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Since my days interning at the Golf Channel, the sheer enjoyment and intense passion I feel watching the world’s best tee it up at Ryder Cup every two years has surpassed all other sporting events, and it’s really not even close. It transcends logic and has the incomprehensible ability to get me jazzed up to put all of my support behind the likes of Brandt Snedeker, J.B. Holmes, Zach Johnson, and Matt Kuchar. That alone is a feat in and of itself, and the fact that I could run through a brick wall right now for Davis Love III despite the good ol’ boys from the US of A not taking home the trophy and bragging rights in nearly a decade speaks volumes to just how special this tournament truly is.
Maybe it’s my unwavering patriotism, my enthusiastic nature to roast Euro trash, or just the two oxycodone I’m currently zonked out on after finally getting a gum graft from too many years of dipping American-grown, long-cut tobacco, but it’s safe to say I’ve been itching for a fight and waiting for some poor blokes from the U.K. to run their corn-colored, horse teeth-filled “gobs” to give me a reason to Boston Teabag party those same cockney speaking crumpet holes.
Thankfully, European golfer and Masters winner (have to remind the folks at home, because all anyone remembers is Jordan Spieth collapsing) Danny Willett has a wise-cracking, Twitter-famous brother named P.J. that unleashed on U.S. golf fans and poured gasoline on the Ryder Cup rivalry earlier this morning.
From National Club Golfer:
For the Americans to stand a chance of winning, they need their baying mob of imbeciles to caress their egos every step of the way. Like one of those brainless bastards from your childhood, the one that pulled down your shorts during the school’s Christmas assembly (f**k you, Paul Jennings), they only have the courage to keg you if they’re backed up by a giggling group of reprobates. Team Europe needs to shut those groupies up.
They need to silence the pudgy, basement-dwelling, irritants, stuffed on cookie dough and pissy beer, pausing between mouthfuls of hotdog so they can scream ‘Baba booey’ until their jelly faces turn red.
They need to stun the angry, unwashed, Make America Great Again swarm, desperately gripping their concealed-carry compensators and belting out a mini-erection inducing ‘mashed potato,’ hoping to impress their cousin.
They need to smash the obnoxious dads, with their shiny teeth, Lego man hair, medicated ex-wives, and resentful children. Squeezed into their cargo shorts and boating shoes, they’ll bellow ‘get in the hole’ whilst high-fiving all the other members of the Dentists’ Big Game Hunt Society.
P.J., P.J., P.J. Love that there’s still grown men out there that have the courage to go by initials in place of a first name, by the way. Sick burns, my man. Let’s see, we’re overweight, unintelligent, Trump supporters who drink shit beer, have tiny schlongs, and less-than-ideal parenting values. Did I get the core concept of what you were going for? Just double checking because, well, the whole brainless thing you previously mentioned.
I could be totally out of line here, and maybe it’s the ego underneath my perfectly cut lego hair, but it sounds like someone’s a little green-eyed with the envy bug. You’d be stuffing your palate too if you had food options that weren’t Marmite, Spotted Dick, or stargazy pie. Is that why every British person is a 115 pound twink that would blow away or crumble with a moderate breeze? I guess soccer makes much more sense now. Malnutrition could be why thirty-year-old English men look like 80-year-old balding women elsewhere.
Or perhaps it’s just centuries of a “pure blood” family mentality that has riddled your country with the ugliest population on the planet. Great Britain is the West Virginia of Europe with a worse sense of fashion.
Your plaid pants and two-sizes-too-small Lacoste polo might be the only reason you can land your cousin in the first place. But hey, at least you’re still outkicking your coverage (sorry, “American” football term) and not sticking your piece in sheep like the Welsh or a dead pig like your former Prime Minister, David Cameron.
But no one’s perfect. Us American fans heckle players by shouting random food items while fans in the U.K. throw them — specifically bananas, and specifically at any player a slightly darker shade than eggshell white. “Say no to racism,” guys.
Though I get the hatred that flows through your veins, P.J. You’re staring down an aging European Ryder Cup roster coinciding with a youthful resurgence in U.S. men’s golf. This might be your last real chance at a W for the next twenty or so years. But unfortunately, that’s just not in the cards this year, Peej. We’re running away with this mofo and leaving Europe in a bigger ruin than World War II..
[via National Club Golfer]
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