Monday Scramble: Commencement speech
Monday, May 17, 2010
Welcome to the Monday Scramble, and happy May 17th aka National Cherry Cobbler Day. (Have no fear, if cherry cobbler ain’t your thing, May also happens to be National Hamburger Month – You hear that, Lefty? – and this week is American Craft Beer Week. So, enjoy.)
Of course, May also happens to be National Commencement Month (whether or not that official title exists), as millions of college students around the country will throw on funny robes and hats to walk across a stage and accept a piece of paper alerting them that their diploma will arrive in the mail in about six to eight weeks.
(Not to mention, the NCAA Women’s Championship starts Tuesday in Wilmington, N.C.)
This also means colleges and universities around the country will be calling on successful alumni, politicians or even celebrities to act as commencement speakers and deliver words of wisdom that no one will remember the following week.
For those still in need of a speaker – and you Ivy League schools better listen up – we’re available. And sufficiently prepared, as you can tell by this speech we scribbled on the back of a scorecard this weekend amid a string of three consecutive double-bogeys.
• • •
[Note: This reads best in a Gary Player-type accent.]
Good afternoon, Class of 2010. Good afternoon parents, guardians, family, friends – and anyone else that bought one of these whippersnappers a slice of pizza along the way – NCAA permitting, of course.
Graduation, a famous writer once said, is a good walk spoiled.
So why on Augusta National’s SubAir-conditioned green earth would you want to leave college – unless, of course, your name is Rickie Fowler, and you can make millions of dollars playing golf and wearing bright-orange jumpsuits.
PGA Tour Q-School? Bad. Your school? Good.
Our college motto has forever gone like this: Like Vijay Singh at the end of a driving range – never, ever, ever, ever, ever leave.
Stay in school long enough that they begin keeping a countdown of the days you’ve been there in the local paper.
Start a club or an organization for students 23-and-over called the “Champions Tour.”
Start a fraternity called “Alpha Delta Tom Watson.”
Start taking your tests with a long pencil. (That’s a long putter joke. Anyone? Anyone?)
Our college career was pretty much like Zach Johnson’s six-putt on the par-3 13th Thursday at the Valero Texas Open – excessive.
But when you have a Green Jacket back in your dorm room at the ol’ State U. – Isn’t “Green Jacket” the perfect name for a pet iguana? – who really cares?
Today, you’re smiling, laughing, reminiscing, celebrating, collecting envelopes of FedEx Cup bonus-like money from your family and friends. Tomorrow, you’re waking up with that bulging disc in your neck that all of us grownups like to call the real world.
Three days after our graduation, we notified our parents that we had WD’d.
Today? Pebble Beach. Tomorrow? Annoying little pebbles in your sneakers.
[Wait a few seconds...]
Did you hear that? That’s the sound of Lorena Ochoa sending in her re-enrollment form to finish her final two years at the University of Arizona.
I mean, really, folks. Going to college is pretty much like being Adam Scott.
At the worst of times, you’re frolicking around the beaches of Hawaii with Kate Hudson – so to speak.
At the best of times, you’re getting a beer shower from Ernie Els in Texas and having mothers ask you to sign their babies’ heads.
Come on, people!
For all intents and purposes, Hank Haney has just sent you a text message saying, “We’re done.” How does that make you feel?
Nevermind. We know how it feels – like an NFL Hall of Famer who just shot 92 in a Nationwide Tour event. Or better yet, like an NFL Hall of Famer who just got disqualified for using a rangefinder in a Nationwide Tour event.
In other words: Say no to Jerry Rice, say yes to dining hall rice.
This shouldn’t be difficult to comprehend. If you wanted a rocket scientist as a commencement speaker, you should have called Dave Pelz.
We got our degree from the Tony Romo School of Thought: Golf game first, real job second.
Where else but college can you work hard on your golf game while finishing up that seventh major in the History of Fast Food.
Our single goal in life is pull our book bag to class on a pull-cart.
And shoot our Sociology 101 final score (68) at St. Andrews.
What’s wrong with that?
In the drive-thru of life, only so many people can order Krispy Kreme donuts the Monday morning after winning the Masters.
We hope you’re one of them.
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