I’m Not Your Clown… Well Maybe

I can’t golf for shit. Fuck this sport. It’s way too hard.

I respect anyone that can golf well. My father has been golfing for decades and that mother fucker can golf like a champ.

I inherited a set of golf clubs from my father and have never possessed the ability to wield them well. But I can do one thing better than anyone on  golf course… Make a fucking deal.

Allow me the opportunity to elaborate. Unless you’re a child prodigy, golf is not about skill, it’s about one of two things, either A) Something mildly athletic that can performed while drunk or B) an excellent way to make business decisions. I use it for the latter.

Many business decisions have been made on the golf course, and typically by men that have a handicap in the high twenties.

I golf for necessity, not for enjoyment. I guess my point is, if anyone that’s dumb enough to read this trash is good at golf, PLEASE GIVE ME LESSONS!

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What do you Think?

I’m going to try and keep this brief, but my wife and I were having a conversation and it was too amusing not to share. So enjoy this momentary invitation into my private life.

I’ve always wanted to name one of my future sons “Aiden Arthur” because my last name starts with an “A” thus making him “Triple A,” or Trip as i would most certainly call him, and my wife apparently does not care for this concept because she feels this name will make him, as she so eloquently said it, a douche.

My question is, can a name influence you as a person? To my wife’s credit, I once date a girl named Tiara and she was a giant, high maintenance, princess, pain in my ass. So perhaps there’s some validity to her concerns, but for fuck’s sake I want to call my son Trip!

First Annual America Day Post (The Origin)

It’s America Day! and as I mentioned on our Twitter feed it’s the special time of year when I hide from my family and friends and watch baseball alone while drinking my secret stash of good beer while my family drinks PBR. I’m a generous host.

Many people wonder why I don’t  write about baseball more. I enjoy baseball a lot it’s not because I have some secret vendetta against the sport, but my history with baseball is… unique.

When I was a child, I was a very gifted pitcher, by the time I was a teenager I was one of the best in the state. I started showing prowess for the sport at a very young age and as a result, my father took it upon himself to make sure I was going to be the best in the world. From around the age of seven up until high school I was outside every day until the sun went down throwing pitches trying to perfect my craft until my arm felt as though it had fallen off hours ago and I eventually crawled back to the house to eat a quick dinner before my father sat me down to go over everything I had done wrong in a series of videos and profanity fueled rants.

This would’ve all been fine if it weren’t for one minor detail, I hated playing baseball (still do, but I’m an adult now). I eventually gathered the courage to tell my father that I no longer wanted to play baseball. This was the first time my father kicked me out of the house. I was always allowed back, but this was merely the first in a series of ejections that would ultimately come to my final one later in life where I didn’t go back, but that’s another story for another day.

Baseball is a great sport. I enjoy watching it as much as possible. But baseball and I, have a strained relationship.

Welp, I Tried

I try so hard not to talk about people I don’t like or disagree with. The sheer fact of acknowledging someone that’s an idiot is only feeding their ego and placating their most ridiculous of life choices. BUT there is one recent occurrence that is so asinine, I feel obligated to hop on my computer and type an article that dozens of people might scroll past.

READER BEWARE this is ultimately going to be a sports installment.

For those that follow the world of athleticals such as myself, there is a man that has shoved his way to the forefront of obnoxious loud mouths, Lavar Ball, the father of the VERY talented basketball players the Ball brothers. Mr. Ball has taken it upon himself, like most celebrity parents, to manage his children’s’ professional careers, and shocker, it’s not going well.

The eldest son, Lonzo, was turned away by EVERY major shoe company because of his father’s insane demands. As a result, the father made his own shoe for his son and is asking for A LOT of money. This is so stupid it hurts my soul. Lonzo, if you don’t feel safe at home, please contact the authorities, because your father is killing your career before you’ve even had the opportunity to HAVE a career.

The patriarch of this family is a sociopath looking for a reality TV show, and has no idea how badly he is destroying his own children’s careers. I apologize for the article rife with personal opinions I promise, this will never happen again.

What’s Harder?

Once again, my father and I got into another heated sports related discussion that ultimately resulted in he and myself agreeing the other was wrong and closed minded. For the longest time, I have wanted to start a sports podcast with my father because our discussions are highly amusing and it provides an interesting gap in modern sports perspectives; my father is an uptight, old man, traditionalist, and I am young, cool, and open minded (not to mention I have a buttery smooth speaking voice).

My father and I were discussing which is more difficult: Hitting a golf ball, or hitting a major league fastball? My argument essentially boiled down to: children hit golf balls, and my father’s argument came to: golf requires major physical factors to come in place in order to properly hit a golf ball. A fucking stationary ball; not a ball traveling 100 miles an hour, a non-moving ball, but what the hell do I know.

Tell me what you think. Which one is harder and am I too hard on my father?