Captain Country Club struts into the Invitational convinced he’s God’s gift to golf, flaunting his single-digit handicap like it’s a PGA Tour card. He works at a country club not because he earned access, but purely for the free golf, and he brags like the keys to the place were handed to him by destiny. At every tee box he’ll remind you he’s the “best player here,” often pointing out hazards like they personally offended him, and correcting scores with the zeal of a man who believes math is subjective if it doesn’t favor him. Naturally, he writes the rules, formats, and bylaws himself, ensuring fun is carefully strangled from the tournament before the first beer is cracked.
Behind the smug grin is a guy whose most famous career highlight is four-putting away a Ryder Cup match — a scar he covers up with endless lectures on “taking golf seriously.” He hypes the trip like it’s a booze-filled boys’ weekend, then calls it a night before anyone’s halfway through round two, leaving his team drinking without their dictator. He wants to be revered as the backbone of the squad, but in reality, he’s the pompous gatekeeper everyone secretly roots against, praying he lips out from three feet on 18 all over again.