John Daly may not be acting, but he's still a big box office hit — at Hooters Bar — when it comes to Masters Credit : GA for The Telegraph
Among the iconography of Main Street USA, John Daly is in his element. With peroxide hair and a lurid peroxide blonde beard, a bottle of Marlboro between his lips, and stars and stripes embroidered on the sleeves of his voluminous white top, he looks like a cross between Santa Claus and a trucker on tour. with The Allman Brothers for too long.
Regarding the last 26 years at the Masters, Daley works at Hooters on Washington Road, a restaurant chain that sells itself with 8,000-calorie winglet servings and waitress uniforms that there is almost nothing left. to the imagination.
The staff flock to him like moths to a lantern. One moment captures the scene perfectly as he poses surrounded by two Hooters Girls and tables littered with Wild Thing caps while a starched interview with defending champion Scotty Scheffler plays in the background on TV.
Daley hasn't played the Masters since 2006, but he still manages to attract visitors by creating his own messy version of «a tradition unlike any other.»
It's not so much a different environment than Augusta National, but a different planet. We're just a 15-minute walk from Magnolia Lane, on chaotic Washington Road, a land of malls, seedy motels, and a 50-foot-tall billboard advertising local roofers with the slogan «You can't handle a roof! ”
Daley naturally boasts some flashy trademarks himself. How about a grab and rip baseball cap? Or the driver's hat that says «John F—— Daly»?
If it doesn't, there's always an autographed photo of him trying to smash a ball on a railroad track with a can of beer on the track. His students line up in the parking lot, as if waiting for an audience with a rock star. «Hey, Big Bad John,» salutes one man, confident that his idol will appreciate the mention of Jimmy Dean. «Yes, I'm still alive,» Daley chuckles.
What makes this scene doubly odd is that Daley, 56, hasn't even played at the Masters since 2006. And yet he's here, drawing in visitors, creating his own messy version of «a tradition unlike any other.» «. «1000 Masters flags already signed!» his assistant yells as the ticket office continues to ring.
Oliver Brown of The Telegraph with John Daly at Hooters in Augusta
These crowds could spend their days watching the finely tuned athletes at the Augusta driving range. Instead, they'd rather catch a glimpse of the figure, whose 18-hole diet consists, according to one reporter who saw him play up close, of 21 cigarettes, 12 Diet Coke, six bags of peanut M&Ms, and zero ounces of water. “I don’t drink water,” Daly once said. “I hate drinking water. I can't stand drinking water.»
On his wildest days, he went to McDonald's three or four times a day under the pretense that they served the best Diet Coke. Today he can hardly be called a healthy person, constantly smoking and using various sweet potions to protect himself from the oppressive heat of Georgia. What makes him so compelling is his sheer disdain for anything anyone else might think of him or how he lives his life. In an age of golf populated by too many media-trained automata, Daly is almost manic on his own.
His relationship with the Hooters is symbiotic. Daley is so proud to be a brand ambassador that he even walked down the Old Course in St. Andrews in the company's signature bright orange trouser. Hooters, like a temple of conspicuous consumption, is only too happy to milk the stamp he brings. “John Daly all week,” reads a sign outside the Augusta branch. This is all an invitation that visitors have to line up outside the door every day from 11am.
Daly wore bright orange pants with the Hooters logo during last year's Open at St Andrews. Photo: Reuters/Paul Childs /> When Home of Golf met the Hooters — a closer look at the pants you suspect a young Tom Morris would refuse to wear… Photo: Reuters/Phil Noble
Daly, who begged Greg Norman to let him play in the infamous LIV Golf series, has been selling his wares at the location from time to time since 1997. decided that the giant car took up too much space. In the flesh, he may seem spectacularly sleazy, but all that self-promotion takes a certain amount of stamina. For eight hours a day, he signs every golf ball and flashy T-shirt thrown at him. He once wrote his name here in black marker on a woman's bare bottom. «I love my life,» he laughed.
That's enough to make the people of Augusta National spit out their mint juleps. But Daly's juggernaut can't be stopped. As soon as he completed his sales last year, he went to a concert in Myrtle Beach, joining Hootie and Blowfish in Knockin 'on Heaven's Door.
The longer you study him in his favorite habitat, the more you think that someone should someday make a film about this whole bacchanalia. Luckily, one of them is already in the works, with Jonah Hill starring as Daly.
It seems like a fitting memorial to one of the most glorious, chaotic American lives.
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