A (not so) hilarious bit of banter from Rick’s (imaginary?) friends.
After a semi-exciting, albeit drawn-out, US Open, Reilly submitted this collection of words, in which Rick kind of, maybe chastises Lucas Glover for not being excited enough after winning the Open. Or maybe he’s defending Glover and ripping on his own friends? Or maybe he wants to rip on Glover, but doesn’t feel comfortable doing it, so he puts the inults into his friends’ mouths? Or– and I think this is the most likely scenario–Rick doesn’t have any friends and he made all of this up.
In fact, he definitely made up the dialogue. He must have. People don’t actually talk like this. It’s up to you to decide whether he made his “buddies” up, too. I, however, am convinced he did.
All right, let’s drag ourselves kicking and screaming into Reilly’s latest hack job.
You just won the U.S. Open. Act like it!
You’d never know Lucas Glover is a champ by the way he acts
Two Down O’Connor, World’s Most Avid Golf Gambler, was watching replays of Lucas Glover winning the U.S. Open and was severely disgruntled.
“Look at this!” Two Down said as he pointed at Glover, who was politely accepting the trophy on the 18th green at Bethpage Black. “I mean look how boring he is! He looks like he was just named Proctology Patient of the Year.”
First of all, Two Down O’Conner is definitely a lame, made-up nickname. What does it even mean? Is he an even-keeled fellow, well known for having both feet firmly planted on the ground? Unlikely, judging from what comes next. Was he a bruising running back in highschool who only needed two downs for a first down? This is obviously a stretch. Is he always two strokes down when they play golf? At the end of the article we’ll find out that’s not the case. (Sorry to spoil it for you.) So…made-up nickname for a made up person.
Second, Proctology Patient of the Year is a certified Rick Reilly joke. It’s slightly gross and not at all funny.
Third, I have no problem with the basic premise/ opinion here: Lucas Glover should have showed more emotion. I don’t think I necessarily agree (seeing that golf is a “gentleman’s game,” or so they tell me), but whatever. But then the article just gets out of hand. To wit:
I barely arched an eyebrow. Two Down is the leader of our Saturday morning foursome — The Chops — and you do not want to give him a foothold.
“If I won a U.S. Freaking Open, I’d go absolutely electroshock, three-alarm, bat-guano nuts!” he continued. “I’d race around the green like I was on fire! I’d French kiss the old lady scorekeeper! I’d climb up the TV tower and swan dive into the crowd!”
I did not so much as twitch an eyebrow.
“Well, why not? In tennis, when Roger Federer wins a major, he falls backward like he just got poleaxed. If this were football, the guy would be doing the electric chicken right in front of the other team’s bench, thumping his chest and taking a video of himself with his other hand. Hell, Ochocinco might stage a Broadway musical right then and there.”
I will say this, Reilly captures the mind-numbing, seizure-enducing frenzy of this little outburst quite well. I have goosebumps, and there’s a slight shiver going up my spine…but not in a good way. It’s more of, I-am-now-officially-embarassed-to-be-a-human-being sort of way.
Yes, Two Down, I can see that you would go nuts. You’re going crazy right now. By the way, it’s bat-shit crazy, not bat guano nuts, and if you’re constrained from using profanity, as I assume you are on ESPN, then don’t use the bat shit crazy motif…it does not have the same affect in alternate forms.
Another Chop — Provisional — hollered in from the euchre table.
I have a hard time believing that “Provisional” is actually somebody’s nickname. Regardless, turns out Provisional is even more insane than Two Down (at least for now).
“He’s right! If I won the U.S. Open, I’d pick up the flagstick and fire it like a Tommy gun at the crowd. I’d have secretly hidden my cell phone in the hole and when the final putt went in, I’d answer it: ‘This is the 2009 U.S. Open champion speaking. Which means you are not the 2009 U.S. Open champion. Sucks to be you!’ I’d make my caddie give me a piggyback ride and I’d whip him like a jockey on a horse. I’d lay my bag on the ground, straddle it and then paddle with my putter. I’d waltz myself around the green like it really was the dance floor!”
Oh Lord, the hysteria is almost overwhelming. Tommy Guns? Check! Piggback Rides? Check! Whipping Caddies? Check! Straddling Golf Bags? Check! Waltzing? Check! Awkward Attempt at Conveying Human Speech? Check! This is most certainly all from the mind of Rick. No real person talks like this, or thinks doing any of these things would be cool…except, of course, for Rick. Not to mention the idiocy of the cell-phone-in-the-hole-ploy. I imagine you’d have a difficult time sinking a putt with a cell phone in the hole, for starters. Also, the person who calls your cell phone after winning the US Open is most likely going to be one of three people: Your best friend, your mother, or the president. You really want to be insulting those people? Ugh.
Not to be left, out, the runt of the group chimes in:
This captured the attention of a third Chop — Hoover, so named because he sucks worse than an entire vacuum plant — and he jumped in with both cleats.
