A dozen years ago, in an effort to scientifically determine the effect of alcohol on the golf swing, Golf Digest sent me and three of my regular golf buddies—Barney, Jim, and Hacker (real name)—to Las Vegas for four days, and gave us unlimited access to golf, casinos, and beer. They also recruited a second foursome, whose members included Jimmy Kimmel (then of the Man Show) and Carson Daly (then of MTV).
The format was nine-hole scramble. On the fourthtee, Barney made a rude noise in my backswing, and Kimmel said, “If Sal had asked me beforehand, ‘What are the chances that one of them will fart before one of us?’, I would have said a million to one.” After that, we were pals. On the fifthtee, Kimmel asked me, “Do you meet a lot of lesbians in your line of work?” On the seventh hole, he drove a cart onto the green, parked it next to the hole, and asked, “Am I in anyone’s line?”
Playing nine holes took four hours, during which the average intake was a dozen beers and a couple of Bloody Marys. My friends and I won the match (five-up, two under par), and when it was over Hacker threw a pair of golf shoes belonging to one of them into the lake. Then Kimmel lay on the ground, placed a ball on a tee clenched between his teeth, and let me hit it with a pitching wedge:
Here’s how I hit that shot: I don’t remember. You can read about the whole adventure here.