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afosomf

By afosomf
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LiLMiCKMANTLE

LiLMiCKMANTLE

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The Haney project is great TV its so funny to watch Barkleys swing get better then soon as he gets around people or if he gets uncomfortable the swing from hell comes back.. i dont know how he can pause that many times in his swing and keep on going i would have to stop and reset myself everytime if that happened to me..

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shawn306

shawn306

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Barkley is awesom...speaks what is on his mind

craziest golf swing evah...even more than yours:D

The Barkley show is really good. They really should have made that an hour long show instead of 30 minutes.

There was a point last night where Haney had Charles looking at him while he was swinging and the swing was nice and fluid. No hitch, no nothing. As soon as he started looking at the ball the hitch was back.

The show has had its comedic moments. I love when he calls Tiger "overated". And his list of all the people who he plans on giving an @ss whooping to once he gets rid of the hitch.

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afosomf

afosomf

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enjoy

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrQQH4ZcuhY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrQQH4ZcuhY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>

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afosomf

afosomf

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imagine if you had one of those screens in your house that you could hit balls into and see where they go and you swing speed and stuff.. i would never leave my house except to get more food

if i swang the club like CB...i would be thinking of changing sports..bocci

or suicide..haven't decided;)

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LoneStarLady

LoneStarLady

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enjoy

<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrQQH4ZcuhY&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrQQH4ZcuhY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>

:rl::rl: I never saw Barkley's swing before. OMG! I couldn't stop laughing. I've only golfed a few times and even I don't pause like that. Thanks for the morning chuckle.

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LiLMiCKMANTLE

LiLMiCKMANTLE

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if i swang the club like CB...i would be thinking of changing sports..bocci

or suicide..haven't decided;)

yea even hank haney said that he would be suprised if CB just gave up golf totally.. i was dieing laughing when Haney was cursing at the camera and saying how pissed off he was..lol

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johnny green balls

johnny green balls

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the funny thing is...that ole man would kick your arse:D

The Prodigal Golfer

When I was a young man, I used to golf with my dad. Well, he golfed, I hacked up divets the size of Roswell UFOs and swore like a sailor. Whenever he tried to offer me advice I would just scream at him, "I know dad!" But the old man showed infinite patience despite that fact that I most assuredly ruined many a day on the course for him with my petulant behavior. But no matter how much I threw the clubs he bought me and snapped at him whenever he tried to help me, he would always invite me out. Often, he'd be so embarassed at my behavior he'd tell the two poor strangers in our foursome to play ahead so only him and the squirrels (and the fish in the pond which my ball always found) would hear my shameful ranting. I probably never hit better than a 125 with him. Then, I went off to college and while I brought my clubs, they gathered dust as I chased girls and drank too much. Whenever I talked to him, he'd always ask if I had a chance to play and I'd lie and say I had.

Then I went off to law school and when I put my last bag in the trunk of the car, I noticed my dad had put my clubs and a new box of balls in the trunk for me, "You can't study 24 hours a day you know," he said as he tapped my shoulder. I was ashamed that I hadn't picked them up in four years. In Michigan, I played a few times when I was feeling stressed at studying and I found it relieved my tension. I was still prone to getting irrate at a bad shot but I kept it inside. I was maturing.

So I moved to Philadelphia after graduating near my uncle who is an avid golfer. His son rarely plays so I would drive to the suburbs most Friday nights and stay with him and my aunt and we'd be off at 7am (all old guys tee off early). He gave me advice, helped me to concentrate on my putts, yelled at me to keep my head down and forced me to play endless rounds of pitch and putt despite my desire to hit my driver as much as possible. Then I met and married a woman who golfed. Let me tell you that nothing is better medicine for an inflated ego than getting trounced by someone hitting from the red tees. She hit every ball straight. Her 180 yard fairway drives were infinitely better than my 270 yard slices into the woods. From my uncle, I learned that power is only effective when directed properly, to let your golf partners watch your sweet drive while you keep your eyes on the tee and to follow through on my putting stroke. From my wife I learned to let the club do the work and that you can't always carry the water no matter how much hair is on your chest.

After three years of them honing my game, I was set to travel back home. My dad had set a tee time for us. I was confident that after my dad's two recent knee surgeries and my improvement I was going to trounce (and in the process, impress) the old man. We showed up to the course, he had asked to tee off the 10th hole (probably because he was afraid that I'd scream and yell and embarass him if we played with 2 strangers). My dad mentioned to me that he was only going to hit his irons for the first few holes because the fairways were narrow. "This is going to be easy," I thought.

