Devil Ball Golf - Golf

We have seen rock bottom, friends, and it's covered with wing sauce and silicone. Check out that fella there in the center of the picture at right. If you look really closely -- or if you read the headline -- you'll realize that's none other than two-major-winnin' beer-can-tee-master John Daly hanging out at the Greensboro Hooters.

But Daly wasn't just stopping in to get a solitary bite to eat and an eyeful of some well-endowed waitresses who're really, truly just saving up to go to college. No, Daly's appearance was part of an orchestrated publicity campaign, which makes it infinitely worse. As recounted by FanHouse's Will Brinson in agonizing, cringeworthy detail, Daly's HooterTour 2008 is just ... sorry, John, but it's just pathetic:

I really don't think it was unfair to have tremendous expectations about John Daly's appearance Wednesday night at the Hooters in Greensboro, NC. He was here, of course, for the Wyndham Championship and he was there, of course, because he's sponsored by Hooters. Or maybe, like every other dude in a wife beater with a pool cue Wednesday night, he likes women, beer and wings.

Those three wonderful things combined with John Patrick Daly had me envisioning a madhouse scene: Greensboro's upper crust pounding bricks, swinging pool cues, offering to buy Daly shots, inked up mammalian glands and enough cig smoke to exhume Marge Schott ... Instead of some Southern styled fiesta, what you see above is what was going on. I would have more pics, but it was too damn awkward to have Daly, sometimes on cell phone, mostly burning heaters, stare back at me from the rigged up merch/autograph table at the front of the restaurant.

Daly (or his manager, whichever) was charging twenty-five bucks a photo, which apparently came as quite a shock to one fellow who merrily gathered up three pictures. It was a bizarre scene all the way around; "the fact that the operation was so geared against the few fans that were there that it really seemed to defeat the purpose of having it at a C rate strip club/dining establishment combo, you kind of have to wonder where the hell he's getting his advice these days," Brinson added.

And then, as awkwardly as it began, it was over. Management shut the whole affair down an hour early because nobody really cared, apparently. And Daly then headed off into the Greensboro night, a couple hundred in greasy bills in his pocket, with heaven only knows what thoughts running through his head.

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