Somewhere deep in the bowels of the budget for LIV Golf, well below the lucrative prize funds and exorbitant gratuities to overlook the gratuitous, closer to the paltry media buys to induce velvety coverage, there should be a line item for diaper-changing facilities to be used by the increasingly infirm or dependably infantile who will occupy its locker rooms.
Take Sergio Garcia (“please,” quoth Henny Youngman). Garcia is not entirely a one-dimensional dipstick. He can on occasion be amiable and funny, but even at 42 he is proof that age and maturity are mutually exclusive. In Thursday’s first round of the Wells Fargo Championship, he demonstrated anew his tendency to process every inconvenience as an injustice.
After being informed—incorrectly, it later emerged—by a PGA Tour rules official that he had exhausted the time allotted to find his ball in a hazard, Garcia snapped. “I can’t wait to leave this tour,” he announced. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” He stomped around a while longer, then added: “A couple of more weeks, I don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