Hoover is actually a believable nickname. Well done, Rick.
“If I just beat 155 guys, I’d be cocky as hell, like other jocks,” Hoover said. “I’d extend my hand to the guy I’d just beaten like I was going to shake it and then, when he started to grab it, I’d pull it back. Psych! When the guy in the blazer came out with the winner’s check, I’d snatch his toupee off and fling it like a Frisbee.”
Remember when it was the height of hilarity to pull your hand away as someone moves in for a handshake and yell Psych? You don’t? Yeah, neither do I. I think it may have been cool for an hour in kindergarten.
You know the old saying: “Never bite the hand that feeds” ? Well, I have a new one: “Never publicly humiliate a man who is handing you a $1 million check by throwing his toupee.”
“No, no,” Provisional countered. “I’d rip the mike out of Bob Costas’ hands and say into the camera, very sincerely, ‘I’d just very much like to thank (pause) my sweet butt for being so good! Nobody’s hittin’ these shots but me, you fools! You see anybody blockin’ for me? Catching balls at the wall? Throwin’ me a pass? It’s just me out here, by myself, home slice, and I am flat-out a witch with these here Pings. I can do stuff with these things that would’ve gotten me buried up to my eyes in the desert during the Middle Ages!’ “
I remained unmoved.
“And that night?” added Two Down, standing on the table now. “I’d go to Ricky Barnes’ hotel room at 3 in the morning and be very sincere and contrite and go: ‘Sorry to come by so late. But I just wanted to apologize for my behavior this afternoon on the 18th green. I really want to take this opportunity to say how sorry I am that (pause) you’re such a gag artist!’ Then I’d hold up the trophy, polish it on my butt and say, ‘Take a look at how shiny it is! Really, look close. What do you see? A loser!!! Don’t worry, though. I hear the food’s great on the Nationwide Tour!’ “
Hoover insisted he’d “get a stepladder out and cut down the flag, like they do in basketball. I’d get up there with a pair of scissors, cut one little piece off, climb back down, pretend I was handing the scissors to the guy behind me in line — which was just me again — and climb back up, until the thing was off. Then I’d dig the entire cup out with all the turf around it and stick it in my bag, as a keepsake.”
“I’d take my 3-iron out and have my caddie kneel before me and I’d knight him like I was the queen,” Provisional decided.
Two Down added: “Then I’d have my agent come out and hand out those ugly T-shirts and hats that all the NBA and college champion teams hand out the second they win the game. Only it would just be a picture of me on the shirts and hats, along with the phrase: ’2009 U.S. Open Champion, Suckers!’ in big swirly lettering. And then my caddie and I would wear them and we’d hug and fake taking each other’s pictures with fake digital cameras.”
This is beginning to push me to the brink, so I’m going to rush.
“Home slice”? A witch with Pings? Wiping the Open trophy on your butt? Ridiculous.
Running up a step ladder a bunch of times pretending to be a college basketball team? Just stupid.
What on earth is the point of this article? Hang on. Here it comes:
There was finally quiet. They seemed to be spent and satisfied, so I spoke up at last.
“Yeah, that Lucas Glover’s a real tool,” I said. “By the way, what’d you guys shoot today?”
“103,” said Two Down.
“111,” said Provisional, “with one backside mulligan. And two kicks.”
“137,” said Hoover. “Net.”
I paused and looked at them, palms up.
They all just blinked back at me.
Irony is lost on The Chops.
So it seems that the point is that The Chops should all shut up because they’re not good enough at golf to win the US Open. Which is pretty obvious. None of our friends could win the US Open. So…stupid premise for an article. Also, Rick, there is nothing ironic about any of this. Insane? Yes. Infantile? Yes. Incredibly unfunny? Yes. Ironic? No. As a professional writer I’d expect you to know what irony is.
Plus, I love how Reilly portrays himself as the stoic figure of wisdom in this article when, and I’m almost 100% certain of this fact, he made all that dialogue up. What’s the point? What are you trying to accomplish? Are you trying to say that golfers should show more enthusiasm? Or are you trying to say that if you can’t win the US Open then you can’t criticize the guy who did? The Title (YOU JUST WON THE US OPEN. ACT LIKE IT!) suggests you want more enthusiasm, but your in article persona suggests that you want your stupid friends to shut up. This is aggravating. How did you win 11 Sportswriter of Year Awards again?
Anyway, just read that dialogue over again. If not impossible, then it is highly improbable that anyone would talk like this. The “jokes” are dumb and clunky. They don’t read like someone speaking.
So I think it’s pretty obvious that Rick just made this up. But then, I highly doubt that Rick’s friends would look kindly upon him slandering their names on the most-read sports site of all time. I just don’t think they’d allow this. That’s why I think he made the whole thing up entirely. That and the fact that their nicknames are really, really dumb. Oh, and that Rick Reilly doesn’t have any friends. This is a documented fact.