The Death of a Driver, and other Tragedies

When I was a kid, I had a temper.

In first grade, I got so frustrated and angry by the seemingly impossible task of finishing my snail report on time that I jammed my own pencil into the palm of my hand with the fury of Mariah Carey being given the wrong color M&Ms in her dressing room. I recall that it hurt.

Anyway, I mention that because it's only fair and full disclosure, but I plead absolutely, 100% not guilty to the murder of a Taylormade Draw Bias Burner Driver (about 2/3rds of the way down the page).

Ok, let's back up. A driver is the big dog of golf clubs. It's like someone tied a musk melon to a stick and expects you to hit a ball with it, but the musk melon is made of titanium or palladium or Batmanium or some other spacey-sounding metal.

The point of this club is to hit the ball and far. You use it for your first hit on a long golf hole. ('Thank you, Captain Obvious'-Experienced Golfer) It's tough to hit a driver well and most new players end up hitting more dirt than ball when they try.

I bought this fancy-pants club a few weeks ago, and loved it right away. I was having so much success with it that Human Torch (my brother, Tommy, who is often seen dangling a cigarette from his mouth while swinging a golf club) asked to borrow it. After a while I noticed he was walking up to the tee box without a club in his hand. "Mind if I swing the Burner again?"

Sure. Grrr.

Anyway, the Burner is a really great club, but it can only do so much. I hit one particularly errant tee-shot and Human Torch said, "Looks like the Burner let you down on that one." "It can't fix sucking," I said in reply.

So now that you know the dearly departed, I'll tell the story of its demise. But I'll start with a picture:






















You'll notice something about MY Burner that's different from the one in the link above. Go ahead...take a minute to look. It's like one of those puzzles they give kids at Denny's where they have to find five differences between the two Denny the Insane Short Order Cook Who For Some Reason is Surfing on a Wave of Eggs pictures.

Yes, that's right. Mine has been conveniently separated into two pieces.

About a week ago, I took the Burner to the driving range (where you get a bucket of balls and just hit them into oblivion for practice). I was all set up and ready to go when I picked up the club. Crackle, crackle.

Crackle, crackle? Why should there be a crackle, crackle?

Homer Simpson-like, I decided to ignore the obviously incorrect sound coming from the shaft of my driver and tee up the first ball. As I swung the club back, eyes focused on the ball, and started to bring it down, I noticed a funny sensation.

Specifically, I noticed the sensation of the front 90% of the club flying down the range instead of the ball. This is a two week old club, mind you, with a "street value" of $300. (Did you notice that term "street value" in the Golf Digest write-up? It makes it sound like the Would You Like to Buy an O guy from Sesame Street is hanging out on the sleazy outskirts of golf courses pushing product) .

The good news is that the seller, Pro Sport Outlet, did graciously take it back and is replacing it. Which is kind of them because for all they knew, Human Torch asked me to borrow it one too many times and I wrapped it around his head.

Ok, I wouldn't do that. Anymore.

Now when we were kids...