I can't even remember what I wanted to write about. Oh yes, more a comment, really.
If Steve Williams at the annual caddy awards had merely said that he would like to stick his trophy up Tiger Wood's arse, a man who treated the caddy who helped him to 13 majors so abominably despite his own conduct being reprehensible, everyone would have laughed and hurriedly booked seats for the event.
Instead he said 'Black' arse and now even the new owner of the bag Williams carries, Adam Scott, recent beneficiary of his experienced new employee's undoubted skill, is under fire for accepting an apology rather than bowing to frothing media and sacking him. I guess he's got balls too. Not the kind you whack with clubs but the fleshier kind attached to a decent chunk of manliness and a brain to control them.
Please. Are our coloured cousins still really so desperately insecure that they cannot tell the difference between racism, something decent people abhor, and an accurate description of the proposed destination of a bit of bling?
Of course not. In the old days if someone pissed me off I could walk up the road, knock on his door and then smack him in the mouth when he opened it and, regardless of who evenutally beat the crap out of whom it was solved, usually over a pint and under the stern gaze of a landlord keen to ensure we didn't get up to any more mischief. Nowadays such minor spats cause the antagonists to either pull concealed knives or lawyers. Whatever happened to honest fisticuffs?
Tiger Woods appeared on TV stating that Williams' comments were 'regrettable', and that Williams had apologised. Woodie's interview would have been all the more convincing had it been filmed in the casualty department as his lip was being stitched up.
Personally, had I been Woods' missus, I would have used his own golf clubs to whip his arse, oblivious of its colour and, if I remember correctly and to her great credit she did. Given the number of concubines Woods entertained and in some cases cruelly treated with disdain, I think Mr Williams would have to join a lengthy queue to stuff something uncomfortable where the sun doesn't shine.
Since when did a frank, humorous and usefully descriptive confesssion of one's intentions become racism?
And besides, Williams is an Antipodean. They stick their tongues out at you before beating you half to death on a rugby field and call a spade a spade.
Mr Williams, a straight up bloke and a bloody good caddy. Not sure if he drinks whisky but I bet he doesn't drink Foster's...
Sunday, 6 November 2011
Whisky is the Answer
Or the culprit.