There are some things I know, like why you always hit that one tiny piece of debris and pop your tire (Motorist Law 101, section B, sub-section 3.5), or why your furnace always goes out in the middle of the worst winter storm in decades (Homeowner Law 225, section D, sub-section We Can't Make It Out Until Monday.)
What I don't know is why anyone with half a working brain cell would be shocked by, or even compelled to dispute, this latest thing Rick Reilly has written.
The erstwhile Sports Illustrated megastar has churned out a new book, the name of which is "Commander in Cheat." As you can surmise, it's about Our Only Available President. More to the point, it's about the shady underhanded crap Our Only Available President pulls on the golf course.
This is opposed to the shady underhanded crap he's pulled in all other walks of his life. His entire life story, after all, is a testament to shady underhanded crap, not to say lying spectacularly about it. When you are the president not only of the United States but the Born On Third And Thinks He Hit A Triple Club, accepted norms of decent human behavior do not apply. You can do what you want because, hey, who's gonna tell you you can't?
And so it's a profound non-revelation that Our Only Available President cheats at golf, because, come on, he's Donald Trump. Of course he cheats at golf. Epically, apparently.
Which is yet another non-revelation.
It's not just that he apparently does the routine cheating stuff, like using a Foot-Joy wedge to kick errant drives back into the fairway, or miraculously "finding" his ball on dry land after hitting it in the water. He's also notorious, apparently, for throwing his opponents' golf balls into bunkers when they're not looking. And one of his caddies told Reilly that Our Only Available President used to carry a can of red spray paint in his cart so he could mark any tree he hit for removal.
This is completely verifiable because certain trees that used to adorn his various golf properties are no longer there. Our Only Available President would no doubt say they had been whisked away by aliens. His followers have believed far less plausible fables from him.
Probably the most egregious thing in Reilly's book, according to Deadspin's review of it?
Our Only Available President apparently also has a habit of declaring himself the winner of championships at his various clubs, even when he wasn't there. Once he apparently took a score he shot at one club, penciled it in at another, and declared himself that club's senior champion.
Which, again, is epic. In a perverse sort of way.
In any case, again, none of this is particularly shocking. After all, someone once said that golf, among other things in life, doesn't build character. It reveals it.
So it does.
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