Yes, David Feherty really does answer e-mail questions from golfers like you. If you have a question, send him a note at [email protected]
As I look back at old publicity pictures of you, you appear to be progressively taking on the look of the one and only Beelzebub. Have you sold your soul? — Brad Titus, Carlsbad, Calif.
Do you know when Titus was born, Brad? I’m referring to the Titus who was a Roman Emperor back before Pro V1’s were available? He was born December 30, 39; 39 AD that is. His best friend was Britannicus. Those are the same guys that ring your door bell to try and sell you a set of encyclopedias just as Johnny Miller’s getting ready to say something unbelievably inappropriate. Do you happen to know Tiger Woods’s birth date, mister smarty pants? Right, FootJoy breath, December 30th.
I have no idea what any of this has to do with my facial features, but ask yourself this: If I made a deal with the devil to sell my soul, don’t you think it’d be so I could take over Tiger’s body? Why would I settle for looking like this?
Besides, I’ve been told many times that I bear an uncanny resemblance to Pierce Brosnan, you fartwit.
Have recently fallen in love with the movie The Greatest Game Ever Played, starring a bunch of actors I’ve never seen before. They all have a better swing than Matt Damon in The Legend of Bagger Vance. This type of old school, pure golf stuff seems the type of thing you would relish, but I have not heard of your commenting on it. Please do so. — Chip Bell, Myrtle Beach, S.C.
A good golf swing can’t be faked, but then, you don’t necessarily have to have one to be a great player. Case in point — Ray Floyd.
You’re lucky they cast Matt Damon. It might have been Charles Barkley. I read the book, but I must admit I haven’t seen the movie. I rarely go since I paid $7.50 to see “Ishtar.”
Mark Frost did a fabulous job on the Vardon story and I assume he was equally brilliant on the screenplay for the movie. Perhaps I’ll rent it some Saturday night when I’m picking up a copy of The Commitments.
Maybe Mark will do a story about my golf career some day. We could call it Bushmills: It’s Not Just For Breakfast Anymore.
I was on the ninth fairway Sunday at Congressional as the final groups were coming through. Peter Kostis came by with a contraption strapped over his back that allowed him to see the TV coverage. I thought to myself that it must be hard to carry that thing around for four plus hours in the heat. You came walking up the fairway with the next group, and not only were you NOT carrying the contraption, but you had some hot babe lugging the thing on a monopod. How do you rate a slammin’ babe carrying your junk while Kostis is relegated to schlepping it himself? — S. Deering
Let me ask you something Deering. If you could get your boss to assign you a slammin’ hot babe to lug your contraption around, would you? I can’t help it if Kostis hasn’t figured this out yet. Thankfully he doesn’t read this column. Keep your trap shut.