First tee, the old man hits his 4 iron fat and gets maybe 210 yards. I step up to the tee with my driver, ready to show off my newfound skill. I was nervous and I hit a 240 yard hook into the rough (I never hook!). "That'll play," said my dad. "I'd rather have yours," I respond, desperate to show him my newfound control over my emotions. Dad hits a perfect 8 Iron approach that sticks the green three club length from the cup. My rough shot puts me 30 yards off the front of the green. Dad birdies, I bogey. Not as easy as I thought it would be.

Several holes later, dad's up by 3 and we're facing a par 5. I hit a goregous 300 yard drive down the meat of the fairway. "Let me try your driver," he says. Swish! Plink! 310 yards down the middle, skirting right past my suddenly girly-looking drive. First time he ever touched the club! This was the best I ever saw him play, he came to win.

By the turn, we were joking, laughing at our own flubbed shots and having the best time of my life. I couldn't care less at that point who was winning and if I hit a bad shot, he'd say "make the next one good or you're in trouble!" And we'd both laugh. We go into the clubhouse for a couple beers, dad's up 7.

The back nine was a blur. In the past, by the 11th or 12th hole the round seemed to drag on for me. I was hot, tired, pissed off and sulking. This time, I never wanted the round to end. On the 14th hole we actually caught another twosome who let us play through them. I felt like a pro tipping my hat to them as they sheepishly watched us both stick the green on a par 3. "Good luck fellas," I said as we pulled away in our cart. Dad hit my driver the rest of the day, blasting shot after shot. Sometimes I'd out drive him by a few yards, and sometimes he'd get me. Whoever outdrove the other would say jokingly, "Was that a 5 wood?" By the end of the round, dad had me by 11 strokes. But I had long forgotten about my goal to crush him and impress him by beating him handily. This was the best round I had ever played even though it wasn't my best score by far and dad beat me handily.

On the way home I casually mentioned to him that I was impressed with his power, "I thought old people were weak." He responded, "Well it's a nice driver you've got there." We both knew it had nothing to do with the club. The old man willed himself to outdrive his kid. "You really played well today, best I've ever seen you play," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Well, this was the first time you've ever seen me play relaxed," he said, eyes still on the road.

I choked back a tear, this was the payoff my dad was hoping for in suffering through round after round with me as a kid. Yeah, I ruined plenty of golf days for my dad when I was a kid but on this day, neither one of us would've wanted to be anywhere else on Earth. I can't wait to go back to Raleigh.

Yes, this prodigal golfer was me. Thanks, pop.

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afosomf

afosomf

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The Prodigal Golfer

When I was a young man, I used to golf with my dad. Well, he golfed, I hacked up divets the size of Roswell UFOs and swore like a sailor. Whenever he tried to offer me advice I would just scream at him, "I know dad!" But the old man showed infinite patience despite that fact that I most assuredly ruined many a day on the course for him with my petulant behavior. But no matter how much I threw the clubs he bought me and snapped at him whenever he tried to help me, he would always invite me out. Often, he'd be so embarassed at my behavior he'd tell the two poor strangers in our foursome to play ahead so only him and the squirrels (and the fish in the pond which my ball always found) would hear my shameful ranting. I probably never hit better than a 125 with him. Then, I went off to college and while I brought my clubs, they gathered dust as I chased girls and drank too much. Whenever I talked to him, he'd always ask if I had a chance to play and I'd lie and say I had.

Then I went off to law school and when I put my last bag in the trunk of the car, I noticed my dad had put my clubs and a new box of balls in the trunk for me, "You can't study 24 hours a day you know," he said as he tapped my shoulder. I was ashamed that I hadn't picked them up in four years. In Michigan, I played a few times when I was feeling stressed at studying and I found it relieved my tension. I was still prone to getting irrate at a bad shot but I kept it inside. I was maturing.

So I moved to Philadelphia after graduating near my uncle who is an avid golfer. His son rarely plays so I would drive to the suburbs most Friday nights and stay with him and my aunt and we'd be off at 7am (all old guys tee off early). He gave me advice, helped me to concentrate on my putts, yelled at me to keep my head down and forced me to play endless rounds of pitch and putt despite my desire to hit my driver as much as possible. Then I met and married a woman who golfed. Let me tell you that nothing is better medicine for an inflated ego than getting trounced by someone hitting from the red tees. She hit every ball straight. Her 180 yard fairway drives were infinitely better than my 270 yard slices into the woods. From my uncle, I learned that power is only effective when directed properly, to let your golf partners watch your sweet drive while you keep your eyes on the tee and to follow through on my putting stroke. From my wife I learned to let the club do the work and that you can't always carry the water no matter how much hair is on your chest.

