When it comes to golf, it seems I have a price

My history with golf is fairly short and uninteresting.  When I was a kid, we would spend most Sundays sitting at my grandparents.  The best part of the visit was the bucket of KFC that would show up for dinner.  The worst part was there was only one TV and grandpa watched golf all day.  Golf, golf, golf.  To this day, the sound of polite golf clapping makes me crave chicken, no lie.


Also as a kid, my dad would go out golfing and pay me a quarter to clean his clubs when he got home.  Maybe it was fifty cents, but anyway it wasn't a tough job and I didn't mind scrubbing away dried mud and grass making them all shiny again.


That's it.  My whole golfing history unless you want to throw in there how The Man and I yell, "Nice pants fancy lad!" when we drive past golf courses.  Probably shouldn't add that in though.  Just forget I mentioned it.


This weekend, is the Masters Tournament which is an event that would not even register as a blip on my consciousnesses under normal circumstances.  But I've been wrangled into a pool and now I've got ten bucks on this mug:

Charl Schwartzel.  We were randomly given golfers and landing on the guy who who last year seems as good as anyone.  I wish he were a little cuter, but he swings a mean club.


Now look at me.  I've got a window open on my browser constantly on themasters.com where I'm tracking the action live.  I've changed the picture on my desktop to him.  Charl ended up even yesterday.  He tees off today at 1:31 PM.   It's raining today so the course will be sloppier for the guys starting later so I'm worried how he'll fair today.


I make me sick.