What's not funny is that Daly seems incapable of taking any responsibility for his behavior, largely because he keeps getting rewarded for it. He has played so poorly in recent years that he must rely on sponsor exemptions to get in tournaments and they keep flooding in despite the fact he shows up both unprepared and unrepentant.
Tournaments practically beg him to play, just so fans can roar at the site of him chain-smoking his way down a fairway, his gut hanging out of an oversized shirt with more decals on it than a NASCAR race car.
"I always get three questions," Kym Hougham, tournament director of the prestigious Wachovia Championship, said last year. "Is Tiger coming? Is Fred Couples coming? Is John Daly coming?"
Daly paid back the Wachovia by packing it in for an 87. He's missed the cut, withdrawn or been disqualified from 45 percent of his PGA Tour events since his rookie season in 1991.
He's also won two major championships, which for a long time was two more than Phil Mickelson had. His ability is unquestioned, and the only questions other players have when they see him hitting balls on the driving range is why he can't seem to take that game to the course.
"What a shame. So much talent," Woods said.
Indeed, just imagine what Daly might have done had he put even half the preparation into a tournament that Woods does. Imagine how many major championships he might now have had he not squandered his talent because it's more fun to drink and hang out with buxom blondes than it is to spend hours on the driving range.
Imagine him battling Woods through Amen Corner on Sunday at the Masters instead of battling traffic leaving the Hooters on Washington Road.
He had a chance to be a legend of golf. Instead, he'll never be more than just a character of the game.
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Tim Dahlberg is a national sports columnist for The Associated Press. Write to him at tdahlbergap.org
