"God of Premature Rejoicing. You know. A player says, 'I could double bogey this last hole and still break 100!' I mean, c'mon, how do you expect us to let that slide?"
Why so many gods?
He pulled his cap down over his eyes and grimaced. "Because we handle everybody. I mean, even atheists believe in us! You see that extra tower with all those people? Those gods are just for John Daly alone."
Everybody seems so happy.
"It's U.S. Open week! Pros making doubles, triples, 'others.' Players spraining wrists, biting through putters, throwing away careers. This is our Christmas!"
I have to ask: What have you guys got against me?
"You?" He looked at his clipboard. "Let's see ... you keep defending Mickelson. We don't like him. We have a saying around here: What will we do to Phil next? Last year, the double bogey to blow it at Winged Foot. This year, the wrist. Now he says U.S. Open courses are 'dangerous'? Oh, my. He better wear a helmet next year."
Just then a very jittery god walked by, holding a giant mug with coffee spilling out of it. I gave a quizzical look.
"Nervosis, God of Yips. Don't get too close. Hey, you want a quick bite?" He pointed to a buffet table—fried eggs, pork shanks and chili dip.
I passed and asked him what's the No. 1 thing people do to anger the golf gods.