Before we begin, here’s a little low hanging fruit mood music to listen to while you read this blog:
Okay, so if you have been following my thoughts since day one, you may remember a promise I made. I would never regurgitate golf news to you. I’m not an insider and I’m not disillusioned enough to think you come to this website for golf news. I want to give a different perspective than what you’re getting from the big outlets. That is why I leave many of the top stories in golf largely untouched. If I don’t have any commentary that I can add that is of value, what’s the point?
So for the reasons above, I decided to leave the Kevin Kisner news alone. After all, it was really a non-story. If you don’t know, Golf Digest ran a story presenting a seemingly objective overview of Patrick Reed’s positives and negatives and the history that goes along with it. The story has been told a million and half times, especially since he won the Masters this year, but any golf fan would realize that the story was simply written because Patrick Reed’s persona is just enough sensational whale blubber to get golf writers through the harsh winter times in the PGA when they need to write stories, but the only tournaments are 30 man events or odd-formats where players make appearance fees that dwarf the size of the winning share of the purse. Where Kevin Kisner comes in is through a quote from him about Reed that was planted right in the middle of the story, ‘They all hate him—any guys that were on the team with him [at Georgia] hate him and that’s the same way at Augusta. I don’t know that they’d piss on him if he was on fire, to tell you the truth.’
Goddammit… I just realized I’ve been baited hook, line, and sinker into giving golf news. I’ll stop there. You can look up the story if you want. But my point is, I tried to forget about Kisner’s quote. I really did. Piss? On fire? But I couldn’t. Those words consumed me. Every time I took a shower I wished the municipal water was instead golden and straight from Kevin Kisner. Is Kis’s piss a metaphor? Is it a reward? A punishment? I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to think. So I decided to break it down hypothetically.
Let’s say our good friend Patrick catches aflame… How might you ask? I’m not sure. Maybe his iPod nano exploded during the middle of an Imagine Dragons song. That shit is stupid hot fire as you know, but lithium ion batteries are also pretty volatile if punctured. Perhaps Patrick decided to steal an extra biscuit from players’ dining that morning and his pants were a tad snug. The compression of his pants maybe applied too much pressure and broke the battery, igniting the battery juice. Or maybe the performance material on his Nike pants rubbed together in the crotch while he walked and started a fire. I’m not shaming here, but Patrick has never been known for his thigh gap.
I guess we’ll move past that. It doesn’t matter how he caught fire. All that matters is that he’s on fire. What does he do?! I guess he should stop, drop, and roll, but how would that look as a Nike ambassador? Imagine if TMZ caught Patrick Reed rolling around like a Labrador retriever. “What is his shirt made of?” The naysayers would inquire. “Is Nike making shirts of wool from a sheep’s pubic area, the itchiest of all textile sources?”
Enter the onlookers. Members of the University of Georgia golf team, the Augusta University golf team, and Kevin Kisner surround Patrick Reed as the flames engulf him. “What should we do?” They ask. As the fire grows larger, it begins to enter the sub-dermal region of Patrick’s arms and legs. A faint barbecue scent becomes apparent. “Are those mesquite chips I smell?” A curious bystander wonders.
Of course they aren’t mesquite chips. Mesquite is far too intense for cooking a full-sized man. You need something more mild for that duration of cooking time. Perhaps post oak. You could go with a fruit wood like apple or cherry. Maple is another underrated wood for barbecue. The key is that you really want to strike a delicate balance between the rub, the wood, and the meat. The rub should accent the meat while the wood provides a richness. Neither should overpower whatever you’re barbecuing. I find that a lot of lower end barbecue joints use injections and rubs as a crutch, but Aaron Franklin, of Franklin’s barbecue in Austin, Texas, uses only salt and pepper on his brisket and it’s regarded as the best in the world. He doesn’t rush it, he controls hit barbecue pits perfectly, and he allows the beefiness to really come through.
“Hey, someone should piss on him!” Someone says while taking a long swig from a conveniently placed, running firehose.
“No way!” The crowd screams in unison.
“But he’s on fire. Even though you don’t like him, you don’t want him seriously injured and also you could be lauded as heroes for putting out the fire while still emotionally dominating him with your urine.”
“Hmmmm….” The crowd thinks. “NAH!” Then they do a series of Fortnite dances while standing over him as he smolders into ashes. Several other golfers look from a distance and wonder why no one simply put out the fire with that fire hose, but they’re too scared to say anything. It’s not their business and they’re too scared to confront the mob.
So the question still remains. How much does Kevin Kisner have to like you (or dislike you) to piss on you? Acquaintances? Friends? Lovers? Is he saving his piss for that special someone? The world may never know. But I want to know. I need to know.
Kevin, if you ever read this, I want you to be my first. I don’t normally do this on the first date, but those Bahama Mama’s were really strong, considering that it’s a pre-mixed recipe of the mix and a bottle of rum that Applebees sends down from corporate, and you did pay after all. I do have to say no to fire though. It will still be romantic. Just me. You. Piss.