I have Trump’s swing
And it’s a god damn disaster.
I’m not particularly proud of the fact that I love golf so much. I just never thought I’d be that guy, but I am and I’m ok with it. Ok, for those who don’t golf, when it gets cold outside, or we just need to go practice the illogical, downright unnatural motion that is the golf swing, we have sims. Golf hitting bay simulators that charge us approximately the same hourly rate as mediocre online therapists, where we go to play fake rounds on the world’s most beautiful courses where guys like me wouldn’t be allowed even if I was Rory Mcilroy’s date. These sims are technological wonders. They have a series of ball tracking cameras, different turf thicknesses, and all kinds of dorky golf challenges. It’s a grand time (if you’re not playing like dogfarts), but the coolest feature of a good sim is the data you get. It tracks it all, swing speed, launch angle, spin rates, something called smash factor. It analyzes the insanely complicated, rotational, pendulum physics involved in launching this little ball 260 yards down to the millimeter. And the slightest variations of arms, wrists, weight balance, hips, head angle, club face position at impact can be the difference between a story you tell your friends, and a story your friend makes fun of you for. So we go to the sim to learn how to maximize distance without sacrificing control. To try, mostly in vain, to get our unique and highly personal swing to be a repeatable construct that wouldn’t work for anyone else, but works just fine for you. It is your swing, there are many like it, but this one is yours.
At the sim that I frequent they have a feature where you get to see an immediate, slo-mo, full body video clip of the swing you just swung. We’ll put aside that no one ever really wants to see themselves from that unflattering angle and focus on the tragedy that has befallen me. The moment I saw the first video I recognized it instantly. My golf swing looks shockingly like the swing of President orange anus-face Donald Trump. It’s got a short take away, with a fast, pinched down stroke, and not much of a follow through. Oh God why? I would’ve taken any other swing. I’m not looking for Scheffler’s hop on his toe, or Tiger’s whip through the ball. I don’t even need to look anything like any pro. Just please lord why must I look like him? True, I have some mass around my middle, but that’s not it. This isn’t a body shape thing. The golf swing is a wildly complicated, intricate motion with many chances along a path to define your own style, but noooo. For me, a deep blue liberal, passionately defending the rights of all people, I am confronted by this abomination of a video. I basically have the same swing as our dear golf cheater-in-chief. Someone call my mom because she’s gonna have a heart attack when she reads this.
Have I nudged a ball out of a crappy lie once or twice? Sure I have. Do I take my fair share of Mulligans when I’m having a disgusting round where I can’t get my head out of my head? Sure, but I am not Dirty Don. I am anyone but him. I don’t even care about winning. I play to conquer my own demons, not foist my own pathetic ego on all those around me. The worst part about it is that this swing actually works for me. It’s breaking 90 regularly these days, which for a weekend hacker like me is a better score than I could have ever hoped for. So I can’t change it now. I’m stuck with Trump’s dumb golf swing. Why couldn’t I have had Obama’s jump shot instead? Smooth, respected and cool. Instead I’m stuck with Donald’s drive. I wish I could go back to blissful ignorance where my swing was just a goofy combination of my quirks, but I can’t. Once you’ve seen it, played large on a projected screen, your retinas are singed. Scarred with the knowledge that you and the textured, manure sack of Cheeto colored flesh leading this country share something deeply personal.
I must do something about this. I will pay the sim extra to disable the video feature and destroy the files. I will tell my family to close their eyes when I swing. I will donate $1 per bogey to the ACLU. I will teach the constitution to any caddy I meet. I will get the bill of rights embroidered on my golf bag, I will only hit rainbow colored LGTBQ+ balls and buy Canadian steel golf club shafts. I will phone bank from the bunkers and preach fairness from the fairways. But sadly nothing I do will ever shake the swing demon I have let shackle itself to my portly rotating frame. Maybe once he has left the white house (if it’s still standing), his dumb body will quickly fail him and he will be left an ailing, doddering old man, farting and spilling soup down his obnoxious, overly long, penile compensatory, red tie. And then maybe his golf swing will fade harmlessly into America’s past like the Ford Pinto, Olestra, Ross Perot, Crystal Pepsi, Snooki and Cop Rock.
It’s possible that this is a sign. That the vision I received is like when God spoke to a traveling saint on the road to Damascus. But instead of showing up in a manger, or as a flaming shrub, I was shown the light on a screen in Golfzon Social in Scarsdale NY. Maybe my calling is now clear. I will spread the good word and fight the good fight. I have been shown my path. I will protect democracy. I will help the meek inherit the earth. I will make America America again all while trying to get my pitching wedge to spin the ball back on the green setting me up for birdies from 137 yards out. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Man, I don’t care what anyone says about his politics—even in Japan peple argue about that—but his swing? That left elbow’s totally doing the chicken-wing thing. It’s peak “old dude” style, 100%.
In all of the ways one could be similar to that d-bag, I think this may be the only acceptable one.