NO ONE WAS more stunned than I when news arrived that the PGA Senior Tour—excuse me, the Champions Tour—was going to make a vigorous stab at improving its public relations. It announced that it would allow, if not encourage, fans to engage in conversations and even ask questions of the competitors during a tournament round.
I seriously doubt that the players were consulted on this decision. The last time I was around them, they seemed to be as grumpy today as they were on the regular Tour.
Upon being distracted in the midst of a round, I can hear them dredging up one of their familiar complaints: “This is my office. Would I bust into your place of business without an appointment?”
If I ever lost my way and wandered onto their Tour again, I would ask these questions:
Which hip is it you’re going to have done?
Didn’t you score better when you smoked?
What’s the longest you’ve ever kept a courtesy car?
Is that a nine-wood?
Are those deck shoes better for your gout?
Do you guys ever play courses longer than 6,200 yards?
Doesn’t it hurt to swing like that?
Didn’t your first wife throw your clothes out in the front yard?
Does your caddie keep enough Demerol in the bag?
Isn’t it lonely out on the course?
Do you have a favorite Motel 6 on the Tour?
How much do you miss the free shirts, slacks, and sweaters?
What’s it like in Snoqualmie, Washington, these days?
Whataburger or Jack in the Box?
How did you vote on wives inside the ropes?
I guess you leave off the stool softeners during a tournament, right?
Can you name another profession where you get a mulligan in life?
Do you carry extra batteries for the hearing aids?
I said, “DO YOU CARRY EXTRA BATTERIES FOR THE HEARING AIDS?”
Look, I know what it’s like to be a senior. I’m still looking for the glass of iced tea I put down somewhere when the doorbell rang last week.
And I guess I’d still be playing golf too if I could hit it from the front porch past the sidewalk.