In loo of anything meaningful to write and based on the whelming response to my "butt darts" post, I can only assume that you're about to burst in anticipation of more hidden bathroom humor from the Golf Channel archives. Well, America, urine luck!
Last June, a couple of hours prior to our Friday broadcast of the Club Professional Championship north of Albuquerque, I was tooling around the near-vacuous Twin Warriors Golf Club, stopping at the par 3 15th hole. Spotting the tower cameraman in his perch high above the green, I figured it was high time for some high jinks. I waited for him to see me, then stepped behind a large immobile tumbleweed and pretended to, as the French say, "whiz." The act was caught on tape, and the crew had a hearty laugh. (Remember, we're the same people who play butt darts at the Glory Hole.)
Not long after returning to the television compound, our production manager approached and asked if I'd relieved myself in the bushes at 15. I said, "No, the first time I did that I was 22." She wasn't laughing. Turns out one of the volunteers working the tournament had spied my shenanigan and reported it to the PGA of America. They weren't laughing either. Apparently, they thought I'd really relieved myself and on sacred Native American soil, no less.
I quickly explained the situation, repeating every 10 seconds or so that I'm an idiot. They agreed and let me off the hook. Naturally, my fellow crew members immediately unzipped a steady stream of excretory one-liners at my expense. I was the butt of their darts, you might say...or not.
As we signed on and I began introducing the various announcers, I decided to fall on my own sword or, in this case, microphone and end this madness. After my buddy Jerry Foltz finished his remarks and tossed it back to me, I said, "Thanks, Jerry, we'll look forward to youranalysis today."
I hope that volunteer wasn't watching.