Anyone who watched the British Open this past weekend was treated to a tortuous rules discussion which last over twenty minutes and once again showed how far up its asses golf has it’s heads jammed. Jordan Spieth hit his drive onto some scrub grass on the side of the 13th green, and then proceeded to have round table discussions with various octogenarians about the next shot’s location as if we were talking about a ball that blasted through the front door of a port a pottie and wedged itself into a pile of fully digested Shepherd’s pie.

It would seem to be pretty obvious. The ball is unplayable, play it here. Or it’s playable so play it where it lies. Or if you want to be real courteous, don’t even look for the shot, just do everyone a large favor and go back to the tee from whence you came, and kindly blast away again. But no, we had to sit through discussion after discussion in order to see the rest of the match. Thankfully the camera man was sympathetic to our plight and kept panning to Matt Kuchar on his knees reading on the fairway. If you think Kooch is boring as a golfer, you don’t want to see him curled up with a book, trust me. Jordan Spieth ended up winning the match and should go down as the the rudest son of a bitch to ever stride a golf course.


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