Merry #$$%^Chipmas
by CensorChip
We entered the grill, Santa and I, to a profanity-laced welcome reserved only for politicians and the rare Forty Niners touchdown. It was colorful and timely. The big man, no stranger to Poplar Creek or the menagerie that is our membership, responded in like fashion. “Don’t any of you @##$%^&ing derelicts have homes?” Belly laughs ensued and another magical Saturday was afoot.
Golfers, without a doubt, are the finest users of cuss words in the sports world. The only possible exception is bocce, but without an interpreter the flavor gets lost. Poplar Creek, with its unmercifully long rounds, poor conditions and overpriced green fees, is the undisputed leader of off color language. Many of our players can go three or four rounds without repeating an adjective. “It's linguistically beautiful in its creative usage,” stated language expert Artie F-ing White. The really good ones let the moment depict the language. “Its like Jim Nance calling the Masters on a late night cable station unfiltered. The worse the golf shot, the better the verbal tirade”, remarked Mike Shaffer.
Luckily this creativity carries over into the bar. All efforts to tone down the language are defeated by the arrival of the next member. “It’s kind of like a loud secret handshake that everyone on the property can hear”, said Mike Woodall.
Santa and I, well into our cheer, reveled at the uninhibited joy of golfers complaining about the sport they love to hate. It was #$%$%^^&&ing fantastic.
Merry Chipmas