This is the part of the year I like the best. I've been rummaging through my drawers in search of warmer apparel, as at times here in Dallas the temperature has plummeted into the sixties, so it's back to the old long johns, and corduroy shorts for this cowboy.
Speaking of Cowboys, it seems that our football team is preparing itself for a long winter, too. For some reason, our quarterback is throwing what appears to be a frozen chicken. Personally, I think we should try a live one for a change, on the outside chance that one of our wide receivers might grab hold of a wing. Make it a yellow one, so we could act like it was a flag when it hit the ground, or smother the damn thing in barbecue sauce. Whatever it takes, eh?
Of course, it's easy to be critical, when you're welded to the sofa with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other -- and that goes for whatever sport you care to watch, even golf. At this time of year, while the big names are at home praying over their portfolios, playing with their squirt guns in Orlando, or whatever the hell they do between now and the Tour Championship, the real race is on at the tail end of the field.
You have to finish inside that top 125, or its back to the minors for most. It's riveting, butt-clenching stuff, and well worth a watch if you ask me, which no one ever does. Just to prove me wrong, at number 125 this week is the right honorable Sir Frederick Couples, who would be physically incapable of clenching his butt, even if you allowed him to use both his hands, but that's irrelevant.
On either side of our beloved human snooze-button, there are a bunch of players, some old, some not so old, all of whom are very much awake. In fact, for the rest of the season most of them will be gripping the club like it was the wheel of a Peterbilt semi, 43 hours out of Reno, with an ashtray full of No-Doze. That's tight, by the way.
It's tough at the top of the ladder, because it's hard to keep your balance. In the middle, it's not so bad, because all you have to do is hang on, but at the bottom, it's sometimes impossible, because your face is just another rung. It makes for fascinating viewing however, as they all climb into the rarefied atmosphere near their summit. Who will gag and drop, and who will suck up all the available oxygen, and plant their flag?
Of course, the top here is actually the bottom so to speak, which reminds me of what I was trying to say in the first place. (Pause)
Wait a minute, I've forgotten again. (Another pause)
Okay, I'm back. Sorry about that, but I had my teeth cleaned at the dentist's today, and I don't think the gas has worn off yet. It was about the Cowboys, and how bad everybody thinks they are. People tend to forget how good you have to be, to earn the right to look that bad in the first place.
Stay with me here, I can sense I'm losing you. It's just that I don't think we should judge these players so harshly, simply because the owner of the team bought himself a new head last Christmas. It's just not fair! Trust this football expert, a lot of these guys will be great in a few years' time, and exactly the same thing applies to most of the youngsters who are fighting for the last few exempt places on next year's tour.
You have to be one hell of a player to make the top 125, or the Buy.com for that matter. So keep an eye on the likes of Joe Ogilvie, Ian Leggatt, Craig Perks, and Brad Elder, and don't say I didn't tell you so. And that Couples guy as well -- he's got game, too.
Now, if he could only remember where he put it.