So What?

The Ryder Cup. Everything about it is ridiculous. First up the game itself. It is basically Darts for rich folk isn't it? You can see Darren Clarke trundling through with a big arse cigar stuck in his gob for Pete's sake. And let's not forget John Daly, a chain smoking beer guzzler, whose main sponsor is Hooters (this does however not preclude him from being a fine roll model, just a sportsman). Try doing that playing football, or sprinting! And then there is the club house, where after a "strenuous" stroll you can prop a bar for the rest of the evening. Let's not forget about thew attire either. This is a past time where baseball caps, plus fours and v-neck sweaters are considered the height of fashion. And who the chuff names the courses? The last meeting was played at Valhalla, the name given by Vikings for a heaven for heroes who had lain down their life in battle, not some fat American who can hit a small dimpled ball 250+ yards. So please forgive me for not giving a monkey's about who prevails, because apart from Mr Daly, they all strike me as a bunch humourless automatons who are only revered by bank managers and, more than likely, your boss at work.