After three years of them honing my game, I was set to travel back home. My dad had set a tee time for us. I was confident that after my dad's two recent knee surgeries and my improvement I was going to trounce (and in the process, impress) the old man. We showed up to the course, he had asked to tee off the 10th hole (probably because he was afraid that I'd scream and yell and embarass him if we played with 2 strangers). My dad mentioned to me that he was only going to hit his irons for the first few holes because the fairways were narrow. "This is going to be easy," I thought.

First tee, the old man hits his 4 iron fat and gets maybe 210 yards. I step up to the tee with my driver, ready to show off my newfound skill. I was nervous and I hit a 240 yard hook into the rough (I never hook!). "That'll play," said my dad. "I'd rather have yours," I respond, desperate to show him my newfound control over my emotions. Dad hits a perfect 8 Iron approach that sticks the green three club length from the cup. My rough shot puts me 30 yards off the front of the green. Dad birdies, I bogey. Not as easy as I thought it would be.

Several holes later, dad's up by 3 and we're facing a par 5. I hit a goregous 300 yard drive down the meat of the fairway. "Let me try your driver," he says. Swish! Plink! 310 yards down the middle, skirting right past my suddenly girly-looking drive. First time he ever touched the club! This was the best I ever saw him play, he came to win.

By the turn, we were joking, laughing at our own flubbed shots and having the best time of my life. I couldn't care less at that point who was winning and if I hit a bad shot, he'd say "make the next one good or you're in trouble!" And we'd both laugh. We go into the clubhouse for a couple beers, dad's up 7.

The back nine was a blur. In the past, by the 11th or 12th hole the round seemed to drag on for me. I was hot, tired, pissed off and sulking. This time, I never wanted the round to end. On the 14th hole we actually caught another twosome who let us play through them. I felt like a pro tipping my hat to them as they sheepishly watched us both stick the green on a par 3. "Good luck fellas," I said as we pulled away in our cart. Dad hit my driver the rest of the day, blasting shot after shot. Sometimes I'd out drive him by a few yards, and sometimes he'd get me. Whoever outdrove the other would say jokingly, "Was that a 5 wood?" By the end of the round, dad had me by 11 strokes. But I had long forgotten about my goal to crush him and impress him by beating him handily. This was the best round I had ever played even though it wasn't my best score by far and dad beat me handily.

On the way home I casually mentioned to him that I was impressed with his power, "I thought old people were weak." He responded, "Well it's a nice driver you've got there." We both knew it had nothing to do with the club. The old man willed himself to outdrive his kid. "You really played well today, best I've ever seen you play," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Well, this was the first time you've ever seen me played relaxed," he said, eyes still on the road.

I choked back a tear, this was the payoff my dad was hoping for in suffering through round after round with me as a kid. Yeah, I ruined plenty of golf days for my dad when I was a kid but on this day, neither one of us wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else on Earth. I can't wait to go back to Raleigh.

Yes, this prodigal golfer was me. Thanks, pop.

If it still exists a POTW ....well done JGB

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SouthernJet

SouthernJet

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The Prodigal Golfer

When I was a young man, I used to golf with my dad. Well, he golfed, I hacked up divets the size of Roswell UFOs and swore like a sailor. Whenever he tried to offer me advice I would just scream at him, "I know dad!" But the old man showed infinite patience despite that fact that I most assuredly ruined many a day on the course for him with my petulant behavior. But no matter how much I threw the clubs he bought me and snapped at him whenever he tried to help me, he would always invite me out. Often, he'd be so embarassed at my behavior he'd tell the two poor strangers in our foursome to play ahead so only him and the squirrels (and the fish in the pond which my ball always found) would hear my shameful ranting. I probably never hit better than a 125 with him. Then, I went off to college and while I brought my clubs, they gathered dust as I chased girls and drank too much. Whenever I talked to him, he'd always ask if I had a chance to play and I'd lie and say I had.

Then I went off to law school and when I put my last bag in the trunk of the car, I noticed my dad had put my clubs and a *** box of balls in the trunk for me, "You can't study 24 hours a day you know," he said as he tapped my shoulder. I was ashamed that I hadn't picked them up in four years. In Michigan, I played a few times when I was feeling stressed at studying and I found it relieved my tension. I was still prone to getting irrate at a bad shot but I kept it inside. I was maturing.

