Too Much Information

I caught a few minutes of the newest reality show to reach the planet, The Daly Planet, on The Golf Channel. The show shadows a golfer who looks like he should be selling flooring at 84 Lumber (one of his sponsors) or slugging down a few cold ones at Hooters (another). In other words, John Daly is NOT one of golf's pretty boys.

Daly has been called "a living Country & Western song," a metaphor that I wished I had coined. His life, waist line, and golf rounds have had more ups and downs than (I'll skip the figures of speech) . . . anyone could imagine. Daly won the PGA, a major tournament, in 1991, entering the tournament as an unknown alternate, then crushing drives and pumping his fist to an unlikely victory. He later added a British Open win to his titles, capping one of his many comebacks from alcoholism and bad play that has plagued him his entire career.

Last Wednesday the country song remained the same. Daly's wife began a five-month jail sentence for being a part of a drug and gambling ring over a six-year period. Daly claimed ignorance of his wife's actions, and no one doubted he was telling the truth. As she was being hauled off to court, Daly was playing a practice round in San Diego. He'll be solely entrusted with the care of their two-year old son, John Jr., next week. I can hear Dolly Parton singing, "So keep the home fire burning, your love for me yearning, cause I'll be returning in five months."

Though he doesn't win very often, Daly remains a crowd favorite with Everyman appeal. He travels to tournaments in his Winnebago and camps out on the grounds like a NASCAR groupie. He proudly sports his signature mullet, still slugs mammoth drives, moves quickly from tee to green like a municipal course hustler, and consumes gigantic qualities of Miller Light and Diet Coke.

The Daly Planet shows Daly as we might have imagined, but never really wanted to see. After the ten minutes of watching, I decided that I had seen enough. Cases of beer are unloaded from his plane with his golf geer. He jokes (or does he?) about cracking open a cold one at an early morning promotional appearance. He gives mindless interview after interview to promote his attempt to drive a golf ball over Niagara Falls to promote a new Daly-improved golf course design in Canada.

The vastly popular and quickly fading expression from a few years ago, T.M.I. , applies. I can't wait until Daly is in contention again at another tournament. I'll be watching. But The Daly Planet shall forever go unexplored in my TV universe.