Dear Mr. Watson —
I was made aware of your recent comments on my life in which you stated that I need to "show some humility to the public." Very helpful! No more showy lifestyle from me, with all the bling and the posse and trash talk. Those days? Over.
I also appreciated your opinion on my place in golf history when you stated: "I feel that he has not carried the same stature that other great players that have come along like Jack [Nicklaus], Arnold [Palmer], Byron Nelson, the Hogans, in the sense that there was language and club throwing on the golf course … I think he needs to clean up his act and show the respect for the game that other people before him have shown."
You make a great point. I will stop cursing. That's clearly the biggest issue in my life. Salty language.
I will stop cursing right away. Well, no. Make that in a few minutes. Because first …
F—K. YOU. F—K YOU, Tom Watson, you A—HOLE.
I don't hold the same stature as them? Maybe not too some old, washed up prick. But let me remind you: I am golf. My presence alone has made everyone rich. You yourself have made more money because of me. Yet this is what I get? F—K. YOU.
Hey, guess what? You know who else isn't like Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer? You, you dick. Because they've said that my life isn't any of their business. At least not to speak about in public. (And also, of course, you were never as good as them at golf. Let's just say I never taped your list of major wins on my bedroom wall as a goal.) Maybe you should be more like them. Or maybe you should be more like me and consider cursing or throwing a club every once in a while. It might make people forget how you choked away the British Open. You remember that, right? F—king hilarious.
Oh, I'm sorry. I promised to stop cursing. My fault. Let me re-phrase: Your choke job in the British Open was gosh darn hilarious.
Dear Tom Watson …
Dear Mr. Watson —