Has there been a greater battle between millennials and whichever letter defines the older generation than Phil Mickelson’s “meltdown” on Saturday? My dad, an established old guy, thinks being banned from all future US Opens is a fair punishment. I saw some old British guy on TV, John Hopkins (great name), treating Phil’s actions like he clubbed a baby seal, or worse, got taco bell for breakfast while sober. I mean, I guess we shouldn’t be shocked, these are the same people that hate when Yasiel Puig bat flips, Terrell Owens stands on a star, or when Ron Artest assaults civilians. But this? THIS?

Oh, it violates the sanctity of the game? Listen, when you use the word “sanctity” as a means to prove your argument, your an asshole. You’re watching golf, not receiving communion.

What our elders don’t understand is that out first taste of golf wasn’t real golf. It wasn’t a young Tiger Woods. Our first taste of golf was Happy Gilmore. My first memory of the PGA was Payne Stewart wearing knickers then dying in a plane crash and thinking “well that’s a very fitting first name.” I was a weird kid, but I digress.  We, the Happy Gilmore generation (Gil-ennials? (nope)), saw first hand what attitude can do for the sport of golf. It can skyrocket viewership and get you a gold jacket while you’re at it*. It ultimately taught us, as viewers, to have a better understanding that sports are a form of entertainment. I know people say “it’s great to see they’re relatable” in regards to Phil but I don’t necessarily agree with that. When I watch something I want it to make me say “What the fuck did I just watch!” It can be sports, a movie, or porn. Doesn’t matter. If I turn on a screen I want to be entertained and that’s exactly what Phil did.

*I was so disappointed when I found out that the most coveted thing in golf was a green jacket and not gold. That’s why I prefer football.