on Sunday mornings.]

Jigger says 'It's The Hope'

We have a dog named Jigger [ scroll down to chart. We also have a big tom cat named Niblick and a guinea pig named Mashie. Sense a theme there? Go figure hunh? Although I will mention that we also have a chocolate lab named Hershey. She is the most senior member of the menagerie, and was named by The Offspring who were young at the time, and didn't know a putter from a driver. Times have changed. Anyway....]. Jigger is an Irish Terrier. Anyone who knows anything about terriers will tell you they are THE most opinionated dogs on the planet. Their opinion on life in general is 'I'm right and if everyone just does things my way it will be much easier on all of us'. I have known/owned many terriers and Jigger is by far the most opinionated of the lot If he doesn't like the way things are going he lets you know. He has an amazing vocabulary for a dog. Many sounds besides your average bark. Morning treats not handed out on time? Jigger lets you know. Cat on the counter( where he is absolutely NOT allowed)? Jigger alerts the household. Cooking in the kitchen and you haven't let anything drop on the floor yet? Jigger reminds you. Sitting around doing, well who knows what the heck sitting humans do, but not playing or scratching Jigger? He voices his disapproval of the situation. Very opinionated. About everything. And since he lives in The Golfing Household he has some definite opinion on all things golf related.

This weekend is The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. Jigger has an opinion on The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. And since he is a terrier he is sure everyone needs to hear his opinion of The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. And Jigger knows about this blog. He has voiced his opinion on the time I spend posting, as opposed to throwing the penguin( his current favorite toy ) several times. I'm sure you can see where this is going. Jigger's opinion is that his feelings regarding The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic should be shared with the golfing world. So, in the interest of maintaining peace in The Golfing Household, I have agreed to allow him to post his opinion of The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. And he has agreed to let me sleep an extra hour this Sunday before complaining about the lateness of the morning treats. Jigger says....

It is The Hope. It is NOT The Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. It is The Hope. And it is The Crosby. Not the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am. It is The Crosby. Bob Hope and Bing Crosby were big golf fans. They hosted their own personal tournaments. They played, and got their friends to play, and they got the best golfers to play, and there was a huge pot of money. And the friends they got to play could actually PLAY GOLF. It was fun, there was a lot of money involved, and everyone had a great time. They were great tournaments.

Now. Now they are a farce. Now it is just about the money. And they let anybody play. They care more about the name than the ability. I mean if Paris Hilton could some how manage to figure out which end of the club you hit the ball with they'd let her on the course. They don't care about the integrity of the game anymore. It's all about the big celebrity names and the money. And the people they get to host. George Lopez? Funny guy, but he couldn't carry Bob Hope's jock strap. It's all about the celebrity now. It used to be about the golf. And the players know it. Arnold Palmer use to love to play in The Hope. Who plays now? Just the no name guys who need it to keep their card. And some of the old guys out of a sense of tradition. Everyone else avoids it. Same for The Crosby.

The tour really screwed up on this. Money isn't everything. Especially in golf. You know what they should have done? They should have got a list of all the celebrities that can really PLAY GOLF. You know. Handicap under 9 or so. Then passed it by Tiger and Phil. Tell Tiger he gets to pick the host if he will play The Hope. Tell Phil he gets to pick the host if he will play The Crosby. Then have the two people they pick be the permanent hosts from now on. And it doesn't matter how much your name has been splattered all over the tabloids, or if you won an Oscar for your last role. If you don't have a handicap less than 10 you DON'T PLAY. Bring some dignity back to these tournaments. Hope and Crosby must be rolling over in their graves over what has been done to THEIR tournaments by the powers that be of the game they loved. Seriously. You money grabbers. Could you look them in the eye after what you've turned their tournaments into? Either return them to their former glory, or take the names Hope and Crosby off the tournaments. Call them what they are. Silly Celebrity Tournaments Played So The PGA Can Make Money.

The Golfer no longer bothers to watch either tournament. And it's a sad day indeed when a Golfer no longer cares about The Hope, or The Clambake ( and if you don't know that last reference then you ain't a Golfer).

Gotta go. I think that damn cat hid my penguin again.

[Editors note: The opinions of this particular poster are his and his alone, and do not necessarily reflect those of the owner of this blog. She only lets him post so he'll let her sleep an extra hour on Sunday mornings.]