Al Shipnuck just cannot get off my radar, otherwise known as my s-list. Talk about dangling an unreachable carrot in front of a braying, drooling donkey! Here he is this week, writing about the Phoenix PGA Tour Stop’s collision next year with the NFL’s Super Bowl…"you owe it to yourself to go” is his message.

Imagine trying to get a hotel room, a tee time, heck, even a dinner reservation, in any of the places that AS dangles in his article. Do you think, AS, that the visiting NFL folk will reserve the living bleep out of the town? Love, too, when he plays coy with his readers in the following ways:

“Being a California kid I often forget how miserable it is in most of the country this time of year” Bite my snow shovel, Alan.

“and arrived in desperate need of some Guy Time. Playing golf in the morning, watching the tournament in the afternoon, exploring cougar dens by night” Yeah, like we don’t know what Cougar refers to, Mr. Nuck.

And the piece de resistance, dangling a private, impenetrable golf club in our faces…
“If you know the right person and have a favor to call in, this is the place to do it for.” Make the call for us, hombre.

Maybe it’s the Lake Erie effect, maybe it’s the lingering aftertaste of closed steel mills, but I just don’t i.d. with this guy. Still love his writing, though. It never fails to arouse some emotion in me, be it hatred or admiration.

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