The Champion
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Welcome back on this glorious Sunday afternoon to the final round
Of the Inverrary Classic. The legendary champion is now approaching
The 18th tee box with an insurmountable eight stroke lead. And
The gallery lets the champion know what a fine three days of golf
He has had. The always charming champion is now taking time to
High five a young spectator, and the boy, the boy is awestruck
Ha ha, the gallery erupts with delight. Yes, yes, yes, I think it
Would be hard to find in any sport a champion who is as beloved
As this one. And the encouraging gallery grows silent. Eight
Strokes ahead of the pack, the champion slowly starts his back swing
Oh, no, no. Apparently the honking horn had some sort of concentration
Effect on the champion's usual monstrous drive. But the champion
Shakes it off and makes some sort of humorous remark about the
Horn to the gallery, and they eat it up. Yes, yes, yes. Well
Now the champion, his caddie, and the elated gallery make their
Way to the champion's ball, which is unfortunately lodged next
To a very thick, uh, tree root. The champion and his caddie talk
It over. He's going to play it safe and punch out with a seven
Iron. With an eight stroke lead, this is simply smart play by
The legendary, uh, champion. He approaches the ball, let's watch
Oh, well, I don't think that's what the champion had in mind when
He took that swing. The ball is now ten yards, um, into the
Woods after ricocheting off that tree root, and there is a look
Of pain on the champion's face. He is shaking his hands as if to
Say, "I did not have a strong enough grip on the club when I hit
The tree root, and my hands are stinging, uh, quite badly." The
Champion is starting to mutter some obscenities about the car
Horn which it was just joined as blew earlier during the champion's
Back swing at the, uh, 18th, uh, tee box. Well, now his caddie
And friend of twenty-five years, Mr. Skipper Jenkins, is doing
Everything he can to get the champion's mind, uh, back on track
Let's just win this thing!
Well, wonderful veteran words of wisdom. The champion nods in
Agreement and heads into the woods to set up for his third shot
Which he will have to play out of a, out of a dreadfully muddy lie
He's sticking with his seven iron, closes the club face a little, he
Starts his swing. Well, the ball did not move, um, if anything, it's
A little deeper in the mud. The champion is now conferring with
Course marshal David Connare, and yes, uh, it has been ruled
That his ball is unplayable. He will take a drop and a one
Stroke penalty. The champion is now laughing very hard. Uh
One might say a little too hard. But nonetheless, he drops his
New Aerofly ball and resumes play. And back with his trusty
Three wood, the champion lines up his shot. He starts his back
Swing, he flatulates. Stops his swing, steps away from the ball
And, uh, whispers something to his caddie, Mr. Skipper Jenkins
What do you mean you got to take a shit? Finish
The fucking hole, we got to win this motherfucker!
And now the champion is staring angrily at his caddie, he continues
To stare for quite some time, and then abruptly walks back to his
Ball, not taking much time to set up at all. He swings, connects
A smash of a hit. Starting to slice, oh no, it goes directly into the
Center of a man-made water hazard. The champion slowly walks over to
His golf bag, unzips it, and pulls out what I believe looks like a
Sixteen ounce silver beverage container, and starts drinking in large
Gulps. Why don't we take this time for a word from our sponsor, and
Then we'll return to our final round
Coverage of the Inverrary Classic
I wasn't sure what to do when you had...
What do seventeen major championships, over six million dollars
In prize money, and complete domination of the sport of golf
Have in common? Two things: the champion and Aerofly balls
Aerofly balls. They just seem to go further, heh heh heh
If it's good enough for the champion
Don't you think it's good enough for you?
Well, welcome back to our final round coverage of the Inverrary
Classic. As we join the action, we can see his caddie and long-time
Friend Mr. Skipper Jenkins trying to coax the champion out of the
Sand trap where he is presently on his back making a snow
Angel. Well, the champion is now ceasing his sophomoric
Behavior and is climbing out the trap onto the green
The champion has just tackled long-time friend and caddie
Mr. Skipper Jenkins, I've never seen anything like this
That's it, I'm getting the fuck out of here
You fucked up, dude. You need some serious help
Yeah, I need help fucking your wife
Fuck you, don't you ever talk about
My wife. I'll fucking kill you, man
Here, here. Generally even-tempered Mr. Skipper Jenkins now storming
Off the course towards the clubhouse, but not without hearing a
Few expletives hurled at him by the classless lord of the lakes
Tears streaming down his face, the champion is now alone on the
Green, left with a lengthy, uh, twelve-foot par. Who would have
Thought that a simple horn honk could bring about such disaster and
Disarray in one man's life? The champion, lining up his putt, uh
Using the flag stick as his putter for some odd reason, he takes a
Few steps towards the hole, unbuckles his belt, the champion is
Defecating in the cup, and the gallery has seen enough. Not a moment
Too soon, the police have arrived and are walking towards the
Champion slowly. In a last desperate act, the champion holds the flag
Stick as if it were not unlike a lance from medieval times and runs
Full tilt with rage in his eyes towards the officers. They open fire
The champion has been shot. He is down on the green, he is not
Moving. SWAT team inching their way towards the champion, and the
Officer checks the champion's pulse, signals to the other policemen
That the champion is sure enough dead. If you are just joining us
Sunday, May 7th, at 2:42 p.m., perhaps the greatest golfer of our
Time is deceased at age thirty-nine. May God
Have mercy on his soul. This has been Donald
Heffington saying to you, "Good day and good golf."