Tiger, Sergio, fried chicken and misplaced racism
“You pat him on the back and say congratulations and enjoy it and tell him not to serve fried chicken next year. Got it? Or collard greens or whatever the hell they serve.”
“You pat him on the back and say congratulations and enjoy it and tell him not to serve fried chicken next year. Got it? Or collard greens or whatever the hell they serve.”
Golf is a great game. It’s also a tremendously frustrating one. Golf can take the coolest, calmest guy in the lot and turn him into a bumbling, raving, profanity-laced lunatic.