A Latrobe guy considers what Trump said about Palmer

 Arnold Palmer was in the news this weekend.

Well, part of him was in the news.

For you innocents out there, I’m referring to his genitalia. One of the two major party candidates for the office of U.S. president talked about Palmer’s penis as if it were the club he carried with him where ever he went.

Care to take a wild guess as to which candidate broached the subject?

It caused a national stir, and if we get anymore stirring provocations we’re bound to go stir crazy.

Many were outraged. Some said Palmer would have been flattered.

Me, I am chagrinned and keep thinking, well, it was nice while it lasted. See, I am the author of a 2018 book about Palmer and his enduring connections to Latrobe, “Arnold Palmer: Homespun Stories of The King.”

Being from Latrobe, we’re always asked what’s Palmer really like. I had a ready answer:

“Arnold Palmer is perfectly cool, authentic and refreshing. If Arnold Palmer were a drink he’d be an Arnold Palmer,” I’d say. “What’s he like? If Arnold Palmer were the only member of The Greatest Generation it would still be The Greatest Generation solely because it included Arnold Palmer.”

And that’s the God’s-honest truth. He was just the greatest. I always make that clear.

Now I fear people are going to go right to the penis.

Do I tell the truth and say it never once came up — and I mean the subject.

Will the admission that I never once talked cock with The King forever doom me to outsider status.

“Well, yeah, he may have written a word book about Palmer and the book may be 215 pages long but he can’t tell me how long was his schlong so I don’t know if we can trust him.”

And what will this do to his namesake Arnold Palmer drink? Will they start to serve it in deeper glasses. What kind of banter will ensue when you’ve had a bad day and say, “Bartender, give me an Arnold Palmer, will you? And make sure it’s a stiff one!”

Remember, a 3-hour erection is not a side effect. A 3-hour erection is a front effect.

I thought of conducting an investigation. But exhuming him from a truly unplayable lie for the purpose of a routine pecker check would seem blasphemous. 

Far less intrusive was going to the Arnold Palmer statue at the Arnold Palmer regional airport.It may have sounded like a good idea, but only to those who expect their statue subjects to be wearing their Speedo.

Maybe Palmer, the gold-standard when it came to sponsor product commitment, just figured out a from-the-grave way to get us talking about the kind of balls with which he plays.

Let’s hope, too, Trump dumps the whole topic before he becomes confused and begins insisting the hung one wasn’t Arnold.

It was Fred.