Golf Blogger Survivor II: Don't get stuck in the Sarcophagus

The third and final preliminary round is in the books for Golf Blogger Survivor II, and the Survivors have been knocking themselves dead trying to find a use for the Secret Word: Sarcophagus.

Important Note: There will be no Secret Word this week. Instead, this will be the last chance for votes to be tallied for your favorite Survivor. Next Tuesday (I’ve given up on Mondays), I’ll post the Five (5) finalists, and send out the final Secret Word. I was only going to have three finalists like last year, but the competition has been so good, we’ll have five this year.

So good luck Survivors, and here’s how you all did last week:

The Golf Girl is tired of seeing man-belly on the golf course:

So please follow my advice, You’re an ultra talented, extremely cute, British Masters and Scottish Open winner; take the belly shirts which you seem to like so much, place them in an ornate stone sarcophagus, and hope they disintegrate. In other words, Make them go away! Cause frankly, I’d rather see you strutting the fairways in a tartan loin cloth. At least that would be a style statement.

Golf Logic has the Secret Word in the bag:

After reading about Debbie’s great golf travels, I have been thinking about planning my own golf trip. I protect my sticks, I have been researching golf travel bags. It has been fun looking at what is available on the market today. Everything from really cheap polyester which in no way could protect your clubs, right down to massive plastic cases resembling an ancient sarcophagus. In the end, I think I found what I am looking for. Tony over at Hooked on Golf Blog had a pretty good review on the Ogio Travel Bag which has caught my eye.

Oob Golf celebrated a great sports day:

I LOVE golf- but I’m a die hard sports fan across the board. That’s why I think today should be declared a national holiday. Here are 3 reasons to be glad you’re spending today in front of your computer or tv and not in a sarcophagus (and why by Tuesday morning you may feel like you are).

Golf Noise has found some inner peace (and brings back the other Secret Words, as well):

There was a time in the not-so-distant past when my patience for the game’s mishaps and foibles could raise my temper a few degrees above normal. I’ve never been a club heaver, although I’ve witnessed some Olympic level launches. My problem was more an internal struggle, and as many golfers can attest, once things go wrong it can be a nasty mental spiral into the darkness of self-loathing. So what’s a Neanderthal to do once the grand descent has taken over? In my case it was a tendency to fantasize the grotesque infliction of bodily harm to whomever was nearby. Not that I ever actually struck anyone, but the thought of a quick jab to the sarcophagus, or a well placed Footjoy to the nougats always somehow calmed the beast within. It wasn’t long before my regular foursome became not so regular.

My Daily Slice is ready to get back on the golf course:

All that’s needed is the thwack of a golf ball to begin the annual ritual of a Southern springtime.

I eagerly turn the 7-iron-shaped handle of the basement door to open it. Like a sarcophagus, the basement holds the answers to my inner-most questions…

The Aspiring Golfer checks in on John Daly:

No doubt recuperating from his injuries somewhere in Transylvania, the Beast will soon be unleashed from his sarcophagus to “hit it and rip it", once again. Lets hope it’s soon as he’ll need all the prize money he can muster, to keep his growing harem of ex-wives in the style they’ve become accustomed.

The Deep Rough looks at club release:

I have had this problem with pulling shots and shanks lately, which I would assume is due to an over the top move of some sort, resulting in me coming out-to-in. So I decided to do a little soul searching. Perhaps buried somewhere deep down in the sarcophagus of golf knowledge I can find the root of my evil.

The Travelling Golfer used the Secret Word to instigate his own contest:

My old set is bound in cloth and ready to be placed in a sarcophagus, like King Tut. They’re too precious to be thrown in a corner, like common wedges and left to rust or die a suffocating death under dust bunnies.

Or maybe I should have a contest and give them away to the winner.

London Golfer has a novel idea for new uses for golf courses:

One option might be to install special portaloos around the course. Caught short again, these swinging zombies will enter to relieve themselves and an air tight door would automatically shut behind them. All that’s required to bring play to a close is to write their name on the front, stick a couple of gargoyles on top, and hey presto - instant sarcophagus. Job done. Play speeds up. Everyone’s happy.

Ron Mon is seeing dead people in Spain:

Roman Baths aren’t an everyday thing, you see. Open to the public, dressing rooms for men and women, cold water, warm water, hot water, sauna, then reverse it…they were pretty advanced for ¨back in the day.¨ After the Romans were tossed out, the space was used as a cemetary. During those medieva times, at least 150 people were buried there (the holes were already in the ground, right?) At least two were very important people…they were entombed in their own, made-to-fit sarcophagi (the plural of sarcophagus.) If I had a sarcophagus, it would be made by Sun Mountain or Ogio.

So that’s it for the Preliminary Round of Golf Blogger Survivor. I hope to see you in the Final 5, but regardless:

Keep Blogging!!