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Golf: The Game That Refused to Retire its Plaid Pants!

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Golf, the sport of swinging sticks and chasing little white balls, has a long and storied history that’s as quirky as every golfer’s swing. So, grab your visor, dust off your clubs, and join me on a hilarious journey through the wacky world of golf’s past! Or at least a 2-minute rundown of golf’s humble begionnings, fashion, and one of the funniest golf skits I’ve ever heard – Thanks Mr. Robin Williams [WATCH BELOW]

The Humble Beginnings:

Picture this: it’s the 15th century in Scotland, and a bunch of bored shepherds, who were clearly hard at work, discover that hitting stones into rabbit holes can be oddly satisfying and at the same time… frustratingly difficult. And just like that, the game of golf was born! They probably didn’t realize they were starting a worldwide obsession, In fact, I’ll go out on a limb and stake my reputation they never saw or had any inclination what this would evolve to. I am also quite confident they had no dream of ensuring the fashion statement of plaid pants for centuries to come. Let’s hear it from Robin himself on just how he thinks the origins of this crazy game occurred.

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The Tee-Rific Evolution:

As golf spread across the rolling hills of Scotland, it evolved from chasing stones to hitting feather-stuffed balls with clubs made of tree branches. I mean, who needs fancy graphite clubs when you can swing a shrubbery? Now, let’s talk about the holes. Back in the day, golfers used to dig holes in the ground and use a wooden peg called a “tee” to support the ball. You can imagine the uproar when someone accidentally teed off and the ball vanished into the depths of the Earth. Thank goodness they invented those shiny little flags to mark the holes, or else we’d have golfers digging for treasure instead of birdies!

Golf Fashion:

The Bold and the Plaidful: Ah, the fashion of golfers. From those snazzy plaid pants that scream “I mean business, but, I’m also here to party!”, to those dashing polo shirts and wide-brimmed hats, golfers have always been at the forefront of sartorial excellence – I know debatable at best, but just go with it for me for a few more seconds. Who else could pull off argyle socks and tasseled shoes? They’re like peacocks of the fairway, strutting their stuff and fluffing their plumage with every swing. In my opinion, nobody did it better than the late great Payne Stewart. I’m open for debate, comment below and I’d be happy to hear your take… (That was honestly not intended to rhyme, but what can I say excellence is oft stumbled upon where you are least intending or looking for it)

The Caddie Conundrum:

Golfers may have all the glory, but let’s not forget about their trusty sidekicks—the caddies! These brave souls lug around those hefty bags and offer advice like, “Don’t worry, it’s just water… or you got this, I mean sh*t, trees are 90% air right!” All joking aside, they are undoubtedly the unsung heroes of the game and most of them are pretty damn good golfers in their own right. Their willingness and ability to silently endure the golfer’s wild swings and the occasional temper tantrum, all the while keeping a straight face when they hand over the wrong club and say, “Oops, my bad!” They are like on course sports psychologists.

Golfers and Their Superstitions:

This one may be my favorite – Think Tin Cup (Video Clip Below). If there’s one thing golfers love as much as plaid, it’s superstitions. Whether it’s wearing the same lucky socks for every game or performing elaborate rituals before a shot, golfers are known for their quirky beliefs. Who knows, maybe those pre-swing dances and whispered prayers are the secret to unlocking the golfing gods’ favor! One thing I am sure of is that a “Pre Shot Routine” was born out of it and every, I mean EVERY, accomplished golfer has one. Period.

Conclusion:

Golf’s history is a delightful mix of questionable fashion choices, creative problem-solving (like inventing tees to save balls from vanishing underground), and a whole lot of laughter. So, the next time you hit the links, take a moment to appreciate the absurdity and charm that have made golf the game that refuses to retire its plaid pants. After all, what’s golf without a little bit of humor and a whole lot of fun?

Sewe you later in the week Fore! more…

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Meet The Canadian Open Qualifier Tied To ClickIt Golf!

“This week was incredible,” he said. “A dream come true.”

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Josh Goldenberg doesn’t plan to quit his day job. But he had a great time dabbling in his old career.

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He gave up on pro golf, then qualified for his first PGA Tour event.

Read the full story here
https://golf.com/news/josh-goldenberg-rbc-canadian-open/?amp=1

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Bets & Babes: Betting on Birdies

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In this latest episode of Bets and Babes join me and my special guest Robert from the World Series of Golf as we tee up a whole new way to think about betting on the green.

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We break down golf betting basics, share hilarious stories and talk about how to bet in a way that might resonate with us ladies.

Whether you’re a total newbie or just curious how to make golf Sundays more exciting, this episode delivers fun, flirty, and smart tips to get you in the game. 🎧⛳💸

Click below to listen to the entire episode and leave your comments and suggestions for future episodes.

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The Bogey Man’s Guide to Accidental Course Exploration: Or, How I Found My Ball (Eventually) in the Rough of Life

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Ah, golf. The gentle game of precision, patience, and occasionally, profound personal humiliation. You know, the kind that makes you question all your life choices, particularly the one where you decided to spend your Saturday morning chasing a tiny white ball around 18 acres of manicured torture.

Boo here, reporting live from the depths of a particularly thorny patch of “rough” that I’m fairly certain wasn’t on the course map. My mission? To recount a tale of a golf shot so spectacularly off-target, it became less about breaking par and more about breaking new ground. Literally.

It was a glorious Tuesday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and my swing felt… well, it felt like something. I was on the par-4 7th, a hole notorious for its deceptive dogleg and a bunker that swallows balls faster than a hungry teenager devours pizza. My plan was simple: a nice, controlled fade, landing gently just short of the green. A textbook approach, really.

What actually happened was less “textbook” and more “abstract expressionism.” My driver, bless its misguided heart, decided that “fade” was merely a suggestion, and “controlled” was a concept best left to professional pilots. The ball, a brand-new, gleaming Titleist Pro V1 (because, you know, optimism), launched with the trajectory of a startled pheasant and veered sharply right. So sharply, in fact, it cleared the cart path, hopped over the maintenance shed, and disappeared into what I can only describe as a dense, untamed jungle previously known as “the woods bordering the 7th fairway.”

Now, a lesser golfer, a more sensible golfer, might have declared it lost, taken a drop, and moved on with their dignity mostly intact. But I, dear readers, am Mr. Bogey Man. And the Bogey Man doesn’t abandon his children, especially when they cost $5 a pop.

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PING Hoofer

So, armed with a 7-iron (optimism again, clearly), a profound sense of misplaced determination, and a faint hope that perhaps a deer had picked it up and was using it as a chew toy, I plunged into the abyss.

The first five minutes were a blur of tangled vines, unseen roots, and the distinct feeling that I was being watched by small, judgmental woodland creatures. My pristine golf shoes quickly became mud-caked relics. My carefully tucked-in shirt became a casualty of low-hanging branches. I swear, I heard a squirrel snicker.

Then, a glimmer! A flash of white amidst the green. “Aha!” I cried, startling a family of robins. I pushed through a particularly stubborn bush, only to find… a discarded plastic water bottle. My heart sank faster than my last putt from 3 feet.

I pressed on, muttering to myself about the unfairness of golf, the existential dread of lost balls, and whether it was too late to take up competitive napping. Just as I was about to give up and declare the ball a permanent resident of the arboreal underworld, I saw it. Nestled perfectly at the base of an ancient oak, gleaming defiantly, was my Pro V1.

The triumph! The sheer, unadulterated joy! It was like finding the Holy Grail, if the Holy Grail was spherical and prone to slicing. I carefully extracted it, brushed off a few leaves, and held it aloft.

Then I looked around. I had no idea where I was. The fairway was a distant, hazy memory. The cart path? A myth. I was utterly, gloriously lost.

It took another fifteen minutes of bushwhacking, a brief but intense wrestling match with a particularly aggressive thistle, and the accidental discovery of what I’m pretty sure was a very old, very moldy sandwich, but I eventually stumbled back onto the course. My playing partners, who had long since finished the hole and were contemplating sending out a search party (or at least ordering another round of drinks), looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement.

My score on the 7th? Let’s just say it involved a number that would make a mathematician weep. But the story? The adventure? The sheer ridiculousness of it all? Priceless.

So, the next time your ball decides to take an unscheduled tour of the local flora and fauna, don’t despair. Embrace it. See it as an opportunity for accidental exploration. You might not break 80, but you’ll definitely have a story. And isn’t that what golf is really about? (Besides the frustration, the lost balls, and the occasional snickering squirrel, of course.)

Until next time, keep those swings (mostly) in bounds, and remember: even a bogey can be an adventure.

Boo

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