All hail John Daly, the fattest stinking porker ever to swing a golf club. Just because the guy's a humongous, obese monster shouldn't disqualify him from our eternal pantheon of immortal sports heroes. With 50% of our population fitting into the category of morbid obesity, it's only fitting that they too should be included within the participation of spectator sports.
OK, golf is a game, like pool or contract bridge. But qualifying it as a sport along with marathon running or boxing owes more to the genius of modern marketing than to any anticipation of athletic excellence. Give me a break! They hit the ball and then they walk or ride to the next shot. They don't even carry their own clubs. For me it's a comedy show, like The Three Stooges or Rodney Dangerfield.
Golf stinks as a social environment. One announcer joked that if young golfers felt intimidated by the prospect of competing against Tiger Woods, maybe they should just go ahead and lynch him ha-ha. And then, just to drive the point home, Golf Weekly ran a magazine cover of a hangman's noose. Ha-ha, big joke!
That's why John Daly appeals to me as an icon of golfing excellence. The guy is so stinkingly fat that his overhanging gut practically hangs halfway down to his knees. I'm tempted to send him a Hawaiian shirt just so I can see the native girls do the hula when he shakes his grotesque, gelatinous booty.
The PGA forced him to submit to a drug test and his blood analysis came back classified as "Ragú". Daly is so fat that every time he takes a bath, he don't leave a ring around the tub, he leaves stretch marks. He's so fat that every time he turns around, his friends throw him a Welcome Home party. He's so ugly that peeping toms reach in the window and pull down the shade.
What this guy is doing as a PGA pro is anybody's guess. His own trainer fired him for being such a worthless piece of garbage. He got thrown off the Arnold Palmer Open because instead of showing up for the publicity session he was found to be getting drunk at Hooters.
Daly looks like a cheap Japanese monster movie of a cretinous ogre who attacks fast food restaurants and inhales all the food. They could float him over Central Park West for the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade and save thousands of bucks on a helium balloon.
Daly doesn't need a trainer to instruct him on his golf swing. All he has to do is sit on the ball and shoot it out from his backside with a blast of compressed gas from his butt. That would be enough to send it into orbit if the compression from his fat buttocks doesn't pulverize it first. Maybe the Defense Department could use his pneumatic butt pressure to send projectiles into outer space to destroy enemy satellites.