Happy Fathers’ Day, all you fathers who may be reading this. I’m spending my day watching U.S. Open coverage, hoping either Phil Mickelson or Steve Stricker can pull it out. But, oh, the pain of watching Tiger play like a pussy cat. His short game is just awful, bad chipping, bad putting (36 putts on Saturday). And Merion is acting more like a tiger than Tiger is. What an interestingly awful layout. Anyone within six or seven shots of Phil can win it because at any time a double, triple, or quadruple bogey, or even something like Sergio’s ten yesterday, could pop up in a leader’s round. All us hackers like to watch tour players suffer in Opens. But part of me hates to see what the USGA sometimes does to make it such a painful tournament.
Tomorrow I’m going on a week-long hiatus from the blogs. We’re flying to South Dakota for a family get-together. And it will be a week of temps in the seventies instead of our triple digits here in Arizona. But a week away from Squeakie and Charlie is long enough. Going back to our home country is always good, but coming back to this home is even better.
So, so long, dear readers. I’ll see you in a week.
How about a little father humor?
Jon: What’s the difference between a high-hit baseball and a maggot’s father?
Tom: What?
Jon: One’s a pop fly. The other’s a fly pop
Four men are in the hospital waiting room because their wives are having babies. A nurse goes up to the first guy and says, “Congratulations! You’re the father of twins.”
“That’s odd,” answers the man. “I work for the Minnesota Twins!”
A nurse says to the second guy, “Congratulations! You’re the father of triplets!”
“That’s weird,” answers the second man. “I work for the 3M company!”
A nurse tells the third man, “Congratulations! You’re the father of quadruplets!”
“That’s strange,” he answers. “I work for the Four Seasons hotel!”
The last man is groaning and banging his head against the wall. “What’s wrong?” the others ask.
“I work for 7 Up!”
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