Robservations: The battle of brags continues
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But leave it to Dale to lash out, using his little space on Wednesday to once again question my prowess on the links.
“Not too shabby — for putt-putt,” he says.
Ouch.
To paraphrase Big Worm from the movie “Friday,” Dale’s messing with my golf game. And when you mess with my golf game, that’s like messing with my emotions.
Now, you may have been sitting at home Wednesday evening, wondering what my response would be. You may, in fact, have leapt from your bed this morning, ran down the driveway and tore into today’s copy of the Standard just to see how I’d react to this most recent editorial slap in my face.
Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I’m going to take the high road.
You see, I could go on and on — again — about how Dale talks it but hasn’t walked it in two years. It wouldn’t be unheard of for me to make fun of the bragging stories he tells about his “glory days,” which from what I gather were very glorious — but oh-so-very long ago.
Heck, I could even launch into a rant tearing at his Pugsley Addams-esque haircut.
But I won’t. Because, gentle reader, I was taught at a young age to respect my elders. And Dale, you understand, is my elder. By a long, long, long stretch.
So you have your fun, gramps. And if, someday down the road, your team of physicians clears you to hit the course with me, we’ll go out and see who’s really got the chops.
Of course, with you hitting from the gold tees and all, you’ll probably have a pretty big advantage.
• Back to the more serious world of sports… OK, maybe “serious” isn’t the most accurate word to describe it.
Maybe a more accurate description would be “back to my random slaps at things around the sports world.”
• For the past two days, I’ve read other writers’ opinions about how the United States’ success in the World Cup has opened the door for Americans to embrace professional soccer.
Sorry. Not going to happen.