In my personal opinion, the months of December to March are by far the worst stretch of time in the calendar year. Aside from the fact that leggings become the fashion of choice for every girl, it really fucking blows. There are two simple reasons for this: no fantasy football and no golf. Fantasy football pretty much consumes any free time I have from August to the end of my season, and the fact that I can’t spend an entire 365-day cycle devising new ways to insult my friends and coming up with the most Bill Cosby-esque methods of trade rape would pretty much take away any desire I have to live – if not for the fact that I can spend three quarters of the year golfing.
Now before anyone gets any ideas about the type of person I am, let me set some things straight. I didn’t start golfing until my senior year of high school, so I don’t want anyone starting to think that I’m one of those guys that started getting lessons when I was five and takes vacations to Florida to play at some fancy courses. Do I wish that I’d had that kind of upbringing? Absofuckinglutley. It would mean I wouldn’t be so dog shit at a sport I drop a fuck ton of dollars to play, and I wouldn’t spend so much time stringing together sentences after bad shots that would quite literally send my grandmother into an irreversible coma if she ever heard them. Like I said, though, it hasn’t been that long of a time since I began playing, which, unfortunately for me, means that I suck. But that doesn’t stop me from playing every chance I get.
Now for any female (or guy that doesn’t golf), you may be wondering why there is suddenly something that every guy seems to care about even more than sex (which I can assure you is not the case… it’s close, but I don’t think anyone is that smooth brained), and hopefully after reading this, you can gain a little bit of insight into the beauty that we see in golf.
First, you’re not there. That may seem a little sexist or something, but before I get every #wokewarriorflying into my DMs, give me a chance to elaborate. I spend about ninety percent of my day thinking about women in some way, and while it has led me to some marginal success, constantly pondering how and when I’m going to be able to disappoint the next girl that shows me any kind of interest can be really exhausting. Golfing is one of the only places I can think of that I can totally escape the pressure I put on myself to at least try to find someone that will entertain my nonsense, and it’s only because the only things there that need my focus are the beer I’m drinking, the shot I’m about to slice onto two fairways over, and the insults I use to emasculate my friends.
Second, drinking is not only acceptable, but it is also encouraged. I can’t think of another sport where you can be absolutely blasted while playing and still be competitive. In many cases, drinking eight or nine beers actually helps people play better, but even if it doesn’t, it’s a lot easier to deal with chunking your ball fifteen feet when you’re piss drunk than when you’re sober.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, golf is a place where you can constantly and mercilessly insult your friends. Any mistake they make is an excuse for you to absolutely crush any happiness they have left. There is nothing better than watching a guy so fed up with his own bad play combined with having to hear, “Hit it, Mary,” after every putt he leaves short hurl his club at the ground in pure frustration after shooting ten on a par three.
So, thank God for this changing weather. I know that fantasy football is still months away, but the ability to at least see myself getting on a bus still drunk from the night before on Saturday morning to go and play some truly mediocre golf gives me something to be happy about. Fuck you, winter.