Friday, April 11, 2014

Blog Classic: An Open Letter to Augusta National Golf Club

With The Masters upon us, I think it is time to take a look back at my thoughts on that particular golf tournament and those who put it on.

Dear Augusta National Golf Club,

     The annual golf tournament that spotlights all that you are is in full swing this week with the actual golf part starting today, and as such a lot of your little quirks are being exposed to the world, or at least exposed as much as you allow them to be.  A lot is made of the fact that you are all the things that the golf courses that the rest of the world plays on (read, public courses) are not.  You are meticulously groomed.  You have 1.4 million rules, approximately half of which are unwritten.  You are covered with Jim Nantz's special sauce.  And mostly you are super exclusive.  I can't tell you how many times this week I have had to hear about how to wear one of your awful and pretentious green jackets you have to be rich as hell, how you don't admit people who come asking, how you only have thirty members, etc, etc. How the amount of tickets to watch your events are even incredibly scarce.  There was even an article on Yahoo! about how your food is affordable precisely because you don't need the money.  The point of all of this is to make it clear to me, and to 99.99999999999999999999999999999% of America, not to mention the rest of the world, that you simply don't care about us.  And that is just fine.  But here is the deal Augusta National Golf Club, I am just writing this open letter to you in order to let you know in front of everybody that I don't care about you.
      In fact, it goes a little deeper than that.  I don't give a shit about you.  Not one bit.  I don't even hate you.  I have nothing against you.  But I have no special feelings towards you.  I am totally ambivilent about your policies, practices, positions, members, etc.  I just simply do not care.  Aside from this week when CBS takes you and force feeds you to me, I do not devote a single moment of time to thinking about you ever.  The only exception would be if I were in Augusta and driving by I might mention to whomever is in the car that we were passing Augusta National, but other than that you don't even register a blip on my radar.
      I know that this doesn't matter to you.  Except that I also know that is a lie.  Just like it is a lie when I tell you that I don't care.  I obviously care because I am taking the time to write this letter and leave it open for everyone to read.  And you obviously care because you allow everyone to know just how exclusive you are.  That is why you - as rumor has it but if it were true it wouldn't surprise me one bit - you held up Bill Gates' membership for a couple of extra years.  Because he said that he wanted to be in.  And you don't respond to people who want to be in.  You make them wait and come to them.  You play very hard to get, because you desperately want to be wanted.  Scratch that, you desperately want to be needed.  Just like me.  Just like Mike-a-licious.  And just like Jean Pearson of Cascade Locks, OR.  We all need to be needed.  And so do you.  So very badly.
    The sad thing though is that it won't matter.  So many people fall victim to your little game.  So many people desperately want to be in.  So many want your hideous green jacket.  It just feeds your ego and strokes your..well, we will leave that to the imagination.  But I am not going to fall into the trap.  I am not going to play your game.  I DO NOT WANT TO BE A MEMBER OF AUGUSTA NATIONAL GOLF CLUB.  I just don't.  So there.  Go focus on everyone else.  I am not interested.  You have been given notice.  And truth be told, if you were to send me an invitation I would not accept it.  So don't bother.  Enjoy your taste of your own medicine.  I will just sit back and wait for my invitation to come in the mail.

Bite My Swimsuit Area,

Big Dave

Wednesday, April 09, 2014

Major League: An Anniversary

    In honor of the 25th Anniversary of the release of one of the greatest movies of all time: Major League 2: back to the Minors, we are going...oh wait.  That movie sucked balls.  And it didn't come out 25 years ago.  But the original Major League did.  The one with Corbin Burnsen and Wesley Snipes and Charlie Sheen (this was when he started "winning" I think).  That one came out 25 years ago.  So in honor of that we are going to look at the twenty-five (pretty classy of me to spell that out, don't you think?) best one liners from the movie.  Except that we are only going to do 20, because 25 is a lot.  All ranked by me, Big Dave, except that they are in no particular order.

Mr. Butler: (Pointing to roster of players) This guy here is dead.
Mrs. Phelps: Cross him off then.

Charlie Donovan:  This looks like Jake Taylor.
Lou Brown: He was an All-Star in Boston, wasn't he?
Charlie Donovan: Yeah.
Pepper Leach:  Wish we had him two years ago.
Charlie Donovan: We did.
Pepper Leach: Four years then.

Lou Brown:  Thought you didn't have any high-priced talent.
Charlie Donovan:  Forget about Dorn 'cause he's only high priced.

Willy Mays Hayes:  What the hell league you been playin' in?
Rick Vaughn:  California Penal.


Willy Mays Hayes:  Shit, I've been cut already?

Lou Brown:  Well, you may run like Mays, but you hit like shit.


Harry Doyle: Just a bit outside!

Harry Doyle:  Haywood swings and crushed it towards South America.  Tomlinson's gonna need a visa to catch that one!

Harry Doyle:  The Post Game show is brought to you by...Christ.  I can't find it.  The hell with it.


Harry Doyle:  For the Indians, one run, and let's see, one hit.  Is that all we got, one Goddamn hit?
Stat Man:  You can't say that on air."
Harry Doyle, brushing him off.  Ahh...nobody's listening.

Jake Taylor:  Uh oh Rexie. I don't think that one's got the distance.

Jake Taylor:  Well, then, I guess there's only one thing to do.
Willy Mays Hayes:  What's that?
Jake Taylor:  Win the whole fucking thing.


The entire American Express commercial.

Roger Dorn: I've only got one thing to say to you.  Strike this f&*#er out.

Pedro Cerrano: I pissed off now, Jobu.  I good to you. I stand up for you. I you no help me now, I say fuck you, Jobu.  I do it myself.

Harry Doyle:  Haywood's a convicted felon, isn't it, Marty?
Monty:  It doesn't say here.
Harry Doyle:  Well he should be.

Charlie Donovan:  [Lou], How would you like to manage the Indians this year?
Lou Brown:  I don't know...
Charlie Donovan:  What do ya mean you don't know?  This is a chance to manage in the big leagues.
Lou Brown:  Lemme think it over, will ya, Charlie?  I got a guy on the other line about some white walls.  I'll talk to ya later.

All of this, because it deserves three: