The contest started months ago, but it won't wrap up until late fall. In the meantime, its participants will suffer through a tireless spate of travel, ringed by entourages of trusted advisers, attending stale press conferences and coughing up canned answers to the same old questions. The race for the FedEx Cup? Nope. The race for the White House. But given the similarities, you've got to think that Tour pros could handle the campaigning. And wouldn't you know it? We’ve got seven candidates in mind.
A master of the thumbs-up and the flashy grin, he's already got the presidential gestures down, and he’s perfectly polished at the podium, too. He'd kill at State of the Union speeches, where not a single program would go unsigned. And his appetite for the occasional wager -- "Hey, Congressman, a hundo says I get this education bill passed by the end of the month!" -- would only add to his everyman appeal.
Never mind that under current U.S. law, our Commander in Chief must be 35 or older. We’ll simply have to lower that minimum for Fowler—he’s never been one for following conventions anyway. As the second consecutive president to favor high-tops, he’d be swept into office on the strength of the youth vote, and he’d bring a jolt of energy to the job. Motorcades? Borrring. Try motor-cross instead. And a BMX track next to the putting green on the White House lawn.
Inside the gridlocked Beltway, the notoriously slow-paced Na would only hold up traffic. But who says that's a bad thing? We don’t need a president who acts on impulse. Given that our leader has his finger on the button, we need a guy who ponders every angle, and backs off six times before he fires.
Two prerequisites for any occupant of the Oval Office: a fervent sense of patriotism, and a cuddly pet. Wie's got the latter covered with a ball of fluff named Lola, the faithful Pomeranian that populates so many of her Instagram postings. As for pride of country, few golfers have shown more than Wie at the Solheim Cup, where her red, white and blue fashion statements have transformed her into a walking flag. Born on the Fourth of July? Not exactly. But she was born in Hawaii. And if she were elected, not even Donald Trump would question that.
With zero experience in elected office and no apparent interest in the job, Perry could run as the consummate outsider. And if his campaign floundered, he could call upon his family connections. Or, at very least, his striking resemblance to Jeb Bush. (See photo above, far right.)
No doubt the birther movement would get all over Elk because he wasn't born in the United States. But our man could counter, in his direct Aussie manner: neither was Ted Cruz. Natural born citizen or not, Elk would be a natural born campaigner, with a gift for gab that suits those chatty town hall sessions, and a penchant for the sort of controversial Tweets that other candidates have used to rile up their rabid base.
Nearly eight years removed from his last major win, the newly anointed Ryder Cup assistant appears to be in search of other ways to be a leader. May we suggest "Leader of the Free World." Yes, his stump speeches would be deadly dull, but his name recognition would be through the roof, rocketing him upward in the polls. His opponents would go negative, of course, but Tiger's been dealing with that sort of stuff for decades, so the slings and arrows wouldn't slow him. Soon enough, it would be just like old times: Tiger surging, leaving a field of adversaries in the dust, just as long as he ignored campaign consultant Hal Sutton’s recommendation to choose Phil as his running mate.