The only possible way John Daly could give less of a fuck is if he blew the smoke in the interviewer’s face. That’s it. Maybe pull his dick out too. But just ripping a rocket on the course is basically pissing on the ashes of Chubbs Peterson and all the old-timers who consider golf a “gentleman’s game.” He knows this. He didn’t absolutely need to light up a cancer stick on the course right then and there but he wanted to give the double birds to all the plastic smiled douches he’s met in the clubhouses over the years. While Phil Mickelson is shaking hands and kissing babies and telling dad jokes on the course, Daly is trying to hunt down some cocaine for the back 9. Don’t fucking change, Johnny Boy. Don’t let your light be dimmed. You’re a goddamn inspiration. And hit me up if you want me to throw down for that coke.