Duh Boys Streaming Network has muscled its way into golf broadcasting in a big way. With the sudden and shocking exits of CBS, NBC, The Golf Channel, ESPN, and Amazon Prime from golf telecasting, DBSN stepped into the breach last weekend with its coverage of The Mulberry St. Classic Presented by Vigorish International. Golf influencers everywhere are singing the praises of DBSN’s announcers, calling their work “a lead-pipe cinch” and a “refreshing shot-in-the-arm for a stuffy sport.”
In case you missed the tournament, here’s a DBSN transcript excerpt showcasing the work of its announcing team, Mario REDACTED and Tony REDACTED.
ADULT LANGUAGE AHEAD. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED OR IF YOU TWIRL YOUR CLUB AFTER HITTING AN O.K. SHOT.
Mario: What’s he got here, Tony? Dare’s a lotta fuckin’ grain in dis here green.
Tony: I dunno. Left to right, right to left? What duh fuck, I ain’t a seed salesman.
Mario: Yeah, but Indio is tuh duh left, no?
Tony: Yuh still believe dat Indio shit? Smarten up, yuh dumb muddahfuckah!
Mario: Ho!!! Ho!!!!!!! We’re on duh fuckin’ air here, you fuckin’ scungeel!
Tony: I’ll drop yuh right here in duh 18th boot, yuh call me a fuckin’ scungeel again!
Mario: Awright, awright, calm down. Let’s get back tuh duh golf.
Tony: Yeah, what the fuck? I mean, we’re here, right? Might as well. Didja see Greg Norman ain’t wid LIV Golf no more?
Mario: Who gives a shit?
Tony: Fuckin’ guy made a big score when dey named him Commish. An he didden haveta kick up nuttin’ upstairs. I heard it was all cash. 500 mill. Word on duh street is dat he’s got it stashed in some fuckin’ spot in the desert.
Mario: The desert??? Outside Vegas?
Tony: I dunno. But I’ll tell yuh dis: if it’s outside Vegas, I reach out tuh Philly Two-Faces — he’s dare so much he looks like a fuckin’ cactus. If anybody knows where Norman’s stash is, it’s Philly. Soon as I find out, I send out a cupala my boys wid shovels and dig it up.
Mario: Hey, send Patrick Reed. I hear he’s pretty good wid a shovel!
Tony: Shaddup! This fuckin’ Reed, he don’t like no jokes. Fuckin’ mutt would sue Mother Teresa.
Mario: She’s dead, ain’t she?
Tony: Don’t maddah; he’d sue her anyways. Yuh know, her fuckin’ estate or whatever the fuck it’s called. So whadda yuh tink uh dis kid leadin’ da tournament?
Mario: He was on dat Horny Fairy Tour, right?
Tony: Yeah, dats him.
Mario: Yuh gotta love his swing. His fuckin’ coil is tighter than a hoore’s…
Tony: Shaddup! We got in trouble last time wid yuh hoore jokes. Wadda yuh tink uh dis kid’s puttin’ grip?
Mario: Love dat pistol grip. Dese udder scungeels he plays wid, day see dat grip, day know not tuh fuck wid dis guy.
Tony: Yeah, I like dat grip too. I also like duh way he hides duh logo on his hat wid his sunglasses. Dat really pisses off his fuckin’ sponsors.
Mario: Dats right. Don’t take no shit offa nobody. Yuh want people ta see yuh logo? Pay me 5 million! And I wan it in tens an twenties!
Tony: Hey, how’s duh kid’s mental game?
Mario: I heard he dun get too high, he dun get too low. Fuhgeddaboudit, he’s like a piece a cold baccala.
Tony: So yuh tink he’s a good future bet fuh duh Masters?
Mario: Yeah, why not? I’ll tro 5 dimes on him to finish in duh Top-10. I’ll reach out tuh our people in Augusta and dey’ll make it happen.
Tony: I’m in for a taste, right?
Mario: Tony, always. You’re my paisan.
Tony: And don’t yuh forget it or I’ll shove a fuckin’ putter so far up your ass it’ll say Odyssey on ya lip.
Mario: It’s a lock; dun worry aboudit. Just one question aboud duh putter: is it milled?
Tony: Of course it’s milled, ya dumb muddahfuckah! Everyting’s fuckin’ milled dese days. Pretty soon, every guy’s cannoli is gonna be milled.
Mario: Oh, maron! Awright, listen, we gotta sign off now. We’ll see youse all next week in … uh … where we gonna be next week, Tony?
Tony: I dunno. Same shit somewheres else. Hey, did yuh try dat pizza dey was servin’ in duh media tent?
Mario: I had a slice. It wasn’t no boofalow moozzarelle, I’ll tell ya dat.
Tony: Yeah, yuh can’t get no boofalow moozarelle from dese asshole caterers.
Mario: The fuckin’ civilians … dey dun know no bettuh.
Tony: Last week’s tournament, we was in duh middle of fuckin’ nowheres, I go inta duh media tent, I axe for a chicken parm hero. They give me some fuckin’ chicken patty on a hamburger roll wid ketchup an American cheese!
Mario: Somebody serves me shit like dat, they get clipped.
Tony: Dats right. Dats how it wuz when we came up. Ben Wright, Rossi, Chirkinian … dey wouldn’t stand for dat shit. Now yuh got dese fuckin’ pretty boys drinkin’ Pinot fuckin’ Grigio in duh boot while days callin’ duh action. Ain’t duh same no more.
Mario: Whadda ya gonna do? It’s like my first skipper tol me: “It’s better to light a fuckin’ candle, den tuh curse duh fuckin’ whatnot.”
Tony: Yeah, dem was duh days.
Mario: Ah, fuck it. Awright, we’re signin’ off. We’ll see youse assholes next week. Go play some golf, will yiz? And fix your fuckin’ ball marks!
Tony: Ain’t dat duh fuckin’ troot!
