In a prior life, the Angry Golfer did a lot of stupid things in an automobile. One of the more idiotic moves involved a couple of pals and Billy Budweiser in the back seat -- we would pile into the Pinto after a thunderstorm, look for puddles in the road and soak pedestrians as they went about their business. It's a sick way to get your jollies, but when you're 19 years old, jollies can be a sickness.
However moronic or malevolent, splashing old ladies while they walk their poodles requires a certain sense of timing. Those dimwits who yell "Fore!" as they drive past a course? They need help. If I've played 2,000 rounds in my life, not once has the shout from a passing car disrupted a shot, and unless someone is five bets down with three holes to play they rarely merit a response. One click of a camera, however, and Tiger Woods turns to toast.
What happened Sunday at Doral was unfortunate, even if I do recall Tiger saying he was impervious to such disturbances because Earl, his all-knowing father, used to jingle his keys in the kid's backswing. Focus must be something you measure after determining the quality of the shot.
What strikes me about people who holler at golfers from a moving vehicle isn't just the futility of their mission, but their alarming lack of original material. Fore? Yeah, right, pal. Now hurry home before you miss the start of the Jerry Springer show. Seriously, what creative juices inspired you to lower your window and wail the only word ever yelled on a golf course, as if your surge of brilliance might send me into an emotional tailspin or, in what amounts to a best-case scenario, snap-hook my drive off your passenger door?
At that point, my friend, you would have something to shout about and I would have reason to laugh. Next time, get crazy. Launch a "Noonan" my way.