Open Letter to Sergio Garcia
Dear Sergio,
I can’t tell you how much I used to enjoy your fresh, smiling face and the youthful exuberance you brought to the PGA tour. I say ‘used to’ because that all flew out of bounds with the loogie you deposited in the cup at Doral on Saturday.
In case you didn’t know, Serg, that little 4 ¼ inch diameter indentation in mother earth is a pretty sacred piece of ground for those who play golf. A ball ending up in that hole brings either joy or frustration, heretofore, without your DNA on board.
I know you have apologized and said that you really didn’t spit, but it kinda ‘slipped out’. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t quite cut it for me. I would really like to know what you were thinking when you decided you could care less about your brethren playing behind you?
Would you have done that if your mother were playing behind you? Or Old Tom Morris? Would it have bothered you if Bobby Jones had to retrieve his ball from the cup only to find a load of mucus on his ball that would have made Gaylord Perry blush?
For those of us who conduct ourselves as ladies and gentlemen on the course, we kinda like the game where we have it. Please don’t think your behavior is anything but reprehensible. Should you feel you couldn’t stop the process, may I be the first to recommend you ply your trade in a major league dugout. Or perhaps with the WWF, which would actually be a good fit since you would actually have a chance at a major championship of some kind with them.
In closing, I really don’t care how many times you milk your grip or what kind of flamboyant clothing you wear. Spitting in the face of our great game stops now. Do that in front of me and I hope your gluteus maximus is a soft spike facility.
Sincerely,
Mitch Juricich
Hooked on Spit Free Cups
