How to Write my Hate Mail

How to Write my Hate Mail


You know, it’s been years since I had a decent letter of complaint. I get plenty of them all right, but they all seem to be from people who spend their free time fashioning hoods from bed sheets, each of who seems to have unusually clear insight regarding what God thinks about things, and who need to express their illiterate disgust at what they regard as my undying mancrush on one T. Woods. Well, I haven’t the time or the energy to reply to people who didn’t pass fifth-grade English, or are stupid enough to include their names and addresses. I’ll stop being amazed by Tiger when he stops being amazing, okay Einsteins? Or is that too Jewish for you?

It does occur to me, though, that I may be doing something wrong when my hate mail is coming from only one demographic. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? I can’t offend anyone else? It’s the old story, if you want a job done properly you’d better do it yourself, or at least set a good example. So, if you dislike me or what I say on TV or write in this magazine, and you feel like letting me know, here’s a hate-letter template you can use free of charge. Think of it as a little inspiration.

Dear Mr. Feherty,

I am still shaking with outrage at the reprehensible and incomprehensible invective you hurled at anyone in earshot during the U.S. Bank Championship. In the old days you would have had something unspeakable inserted into you by an elderly clergyman.

Who are you, you ferret-faced weasel, to call anyone a rat, let alone a bona fide superstar like Corey Pavin? Who has given you (a wretched, bitter hedgehog of a man) the right to vilify the legends of the game? How many times did you win a U.S. Open, you no-talent hack? You couldn’t qualify with the 12-handicappers at the first stage with that drunken, epileptic swipe of a move you make at the ball. You look like Martin Short being tasered by an L.A. County Sheriff’s deputy.

I number Corey among my closest friends (even though he used to be Jewish and I’ve never actually met him). I conduct weekly séances for a USGA Rules of Golf study group, and frequently get in touch with dead legends of the game like Deane Beman and Greg Norman. Occasionally we will channel through Corey, who is amazingly effective at elevating us to the next level: the fourth dimension. Just last week we spoke with Judge Smails and Glenn Ford, who, as you are no doubt unaware, played the great Walter Hogan in Follow the Son.
As if it wasn’t enough to heap insults on Corey, you then felt compelled to place poor Lanny Wadkins in your crosshairs, you hamster-molesting bastard. What has little Lanny ever done to you except make you look good by letting you read the putts (as if you can)? The only break you ever got right was recess in the second grade, you bulbous-nosed Mick. And what is all that moving-boxes-at-Wal-Mart harness crap you wear? Holy David Duke, you look like a stool-pushing Gaelic hairdresser, or Lenny Bruce in lederhosen, you wireless wanker, gliding around the golf course a foot off the grass. For God’s sake, at least Lanny Wadkins dresses in a manly fashion.

Hey, I hope you regard this letter as constructive. At least I’m not one of those homophobic Tiger-bashers you hear from all the time. I like people of color, even some of the really dark ones, like Miles Davis and Tyrone Power (although to be honest I’d be pretty upset if my son married someone like that). If you ever get to Yorba Linda, look me up. I’ll show you my collection of old balata balls. One of them has a cut in it that makes it look just like the Virgin Mary. It’s uncanny. Call me.

Monsignor Michael “Spatula” Spatchatoli
Name and address withheld due to restrictions at maximum-security institutions.