|Shit happens, son|
For starters, I'm fucking awful at playing it. Went out with a girl a few years ago whose family was big into it. I'd pissed around on the pitch & putt before meeting her but had never played the long version of the game. I went out a few times and each one turned out to be worse than the previous one. I remember losing three balls at one hole during a particularly frustrating morning and decided to give the whole thing up as a bad fucking job. Since then, the only time I've been at a golf course is for a bevy at the clubhouse.
Next up - why can't they just carry their own bags? This a sport which consists of walking, standing and crouching; you're not required to run with the bag slung over your shoulder. The bag isn't that heavy so it's not a two man job. If the caddy's advice is so good, why doesn't he fucking playing as well.
Then you've got the spectators. You've really gotta love the game if you're prepared to spend all day milling around the course, but what I can't stand is when they all gather around a ball which has landed off the fairway, or one which has found a dodgy location. Let's be honest, they look like hunting dogs which have been trained to follow their quarry, but just about have the intelligence not to pick it up. When the player finally gets to the spot to take his shot I want to scream at the telly for them all to move out of the fucking road.
The last thing which gets on my goat is the general demeanour of some of the players. There are those who strut about the course like Roman emperors, offering the plebs a few crumbs of recognition - a doff of a cap or a slight 'ball in hand' acknowledgement after making a putt. Then there are those who behave like spoilt little bastards after making a poor shot - Tiger in particualr looks like he's gonna fling his rattle out of the pram.
Having said all this, I'll be looking forward to the US Open in June, hoping for another tight finish, and perplexed as to how I can spend an entire weekend enjoying the action.