ONLY the keenest golfer or the sickest masochist could enjoy playing in the horrible weather that battered Birkdale this week. Boo Weekley is neither of these.
Golf's favourite redneck has come out with some crazy stuff in his time but it's hard not to nod enthusiastically in agreement with his latest musing: "If this is the summer then I couldn't live here."
Throw in the fact he had to leave his missus back home in sunny Florida holding their newborn baby son to come here and freeze for a week. Then add an ugly first round score of 80 that killed his challenge before hypothermia even had the chance to set in?
Safe to say he couldn't get on that plane home quick enough.
So when Boo lurches off the course on a day like Thursday and says he hates his job - a job most of us would run naked along Southport Pier for - he means every word.
But don't think for a minute that he's ungrateful. Truth is Weekley probably appreciates what he's doing MORE than any other guy on tour when you consider what he used to go through for £7.50 an hour.
Weekley explained: "I love this job but at the same time I hate it. I hate being away from my family and would much rather be at home helping my wife out with the baby.
"It was hard to leave them so to then come here and shoot 80 in the toughest conditions I've ever played in wasn't pretty.
"But I look at things a lot differently than some of these guys because at the end of the day it's only golf, you could be doing worse things in your life. You could be holding a shovel instead of a golf club.
"That's the way I see it because in the past I was the one holding shovels and tools so I appreciate what I do now all the more.
"For sure the worst job I ever had was as a hydroblaster at the Monsanto chemical plant. You had to use high-pressure water to clean the inside of these huge chemical tanks that held a million gallons.
"They'd lower you down and there would be two or three of y'all floating down there on a little boat spraying this stuff out.
"All the time it's dark and you can't see nothin' except a little manhole up in the roof. "Usually it would take 10 hours to do and we had to clean out every one of the cylinder holes. There were 3,652 of them all in as I remember counting them as we did it.
"There was some dangerous stuff in there such as chloric acid and ammonia.
"Put it this way, if you fell in it wasn't good.
"Luckily I never did but just in case we had to wear so much stuff to protect us. You'd have your regular clothes under a kevlar suit that was so tough you couldn't cut it - then you'd put on waterproof gear above that.
"So you've got all this stuff on and then you go into a tank that's 110 degrees inside.
"The first time I was a little scared but after I saw a couple of guys go down and, more importantly, come back out I thought 'well I gotta do it now, I ain't got no choice.'
"I could talk till I'm blue in the face about how tough it was but that's what I had to do to make a living so I just got on with it and I learned a lot from those times."
One big lesson Weekley has learned is how lucky he is to be blessed with a natural gift that hauled him out of those festering tanks all the way to the PGA Tour. Yet listening to him speak could fool you into believing he takes it for granted.
After all, this is the guy who this year described Augusta National as "just another golf course" and who last year asked Paul Lawrie if he was playing in The Open completely oblivious to the fact the Scot is a former champion.
A student of the game Weekley is not.
This lifelong lack of interest in watching a game he plays so well has earned him a Happy Gilmore-type reputation as the maverick who simply doesn't give a damn.
The tobacco-chewing village idiot who doesn't know nothin' about nothin' beyond huntin', shootin' and wrestlin' alligators.
And to a certain extent the stereotype is true (especially the alligator thing) but for all the gaps in his knowledge of life beyond his small town upbringing in the backwater town of Milton, Florida, there's something immensely engaging about Boo.
His genuine friendliness and impeccable manners towards every stranger he meets is admirable. That simple honesty of just opening his mouth and saying what he thinks without fear that people are laughing at rather than with him borders on childlike innocence.
You really can't help but warm to the guy. And it seems most of his fellow pros feel the same way which could make him a popular and powerful member of this year's Ryder Cup team. For so long now the common belief is that Europe's dominance at the biennial matches is jet propelled by a unique camaraderie of guys who know each other on tour as friends first and rivals second.
In contrast the Americans, who tend to be more solitary animals on the PGA Tour, have seemed to be crying out for a character who can bring humour and unity to their team room. A mascot if you like.
Weekley reckons he could be that man even if he doesn't know much about the Ryder Cup. He said: "I probably would bring something to the team room.
"Having never been there I don't know how on top of each other everybody is but I know my approach to golf is different from most. It isn't that I don't give a s***, I just don't give a s*** about golf.
"Its importance in life and the big picture is over-rated and I just don't understand how some people react when it doesn't go well.
"To me it's just a job and when you've got it done you go away and have a good time.
"I haven't paid much attention to the Ryder Cup in the past but it's something I really want to do. I would be proud to represent my country and be able to tell my kids about it when they're older."
When told Miguel Angel Jimenez (left) insisted the European team room at Oakland Hills was stocked with Rioja red wine and cigars, Boo stops for a minute and ponders if there are any home comforts he couldn't live without for a week.
Then in that distinctive Southern drawl he serves up another gem: "I don't know. I mean I don't smoke, I do drink a little but maybe I'd ask for some chewing tobacco."
Nick Faldo better pray that's all Weekley chews up and spits out at Valhalla.
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