Written by Nick Thiry | Content Creator, CLICKON Golf
Let’s be real with each other for a minute. The past 6+ years of golf coverage has been a little rough. The main stories include: mistresses, robberies, break ups, car accidents, cross-continental outburst, kidnapping, defamation lawsuits, and most shocking…. Matt Kuchar’s hat and shirt combinations. I don’t really think it’s a stretch to say that golf needs a White Knight. Golf needs someone to swoop down and save us from our Gothamesque state of scandal and poverty. The inmates are running the asylum and it’s time for a disarming vigilante to save the day!
Enter Jordan Spieth.
Spieth is a charming young man with a moral compass pointed due north who came in to kiss our grandmother on the cheek while also making our 9 year old sister swoon. Spieth is here to save the day, both on and off the course. Fear not Gotham…. Spieth has reached high above his balding head and flashed the bat signal high into the sky. Except it’s in the shape of an adorable puppy rather than a bat. That’s just how he rolls.
Now, I’m not saying that the majority of the guys on Tour are bad dudes. I’ve met a good amount of Tour players and most of them are nice, friendly, cordial, pleasant, and any other positive superlatives you want to throw out there. But Spieth is different. Spieth has the wholesome, innocent, rosy-red cheeks of a preteen girl scout and the wise-beyond-his-years hairline of your most trusted insurance salesman. Spieth is a once-in-a-generation, cross-generation, nice guy. You love his game, your son loves his style and your mother-in-law raves about his values.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a golf “bad boy”… You know, the Patrick Reed’s and the John Daly’s of the world. They have their place in golf and golf absolutely has a place for them. But they rarely live up to the hype, and they almost always end up with their foot in their mouth (or in Daly’s case, probably in someone else’s mouth). Gothem… I mean golf… Just needs Spieth.
Take this letter as an example. It surfaced on the internet today:
LIKE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME, JORDAN?!?!?! That’s a more heartfelt thank you than I’ve ever given anyone in my life. I had a doctor save my life once (not an exaggeration… long story that I won’t get in to here) and I basically gave him a pat on the back and a “thanks, doc” as I walked out the door. Spieth doesn’t even know this family and he somehow equates their general scholarship fund donation to helping him achieve his life long dream of becoming a Masters Champion. If this letter doesn’t make you want to go out and nurse sick koala bears back to health with your bare hands, you must be broken inside.
Here is a general list of emotions and thoughts that Jordan Spieth stirs up inside of me:
I want to introduce Jordan Spieth to my parents. I think they would be proud of me for having such an upstanding young man as an imaginary friend.
I want to be a father to a daughter just so I can actively hold out hope that someday she will meet someone with 1% of the heartwarming charm that Spieth possesses.
I want to grow a garden. Nothing fancy, just a couple herbs and spices for myself and my family.
I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen and refuse the urge to post a picture on instagram about the experience.
I want to eat an early dinner outside, near a river, with a ukulele playing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” in the background.
But most importantly, I want Spieth to win as much as possible. I want him to win every time he tees it up and become the face of the game that golf so desperately needs in the “Post Tiger Domination World” that we currently inhabit. If Spieth can do all this, along with refusing the urge to get busted with prostitutes and cocaine like so many “White Knights” before him, golf may just stand a chance.
Never change, Jordan… Never change.