Retief Goosen, the fifth-ranked golfer in the world, was disqualified from the Nissan Open last week when he missed his pro-am time because, well -- how shall we say? -- he got stuck in the rough with a bottle of rotgut.
Goosen had hosted a party for Grey Goose vodka at Riviera Country Club the night before. During the event, according to the Los Angeles Times, he told reporters: "I have never really drunk vodka, but I've had a few tonight. Somebody is going to have to drive me home."
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A look back at the weekend and a look ahead at the coming week's action with a fresh new edge.
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• Starting Lineup
• The Chat: Darryl McDaniels of "Run D.M.C."
• 7 Days
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He was scheduled to tee off at 6:40 the next morning but overslept and showed up late.
Dean Martin, he's not.
I am here to both defend and attack Goosen.
Frankly, no one should have to be anywhere at 6:40 a.m. At that hour, you should be either (a) sleeping or (b) getting home about to go to sleep. Under no circumstance should anyone be shaved, showered and standing near a sand trap at 6:40 in the morning.
If golfers had a stronger union, it would prevent such preposterously early tee times.
Heck, I graduated college -- granted, it was just the University of Maryland, without honors -- without taking a single course that began earlier than 11 a.m.
In fact, throughout history, nothing good has ever happened before noon. Thomas Edison, for instance, invented the light bulb in the early afternoon, F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote nearly the entirety of "The Great Gatsby" during happy hour and, when Charles Lindbergh made the first nonstop solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean, he departed at 7:10 p.m.*
(* Scheduled departure time was actually 6:35 p.m., but there was a slight delay while luggage was loaded, then Lindbergh was forced to taxi on the runway at JFK International Airport for 22 minutes before takeoff.)
(Bowling Intermission: A couple of weeks ago, I watched Walter Ray Williams Jr. fail in his attempt to tie Earl Anthony's all-time PBA Tour title mark of 41. Then last week, I watched Amleto Monacelli break a seven-year drought with his 19th PBA Tour title. I was the proverbial pig in slop -- in a time of uncertainty and a sea of TV excess, there remains no purer joy than sidling up on the sofa and watching bowlers bowl. On Sunday, I taped the U.S. Open, so don't tell me who won. What, I'm out of my mind? No, good people, you're out of your mind.)
On the other hand . . .
What, this guy can't hold his liquor? It's not as if Goosen was being asked split an atom at the crack of dawn while swilling hooch. Who can't swing a golf club after a couple of cosmopolitans?
Heck, I'm on my third glass of pinot grigio as I write this sentence.
