I’m not ashamed to say this: when Danny Willett was making his run at a green jacket, I was vehemently cheering against him. Part of it was because I wanted the reign of Spieth to extend. Part of it was because I knew nothing about the guy. And most of it was because he was European. Losing to the Europeans in six of the last seven Ryder Cups is embarrassing, and Danny Willett’s piece-of-shit brother Pete is here to rub it in all of our faces.
But much like Pete said, “I ain’t partisan, he’s my brother,” in regards to his colorful and insanely patriotic opinions regarding the U.S. team, I’ll preface my thoughts with this: “I’m partisan.”
If you haven’t already read Pete Willett’s diatribe about how awful our team is this year, it’s published on some bootleg looking British site called National Club Golfer. For all I know, it could be a viable website but it has the technology of an early-2000s blog started by some nerd in his basement. As if the title of the column didn’t lose it all credibility (“Pete Willett: I ain’t partisan, he’s my brother..”), the photo of Darren Clarke throwing a club in a fit sure as hell helped. He began with some minor shit flinging before going scorched earth on us, the fans.
So, after the captains have picked their pairs, and the players have exerted their influence over each other (for better or worse), it is the crowd that will have the biggest impact.
Team USA have only won five of the last 16 Ryder Cups. Four of those five victories have come on home soil. 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.
Well, Pete, without going into too much detail, all me to say this: Fuck you.
I don’t know if you’re still mad about when Justin Leonard sank that putt and we ran all over your green after winning or if you just want to piggy-back your brother’s famous name to some notoriety by writing shit articles about the best fans in the damn world, but whatever you’re doing, I don’t like it. Your rant reads like you wrote it in Microsoft Word, went back through it, right-clicked the “big” words, and replaced them with synonyms provided by the paperclip on your Windows 98 Dell.
To frame Americans as being aesthetically ugly isn’t something new we face. But to hear it from a Brit? That’s just, well, laughable. I don’t know if you typed this out because you couldn’t get it out correctly through your fucked up teeth or inbred history (Royals!), but you’re just another haggis-cooking pot calling the kettle black. Am I proud of the idiots in the crowd screaming “Baba Booey” with red faces? No, but are you proud of the English firms that your soccer (yes, soccer) teams turn into lager-slugging maniacs do when their third-tier team gets promoted to a less shitty league? I didn’t think so. You use words like “twat” like we use the word “asshole” so don’t act all high and mighty, mate.
Congratulations on being the first Brit to ever turn having good teeth into an insult, Pete. The midwest is the salt of the fucking earth and probably the most innocent region in the United States (for better or worse). I know you don’t leave your Minnesota-sized country much, but at least this is getting played at a viable course rather than on one of your shitty links-style courses that we have to endure every year during The British Open. But you’re obviously spoiled, because when your more accomplished brother won his green jacket in our country, it was on the most pristine green grass you could ever think of. No rain, no dead weeds lining our rough, no wind hollering through your eardrums, and no gray clouds resembling the attitude of everyone on your team.
If there’s one thing the U.S. doesn’t need, it’s bulletin board material. Just ask Viktor Tikhonov and The Soviets. .