Feherty's Rants and Raves

Feherty’s Rants and Raves

Well, now that Week One of the CBS Late Night Show and the West Coast Swing is under our belt, it’s off to Pebble Beach for McCord and me. After the best part of four months off, last week was something of a shock to the old system. Being on the air was a little nerve-wracking at first, but we soon got into the swing of things, as our merry band of idiots hit their stride.

For example, it took Clampett approximately 40 seconds to kill his first word. I don’t remember who he was talking about, but he described them entering what he called, “Unchartered Territory,” which of course means, “Territory which has not yet been rented.” This, combined with, “There’s no quit in John Daly,” established him as the early-season leader in the race for the coveted Wooden Microphone. He won’t have it all his own way mind you, as McCord too was in fine form, suggesting at one time that everything that sloped downhill toward Pinnacle Peak was an optical illusion.

As for me, I got the word, “Poop,” into my second sentence of the season. Not bad, even if it was followed by, “Deck.” It still counts.

Of course, we’re hot on the heels of the football announcers, who are no slouches themselves when it comes to adding foot to mouth. This year, we have had a rash of Richard-related incidents, the best of which came just a couple of weeks ago at the Philly-Chicago game, when the venerable Dick Enberg threw it to sideline reporter Bonnie Bernstein, who had cornered Chicago coach Dick Jeron.

Bonnie said, “Thanks, Dick,” then turned to look at the other Dick, did a double take to camera, and said, “Two Dicks, Wow!”

Earlier, at the Army-Navy game, when a player trotted back onto the field after a particularly bone-crunching tackle moments before, Dan Dierdorf turned to Dick Enberg and said, “He doesn’t even have a limp, Dick.” All this means of course, is that the golf crew can say whatever it wants for the rest of the year. At least that’s what I’m going with.

There was some golf last week, too. How about that little whipper-snapper Ty Tryon? I was really hoping his first name was short for, “Tyrone,” but alas, no. William Augustus is the lad’s real handle, and his dad nicknamed him after Chevy Chase’s character in “Caddyshack.” Tyrone Tryon would have made Clampett’s head lock up completely.

Obviously, the boy didn’t get off to the start he wanted, but he was pretty impressive all the same, and he’s got a heck of pit crew to keep him lubed and fueled too. I lost count of how many were in the entourage, but included were two swing coaches, an image consultant, a yoga person, the ubiquitous agent, and a physical conditioner. (There had to be an attorney in there somewhere, you just know it.) The only advice I’d offer would be to the image consultant. “Get rid of the rest of them, and then you could leave, too.” At least the boy’s father had the sense not to show up. I like him already.

James Joseph Waldorf had a decent week, too. On Sunday he wore his customary stay-back-my-head-might-explode ball cap, and a shirt with big pineapples, kabobs, fish, and tropical cocktails all over it. The last time I saw an article of clothing with that much food on it was after my three year-old daughter had barfed on her pajamas in Hawaii.

Duffy’s a good lad, though, even if he does get dressed by covering himself in wood glue and running head-first into the closet. The unconfirmed rumor is that he got his nickname from his dad, because when he was really little he kept falling on his duff. Come to think of it so did I, but my dad never called me, “Arsey.”

I was lucky to get away with it, I suppose. Anyway, this year I am determined to take a leaf out of Billy Connolly’s (my favorite comedian) new book, and if I haven’t heard a decent rumor by 11am, I’m going to start one. Duffy has his name sewn into his hat, and McCord has his sewn into his underwear will do for a start.

It’s rumored also that big John Daly is going to have a banner year. This one I believe. In a couple of weeks he’s taking McCord and me on a road trip in his new bus, which makes Frank Lickliter’s Hummer look like the Barbie Jeep. He has 47 guitars in there, and McCord isn’t allowed to play with any of them, so it’ll be cool. I’ve always wanted to be a roadie on a West Coast Tour.

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