JT: So, you're the "in-the-hole" guy? Please, explain.
ITHG: It's both simple and complicated. Basically, I'm the guy who yells "in the hole" at a par three, or after a crucial putt has been stroked.
JT: Oh yeah—I've heard that plenty of times. That's all you?
ITHG: Sure is. I hit all the tournaments. I run from hole to hole, which is pretty tough when you're as drunk as I am.
JT: Describe a typical day.
ITHG: I wake up in my car and think about my four divorces and mountain of debt, and the job I used to have. That's three or four hours of sobbing—then it's time to focus on the task at hand...yelling "in the hole!"
I begin by taking care of my voice. I gargle with a combination of egg yolks and salt to cleanse the palate, then a couple shots of Old Granddad to put some timbre in there. Then I do a series of musical scales—fafafa lalala dododo rerere, and so forth and so on.
A couple Newports "calm my larynx down." Don't want those cilia thinking they're getting any relief, otherwise they'd always be acting up. Then it's out to the parking lot for some serious beer drinking before the gates open.
JT: Must be expensive.
ITHG: Well, paying is for suckers. I usually jump a fence, forge a pass, drop a name to some moron, or, if worse comes to worse, commit lewd sex acts with various security guards. The main thing is, I get in.
JT: Don't they recognize you after a while?
ITHG: I adopt a cunning series of disguise accents. I'll say, "in the hole NOW," or do a British twist on it, "in the hole ya wanker." I have a mean German "getten zie in das holen zee" or a spicy Mexican "hey homes, get in the hole, vato." I got 'em all covered.
JT: Oh, you sound devious alright. Biggest success?
ITHG: Mickelson when he won the Masters for the first time. He really needed me, and I was there for him. I jumped higher than he did when I guided it in. Or Tiger at the 2005 Pebble Beach. I was on fire that day!
JT: Biggest failure?
ITHG: Paul Goydos at this year's TPC. I got a throat cramp just as he teed off at the first playoff hole, the island green at 17. The next thing I know, he's wet and Sergio stole it away. I took that one hard, although I did still yell "in the hole" as Garcia's final putt lipped in. I mean, I still had a job to do.
JT: How did this, um, hobby, start?
ITHG: I wasn't hugged as a child. I started hanging around country clubs carrying golf bags from the car trunk to the pro shop to get approval, till I got beat up by the caddies; turns out, they receive tips to do that.
From there, it was a small step to yelling things at the greens...I tried baseball and football and hockey, but everyone screams there. In golf, I'm the only loudmouth around. Gets me a lot more attention. What's the matter—you look sick.
JT: Is there a toilet around here? I think those chili dogs I just scarfed down at the 19th Tee are coming back on me.
ITHG: Down there to your right, and...Jeff?
JT: Yes?
ITHG: IN THE HOLE!
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