LIV Golf had its Chicago Invitational tournament over the weekend. I don't know who won it and I don't give a damn! I am here to talk about Bryson DeChambeau getting fucking truck-sticked by a gallery rope on Sunday.
My favorite part—other than, y'know, the full-grown professional athlete getting jacked up by a stationary semi-slack nylon rope the thickness of a pencil—is the little tantrum, during and afterward. The outraged "Oh my God what the fuck guys!" as DeChambeau walks directly into a rope that had been stretched across that patch of grass since before he woke up Sunday morning, and was already there long before he chose a walking vector that intersected it at a 90-degree angle. Yeah, guys! What the fuck! What kind of an asshole does or does not do whatever Bryson DeChambeau thinks somebody else should have done or not done to prevent him from clotheslining himself with a rope he walked toward on purpose? And then the volcanic "Shit!" as he whips the towel out of that other guy's hand. You blew it, Towel Guy. You fucking blew it.