Greetings Earthlings! I've had two weeks off from the greatest job on earth, or any other planet for that matter. The first one was for the U.S. Open, which thankfully was an NBC affair, and the second one for the sole purpose of sitting back and admiring my new daughter, who entered the earth's atmosphere four weeks early at 6:35 p.m. on Tuesday the 16th of June. After four boys, Erin Torrance Feherty seems like the most exquisite thing I've ever laid eyes upon. I am totally intoxicated by her, and her Mom is a very close second.
But enough of this gratuitous gloating and self-congratulation. This time off has afforded me the opportunity to do something most unusual. I watched all four days of the Western Open on television fully expecting my idiot cohorts to struggle without me. I felt like a mourner at my own funeral. Everyone coped with my loss in an admirable fashion.
Everyone except me that is.
There was I, thinking that I was irreplacable, and drat, double drat, and possibly even triple drat if the whole darn thing didn't go off swimmingly without me. Worse than that, they took advantage of my absence and fired a couple of cheap shots in my direction, safe in the knowledge that there would be no return fire. The evil Kostis expressed the hope that, considering my daughter was named after Sam Torrance, she would resemble her mom, rather than the hairy Scot or myself, and McCord cast aspersions upon my bulbousness in recent months even though he is perfectly aware that I came out in sympathy with my wife, Anita. The really bad news is that she has lost 35 pounds in the last 10 days, leaving me more than a little beached, so to speak.
But fear not, I shall return this week to Hartford, where I intend to return fire as inexpensively as possible, in the general direction of those who dared to mock me in my absence. I love a battle of wits against unarmed opponents. I think I'll bring along something of Erin's. I know I'll miss her smell. It's been about 39 years since anyone missed mine!