With players like Natalie Gulbis, there is a lot to like about the look of the LPGA's future.
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Thursday, July 12, 2007

Sir Feherty,
Might you don your Eye-agra and give us a Fly on the Ball perspective of these young lassies on the LPGA Tour? — GR, Denton, Texas

Dear GR:
How come so many Texans like to be known by double initials? Just curious.

Let's see; we have Pressel, Gulbis, Creamer, Ochoa ... (I don't think we can count Wie yet). I love 'em all. If that's what the future of the LPGA looks like, then I'd say they're in great shape. They're personable, likeable, intensely competitive and they look fabulous in the new fashion trends for women's golf. What more could you ask for? I love to watch them swing. Men amateurs would be better off watching them for swing tips than the guys on the PGA tour. I said tips, GR, tips.

Dear David,
I just purchased a new driver and my golf league is Tuesday night. I have a date Wednesday night. Is it wrong of me to want to go hit my driver more than I want to go on the date? — Mike McLaughlin, Waterford, Mich.

Mike,
Well, to begin with Mike, it's never wrong to want to spend quality time with inanimate objects or small farm animals over human beings. I'm assuming here that your golf league is predominantly male, so they fall into the same category I just outlined above.

Look at it this way:
• When you spend time with your driver, does it suddenly have to leave the table when the check arrives?
• Does your driver flinch when you move to pick it up?
• Do you feel as though you have to sit through a two-hour movie about the "Ya Ya Sisterhood," all the while reminiscing about the 35-foot snake you dropped last Tuesday to win the match?
• Does your driver ever ask you if you could vote for Hillary?

I think we all know the answers to these questions, don't we, Mike? Here's how to gauge whether this girl's going to fit in your future: take the driver on the date with you. Treat it as though it were your best buddy all night. Buy it beer; go to the john together. Let it ride in the front seat and make her sit in the back. Laugh at imaginary jokes it tells you and when she asks what's so funny, tell her she wouldn't get it. If at the end of the night she asks you both in for "coffee," marry her as soon as possible. Good luck.

David,
Have you ever farted so loud during a telecast that it was picked up by the microphone? — Brooks

Dear Brooks:
Yes. Furthermore, the odor was picked up by the guys in the truck. Some were permanently scarred.

Dear Mr. Feherty,
I did a mental double take when I started reading your column recently and found foul language assaulting me from the first paragraph. What gives? I was always taught a person's vocabulary was blessedly small if he had to resort to using profanity and you, unfortunately, use it a lot, and choose very borderline publicly acceptable ones.

I hope you can make me laugh without using foul language and without resorting to very tiresome ridicule of Paris Hilton (of whom I'm not a fan, but am tired of seeing her verbally pummeled) and Rosie O'Donnell (of whom I'm a big fan and am also tired of seeing her verbally pummeled). If you've read this far, thank you. I wish you good writing in the future. — Eleanor Green, Morgantown, W.V.

Dear Eleanor,
If it weren't for the fact you say you're a Rosie fan, I'd swear this was from my mom. But then, even though my mom hates it when I use foul language, she knows I have a huge vocabulary. I believe that language is only foul when there is an attempt to be foul behind it, and I know that not all of my humor is for everybody. I just have a healthy contempt for pomp and circumstance. I was the kid in the back of the church who was always laughing uncontrollably at the well-timed fart, you know? I can't help it, it's in my DNA.

And just for the record, I take no pleasure in poking fun at genuinely stupid people, so I would never really work Paris Hilton over, as she clearly lacks the tools to respond in an intelligent manner. And in deference to your support of Rosie, I'll leave her to The Donald. They deserve each other.

Hey Feherty,
Is it me or does Tiger's swing look like it's lost a little panache? His follow-through looks like the elastic in his bloomers broke mid-swing and he's doing what he can to keep them from falling down to his ankles. Don't get me wrong, I love him to pieces and I know he is still dominating the world of golf, but I believe the Butch-built swing is far superior to Haney's. Am I being too much of a nagging bitch? — Lee The Critical, Thousand Oaks, Calif.

Lee The Critical,
There's no such thing as too much of a nagging bitch. The whole point of being one is to be too much of one. I mean, if you've worked hard enough to earn the title nagging bitch, it goes without saying you're too much of one. It's the nature of the thing.

Anyway, I guess I don't care what Tiger's swing looks like. I try to stay away from analyzing the bits and pieces; that's Kostis's job.

Dear David,
What happened to Fred Couples? I do not see him playing in any tournaments. I enjoy watching him play as much as I like reading your great articles. Thank you. — Len Skuta

Dear Len:
Fred shed his second wife and has moved in with Jim Nantz. Since apparently Jim is only doing three tournaments this year for CBS, he and Fred want to spend as much time together as possible. The tabloid press now refer to them as "Jimcup."

However, it seems there may be a little rain cloud on the horizon since word has it Fred is not too happy with all the time Jim spends inspecting Bush 41's colon. Barbara has had to console Fred by letting him hit balls into Kennebunkport Bay from the back of the compound. Stay tuned, Lenny boy, this could get interesting.

Hi David,
Do you have any suggestions for people who want to express support for Mr. McCord? — John Lutter, Roseville, Minn.

Dear John:
Two words: Jack Kevorkian.

David,
Do you have a fan club? How can I sign up to be one of Feherty's Feher Ladies?— Jean Marie

Dear Jean Marie:
You just did. Send me all of your personal information and include a video, preferably one of you on a mechanical bull at Gilly's. I'll also need a financial statement audited by Ernst & Young and a photo of all of your current residences. Seriously, I guess I'll have to take this up with my agent, the Norwegian Flash, Barry the Bald.

Dear Mr. Feherty,
Can a golfer (much less a woman golfer!) be a snobby purist and a blue-collar average Josephine at the same time? One side of me cringes every time I hear a bunch of drunk frat boys yelling, 'You da man!' at the pros after their shots, but the other half of me delights in the fact that golf is no longer reserved for only the elite. Is there any hope for me? Thanks. — Missy

Dear Missy:
Sure there's hope, Missy. The same people who love John Daly cheer just as loud for Davis Love. I am grateful though, that "You da Man" has departed the scene, although "In the hole" seems to have replaced it, much to my chagrin. I hope that programs like the "First Tee" grow and prosper so that golf continues to migrate into areas formerly reserved for rolling drunks and drive-by-shootings.

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