So I moved to Philadelphia after graduating near my uncle who is an avid golfer. His son rarely plays so I would drive to the suburbs most Friday nights and stay with him and my aunt and we'd be off at 7am (all old guys tee off early). He gave me advice, helped me to concentrate on my putts, yelled at me to keep my head down and forced me to play endless rounds of pitch and putt despite my desire to hit my driver as much as possible. Then I met and married a woman who golfed. Let me tell you that nothing is better medicine for an inflated ego than getting trounced by someone hitting from the red tees. She hit every ball straight. Her 180 yard fairway drives were infinitely better than my 270 yard slices into the woods. From my uncle, I learned that power is only effective when directed properly, to let your golf partners watch your sweet drive while you keep your eyes on the tee and to follow through on my putting stroke. From my wife I learned to let the club do the work and that you can't always carry the water no matter how much hair is on your chest.

After three years of them honing my game, I was set to travel back home. My dad had set a tee time for us. I was confident that after my dad's two recent knee surgeries and my improvement I was going to trounce (and in the process, impress) the old man. We showed up to the course, he had asked to tee off the 10th hole (probably because he was afraid that I'd scream and yell and embarass him if we played with 2 strangers). My dad mentioned to me that he was only going to hit his irons for the first few holes because the fairways were narrow. "This is going to be easy," I thought.

First tee, the old man hits his 4 iron fat and gets maybe 210 yards. I step up to the tee with my driver, ready to show off my ***found skill. I was nervous and I hit a 240 yard hook into the rough (I never hook!). "That'll play," said my dad. "I'd rather have yours," I respond, desperate to show him my ***found control over my emotions. Dad hits a perfect 8 Iron approach that sticks the green three club length from the cup. My rough shot puts me 30 yards off the front of the green. Dad birdies, I bogey. Not as easy as I thought it would be.

Several holes later, dad's up by 3 and we're facing a par 5. I hit a goregous 300 yard drive down the meat of the fairway. "Let me try your driver," he says. Swish! Plink! 310 yards down the middle, skirting right past my suddenly girly-looking drive. First time he ever touched the club! This was the best I ever saw him play, he came to win.

By the turn, we were joking, laughing at our own flubbed shots and having the best time of my life. I couldn't care less at that point who was winning and if I hit a bad shot, he'd say "make the next one good or you're in trouble!" And we'd both laugh. We go into the clubhouse for a couple beers, dad's up 7.

The back nine was a blur. In the past, by the 11th or 12th hole the round seemed to drag on for me. I was hot, tired, pissed off and sulking. This time, I never wanted the round to end. On the 14th hole we actually caught another twosome who let us play through them. I felt like a pro tipping my hat to them as they sheepishly watched us both stick the green on a par 3. "Good luck fellas," I said as we pulled away in our cart. Dad hit my driver the rest of the day, blasting shot after shot. Sometimes I'd out drive him by a few yards, and sometimes he'd get me. Whoever outdrove the other would say jokingly, "Was that a 5 wood?" By the end of the round, dad had me by 11 strokes. But I had long forgotten about my goal to crush him and impress him by beating him handily. This was the best round I had ever played even though it wasn't my best score by far and dad beat me handily.

On the way home I casually mentioned to him that I was impressed with his power, "I thought old people were weak." He responded, "Well it's a nice driver you've got there." We both k*** it had nothing to do with the club. The old man willed himself to outdrive his kid. "You really played well today, best I've ever seen you play," I said, genuinely impressed.

"Well, this was the first time you've ever seen me play relaxed," he said, eyes still on the road.

I choked back a tear, this was the payoff my dad was hoping for in suffering through round after round with me as a kid. Yeah, I ruined plenty of golf days for my dad when I was a kid but on this day, neither one of us would've wanted to be anywhere else on Earth. I can't wait to go back to Raleigh.

Yes, this prodigal golfer was me. Thanks, pop.

Thanks ..this is what makes parenthood worth it..:D

I had a good day, being relaxed helped though ;)

At least no one got hit in club and I didnt have to make a quick car escape :(

A story JGBs can tell if he wants :rl:

Again, truly heartwarming...POTW

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afosomf

afosomf

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;)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ckTbkteed8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ckTbkteed8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
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afosomf

afosomf

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Why do they show so little of the tourney on TV? Only 3 1/2 hours each day. It seems as if the other majors have much more coverage of live golf than the Masters.

why

it is because of the Old boys running Augusta National

CBS would put it on 24-7 if they could:D

These clowns will not let Gary Mccord on premises...because he called

their greens Bikinied waxed....

No sense of humor there

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