The football season is upon us, and at least one notable fan can’t fully participate: Phil Mickelson. While you’re probably saying, “Duh, he’s a golfer,” let me explain. Normally, the face of LIV Golf would be wallowing with the other degenerates, tracking juicy lines, and calling in three-team parlays.
Instead, the golfer, who is abstaining due to a gambling addiction, took to X to write a small essay about it.
Look, I get it. It’s an addiction, and there’s a gray area, so if I make fun of Mickelson, it’ll look like I’m picking on a defenseless addict. At the same time, Phil humblebragged, “The money wasn’t ever the issue since our financial security has never been threatened,” and the only people that “suffered” were a millionaire golfer and his family, who didn’t suffer at all other than from an absentee husband/dad who is on tour half the time anyway.
I’m not saying it’s open season on Mickelson, but when trying to curry sympathy because he couldn’t play fantasy football is asking for it. It’s similar to this petty jab (in the same tweet) that Mickelson took at his former associate, pro gambler, and convicted felon Billy Walters.
“If you ever cross the line of moderation and enter into addiction, hopefully you won’t confuse your enablers as friends like I did. Hopefully you won’t have to deal with these difficult moments publicly so others can profit off you like I have.”
I’m sorry that a noted scumbag mentioned you in his book, yet you befriended him, and how is it pertinent to other people struggling with gambling? “Woe is me” says the guy who fought the PGA Tour for the little guy, then defected to a league that didn’t want any of said little guys, and, you know, jeopardized the sport in the process.
But, yay, now everybody has blood in their bank accounts.
It doesn’t seem possible to be this self-aggrandizing in a tweet about gambling moderation, but I guess when you’re that insulated, everything that leaks out of your body is cause for celebration. And what was that stuff about a hurricane? Who proofread this? Who approved this? And when did Twitter start letting people post diatribes?
Character limits are like salary caps — impediments to keep rich jackasses from sucking up all the oxygen. F*ck you, Elon.
Phil Mickelson can miss me with this pity party he’s throwing himself. Boo-hoo, you can’t self-moderate, and don’t get any of that sweet DraftKings endorsement money. Go sit on the couch, stuff that big mouth of yours with seven-layer dip, and let the rest of us enjoy the return of football season.