Last week, a LIV Golf tournament was contested in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. 2,600 U.S. citizens were recruited by LIV Golf to serve as volunteers at the tournament. One of those volunteers, who shall remain nameless because he was eating a Virginia ham sandwich in Saudi airspace and fears having his tongue cut off, sent Golf Lampoon the following excerpt from a journal he kept: “LIV Golf Volunteer Confidential.”
I been a volunteer at a PGA Tour event for 12 years. It’s one of them lesser tournaments. We never get none of them big names to show up. I heard a lot of them think our courtesy cars “suck.” I ain’t gonna mention the name of the tournament because I don’t want to ruffle no feathers.
So like I said, I been a volunteer for 12 years. Every year when I sign up, I gotta pay like 150 bucks for my uniform: it’s a hat and shirt and some kind of rain jacket. 150 bucks every year. One year I complained to the tournament director: “Why I gotta pay for this stuff? Can’t it come outta the kitty?” He tells me he understands how I feel but “it’s for charity.”
“It’s for charity???” Bullshit! How ’bout they take some of that million bucks they give to some no-name winner of the tournament and pay for our uniforms? “Charity,” my ass! That tournament director, he’s gettin’ paid, ain’t he? None of that “charity” bullshit when it comes to him suckin’ on the teat!
So that was my thinkin’ when I get a letter in the mail from some guy at LIV Golf. Sheik Abdul Shabazz el Capiche … some weird-sounding name. Says he got my address from the
tournament director I just mentioned. Asked me if I wanted to be a volunteer at a LIV Golf tournament in Jeddah.
Jeddah??? I never heard of no Jeddah. It sounded to me like that Star Wars monster: Jebbah, Jubbuh, somethin’ like that. I thought this Sheik guy was pulling my leg so I ignored the letter.
A few days later, this Sheik calls me. I asked him how he got my number. He said the tournament director sold all the volunteers’ contact information to him for $100,000! I’ll bet that 100,000 went straight to “charity.” Bullshit!!!
Sheik tells me he wants me to be a volunteer at the Jubbuh tournament. And get this: he’s gonna pay every volunteer $5,000! AND he’s gonna fly the volunteers to Jubbuh in chartered 747s for FREE! And our uniforms? Free, too! I was all over that like E. coli on 5-day-old mule shit!
So two weeks ago, here I am with a couple hundred other volunteers in a 747, flying to Jubbuh, Saudi Arabia. Nuthin’ was too good for us! All the beer you could drink, porno movies, they was even roasting a goat on a spit on the second floor. The Sheik told us to have fun on the flight but once we got to Jubbuh, we couldn’t have no beer or porno. But
we could roast goats in our hotel rooms. We land in Jubbuh and they take us away in buses to our to our hotel. First-class all the way. Sani-strips on the toilets, free vibrating bed — you didn’t need no quarters — all the dates you could eat. One of the volunteers — I’ll call him “Larry,” asked the guy at the front desk where he could “get some action.”
He winks at Larry and takes him out back near the parking lot. They go into a tent where there’s a big ‘ol camel they got tied up, wearing a garter belt and fishnet stockings. Now
you can take the boy out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the boy.
Before you could say, “We don’t need your stinkin’ vaccinations,” Larry drops his Wranglers and proceeds to have a good ‘ol time. Later he told me it “was the best hump I ever had.”
Next day they take us to the golf course. Instead of the usual clinic stuff where some pro who don’t wanna be there shows you how he hits a fade, they had a really interesting
demonstration of the right way to cut up a man’s body. They brought in some guy in shackles who was crying for mercy. All us volunteers was feelin’ pretty good ’cause we was standin’ there in our free uniforms … and we each had a $5,000 check in our pockets. So they push this crybaby to the ground and make him kneel. A little guy comes over with a sword that was bigger than he was and cuts off the crybaby’s head. Everyone starts applaudin’ ’cause they was sick of hearin’ that crybaby and was glad to be rid of him. Then the little guy proceeds to carve up the crybaby’s carcass like my neighbor Henry Smith does with one of his hogs. It was a pleasure to see a real craftsman at work!
When the tournament started, well, it was no big deal. There was more volunteers than there was fans. Didn’t have to tell the gallery to stop walking or be quiet. We did have to hold up some signs nothing like the ones they use on the PGA Tour:
They had a shotgun start and played for 3 days. The players was havin’ a good time. They wasn’t makin’ no faces like they do on the PGA Tour. No whinin’, no complainin’, no pointin’ at the hole, no pointin’ at their caddie, no starin’ at their golf ball, no lookin’ like they ain’t takin’ a shit in 9 days. And why not? They got the money, baby! Hey, the two guys who withdrew each got $121,000! And all the players was wearin’ shorts and for all I know, some of these guys was goin’ commando.
Of course, the women in the gallery, they couldn’t wear no shorts. And if they was goin’ commando, nobody knew ’cause they was all wrapped up like mummies.
