'The Moaning Husband's' Mrs kicked off at him so this week he is ranting about people shouting 'FORE'.
Still bloody funny!
A Lesson in Instincts
It’s said that babies are born, only afraid of two things. The sensation of falling and loud noises.
A reaction to noise is the most basic of instincts. Throughout technology and nature, danger is preceded by a warning sound.
Lions don’t bite your arse, seconds after just pointing at it with their mouths shut. Burglar alarms aren’t just an arrow, pointing at some prick in a tracksuit.
Imagine how many people would die if the vital observations systems in hospitals didn’t make noises.
If you’ve got a blind-fold on, what’s going to scare you? Somebody randomly shouting at you? Or somebody waving an arm that you can’t see from 300 yards?
And let’s be honest, despite having the physique and hairline of a 93-year old, Spieth could have been made of flashing lights and been 30ft tall…if he’s silent, that poor bloke stood off the fairway is at risk of becoming pregnant by a Pro V1. Unless it spins out the back out of him.
The thing is, if you go to watch the golf, you almost accept that it’s a very real possibility that you get hit.
Ignoring the gallery at the tee (for every televised tee-shot I’ve ever seen, part of my brain has said “imagine if he just sliced it…”), there’s always a larger group that stand 3-350 yards out, at a place ready to view the second shot.
Often, they’re viewing little chips or putts, or maybe even just presuming that they can stand in one place for 20 seconds and not get hit while they watch the action from afar.
Here’s the problem. And every golf writer will have had their say on this by now.
BUT THIS REALLY FUCKING MATTERS.
By the time it lands, a golf ball will be travelling at about 50mph. Everybody who has played golf, has been in a car. At fifty miles per hour, even a Srixon Soft Feel (great ball, contact me on Twitter) hit by a 12 handicapper, is two things.
FUCKING HARD. And FUCKING FAST.
You might call it a soft feel ball, but it’s not made of bubbles and rainbows. That prick on the tee might just have hit longer than he’s ever hit it, but I don’t care about his record, I care about my head.
I’ve played golf for three years. I’m shit. My drives, in any one round, can genuinely average from 100 yards to 500 yards. Yeah, five.
Point is, mafakas, that if Jordan Spieth doesn’t really know where his drive his going…
NEITHER DO FUCKING YOU.
Doesn't matter who you are...
See, I often hear today’s pros would rather not should ‘fore’, and they hope to get what we now all call a “Bubba lie”.
Every tournament – never-mind The fucking Masters - is worth so much money, that hitting some guy off the fairway is actually a bigger advantage to you than hitting the lake or tree that the victim is stood next to.
But here’s the thing. Yes, I understand that one lucky bounce from a shit tee-shot, can decide a major. Or, for a large number of pros, one made cut, can mean their card. Or at club level, one bad tee-shot, can affect the hole, the match, the society day, your handicap, or the whole season.
Give any of those golfers - whether it’s Jordan Spieth, or Bill, who’s 1-up on the 18th, this situation:
Shout “fore”, and fail. Stick your arm out, hit somebody on the arse, and win.
A golf ball up the arse never hurt anybody!
What if that bloke was sitting down? Or had stopped five yards earlier?
A driven golf ball, in the head. I don’t care whether that is driven by Jordan Spieth or Katie Price; You warn people. You shout FORE.
Even if you’re shouting FORE for shots, that - from impact – looks 20-30 yards away from other people…you could be wrong.
Shouting FORE doesn’t absolve you of liability. But it does show respect to fellow golf lovers.
You shout ‘fore’ and – God forbid – kill somebody? You’re in trouble.
Ask any golfer – whether they be a Tour pro or an angry husband: 'Shout fore 1000 times, never win a tournament and nobody dies…; or 'Not shout fore but kill somebody', and we’d all answer the same.
Don’t stick your fucking arm out.
Shout as much as you would if somebody looked like being hit by a housebrick.
We don’t need to argue about whether this change needs to be from top to bottom, or bottom to top. Whether you’re Nic Coelsarts or boring old Dave: shout fucking fore, before you regret not doing so.
I'm the Managing Editor at The Club. I like putting and Rioja. I dislike my low slice.