If I was to say I followed the career of legendary golf pro Arnold Palmer all my life, I’d be a liar. He was a world-renowned athlete with a smooth manner and the vibe of a winner, but I never cared. I admire any athlete who can bring glory to himself like Palmer did from the late’ 50s to early ’70s, but I fucking hate golf — there’s no sport on the planet that I feel less enthusiasm for. I kinda hate guys who play golf — I’ve known a few and they all seem to have this smug aura of entitlement, this clubby yaw-haw attitude. Not to mention those atrociously designed golf shirts.  The only time I felt a scintilla of interest in the sport was when I saw Kevin Costner‘s Tin Cup 20 years ago. But here’s to a great, good-looking, widely-loved golf champion who died today at age 87. Heads down, golf caps off.

Arnold Palmer sometime in the early to mid ’60s.