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 Sidespin: How to Write my Hate Mail
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 November 2006 |
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It's easier than ever to send me hate mail By David Feherty
Contributing Writer, GOLF MAGAZINE You know, it's been
years since I had a
decent letter of
complaint. I get
plenty of them all right, but
they all seem to be from
people who spend their free
time fashioning hoods from
bed sheets, each of who
seems to have unusually
clear insight regarding what
God thinks about things, and
who need to express their
illiterate disgust at what they
regard as my undying mancrush
on one T. Woods. Well,
I haven't the time or the
energy to reply to people
who didn't pass fifth-grade
English, or are stupid
enough to include their
names and addresses. I'll
stop being amazed by Tiger
when he stops being
amazing, okay Einsteins? Or
is that too Jewish for you?
It does occur to me,
though, that I may be doing
something wrong when my
hate mail is coming from
only one demographic. I
mean, what the hell is wrong
with me? I can't offend
anyone else? It's the old
story, if you want a job done
properly you'd better do it
yourself, or at least set a
good example. So, if you
dislike me or what I say on
TV or write in this magazine,
and you feel like letting me
know, here's a hate-letter
template you can use free of
charge. Think of it as a little
inspiration.
Dear Mr. Feherty,
I am still shaking with
outrage at the reprehensible
and incomprehensible invective
you hurled at anyone in earshot
during the U.S. Bank Championship.
In the old days you would have had something
unspeakable inserted into you by an elderly clergyman.
Who are you, you ferret-faced weasel, to call anyone a rat, let alone a bona fide
superstar like Corey Pavin? Who has given you (a wretched, bitter hedgehog of a
man) the right to vilify the legends of the game? How many times did you win a
U.S. Open, you no-talent hack? You couldn't qualify with the 12-handicappers at
the first stage with that drunken, epileptic swipe of a move you make at the ball.
You look like Martin Short being tasered by an L.A. County Sheriff's deputy.
I number Corey among my closest friends (even though he used to be Jewish
and I've never actually met him). I conduct weekly séances for a USGA Rules of
Golf study group, and frequently get in touch with dead legends of the game like
Deane Beman and Greg Norman. Occasionally we will channel through Corey,
who is amazingly effective at elevating us to the next level: the fourth dimension.
Just last week we spoke with Judge Smails and Glenn Ford, who, as you are no
doubt unaware, played the great Walter Hogan in Follow the Son.
Victor Juhasz
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As if it wasn't enough to heap insults on Corey, you then felt compelled to
place poor Lanny Wadkins in your crosshairs, you hamster-molesting bastard.
What has little Lanny ever done to you except make you look good by letting you
read the putts (as if you can)? The only break you ever got right was recess in the
second grade, you bulbous-nosed Mick. And what is all that moving-boxes-at-Wal-Mart
harness crap you wear? Holy David Duke, you look like a stool-pushing
Gaelic hairdresser, or Lenny Bruce in lederhosen, you wireless wanker, gliding
around the golf course a foot off the grass. For God's sake, at least Lanny
Wadkins dresses in a manly fashion.
Hey, I hope you regard this letter as constructive. At least I'm not one of those
homophobic Tiger-bashers you hear from all the time. I like people of color,
even some of the really dark ones, like Miles Davis and Tyrone Power (although
to be honest I'd be pretty upset if my son married someone like that). If you
ever get to Yorba Linda, look me up. I'll show you my collection of old
balata balls. One of them has a cut in it that makes it look just like the Virgin
Mary. It's uncanny. Call me.
Sincerely,
Monsignor Michael "Spatula" Spatchatoli
Name and address withheld due to restrictions at maximum-security institutions.
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