This May Be the Only Round Poor Guy Wins

I get a call from a PR guy who wants me to play golf on my day off with some pug and write about him. Never heard of Corrie Sanders, but the PR guy says he’s a left-handed scratch golfer, and a good heavyweight who will fight at Staples Center on Saturday.

I think the sport of boxing is stupid, and the PR guy (Steve Brener) is known for giving hot tips on horses that end up running like three-legged donkeys.

I agree to play, though, because the Barkers just moved in next door, and although I have no idea how obnoxious the new neighbors might be, there’s no shutting up their ugly, scrawny dogs.

So I go to Riviera Country Club for some peace and quiet, and the first person I see is Tom Kelly. And I thought the Barkers were loud.

Kelly worked as a USC broadcaster for 43 years, 17 Rose Bowls, five national champions, and I know this because Kelly says to me, “Hi, I’m Tom Kelly, I was a USC broadcaster for 43 years, 17 Rose Bowls, five national....”

Little-known, unconfirmed story: Tom Kelly was in attendance at the first golf tournament to use “quiet please” signs. What a coincidence.

I love Tom Kelly, of course, because I’m a die-hard Trojan fan until they lose again, only he tells me USC no longer uses him to do any of its games, including basketball. I’m shocked. I had no idea USC broadcast its basketball games.

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THE FOLKS at Riviera are really nice. I guess they’re thankful I’ll be taking Kelly to the course and away from the clubhouse.

The pug arrives with an entourage, which includes manager, trainer, PR rep and a bunch of women. I know what it’s like to be followed by a bunch of women, but I notice the women who are following the pug aren’t yelling nasty things at him.

The folks at Riviera refuse to allow the women on the course. They also frown when I begin applauding.

They tell the pug it’s a liability issue, because spectators are not allowed on the course. I don’t mention anything about the thousands of spectators that come here every year for the L.A. Open; no reason to start another fight the pug can’t win.

The boxer drives our cart to the white tees. I’m beginning to understand why everybody says he’s a scratch golfer. Had the women joined us, I think I know where he would have driven the cart.

He pulls out a four-iron. He stands 6 feet 4, weighs 230-something pounds and is supposed to be a tough guy. His first shot rolls a little more than 100 yards.

I drive the ball, according to astute caddie Armando Morales’ calculations, 150 yards beyond the tough guy who hits like a girl. I don’t laugh anywhere near as hard as the boxer claims I do. I start talking to the pug about the LPGA, so he might feel at home, and he says, “It’s not how you drive, it’s how you arrive.” I guess he read one of Muhammad Ali’s books.

Tom Kelly says something too, but doesn’t he always?

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“IT’S NICE to be the underdog,” says the pug, and I carry maybe a 14 or 18 handicap depending on whom I’m playing and the stakes, and the pug considers himself the underdog? “I’m talking about Vitali Klitschko.”

Never heard of the guy.

“We’re all humans; everybody is beatable,” the pug says, and if I wanted a lesson on life I’d have stayed home, turned on Dr. Phil, opened the gate and allowed the Barkers to run away.

He says he wants to fight a few more times and then work on his farm in South Africa, where he invites hunters to try to knock off Bambi. He says he might also give the senior golf tour a try, I presume as a caddie.

At one point we bump into singer Johnny Mathis, the pug shakes his hand and then tells me how much he doesn’t like boxing. “It’s crazy, two guys going in the ring and trying to beat each other up. I just have this God-given talent, and I’ve got to use it.” I worry he’s going to start bawling.

I mention a Mathis song: “Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries,” and he looks at me funny. So I tell him (“Chances Are ... “) and he says, “Oh, that’s who that is.”

About this time Kelly hits our golf cart with a ball. I worry the boxer is going to faint. (You shouldn’t miss the first round of Saturday’s fight, or you might miss the whole thing.)

He tells me he worked with a sports psychologist before his fight with the other Klitschko, and it helped him win. I tell him after yet another of his bogeys he might want to give the sports shrink a call.

He laughs. There’s no question this is a nice guy, maybe one of the nicest you’ll ever come across lying flat on their back in the ring. I try to get a rise out of him, but he rolls with everything, probably because he has taken harder shots.

I remind him his real first name is Cornelius, which is kind of dorky and which explains why he grew up fighting. He doesn’t blink. His left ear has been smashed into the side of his head, and I point out how ugly it looks. I notice Tom Kelly is talking to him, and the boxer doesn’t even appear annoyed.

Obviously, I feel sorry for the lovable pug, and let him win the golf match -- so he can win something while he’s in L.A.

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NEWS THAT a pair of USC teammates from last year’s team were arraigned on separate gun-related incidents, and the acknowledgment by one that other USC players have guns and target-shoot, brings new meaning to the suggestion the Trojans have more weapons in their arsenal than UCLA.

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I’M TOLD there is a horse running at Hollywood Park in the third today by the name of Bobby The Bagger. Wouldn’t be surprised if it never leaves the gate.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.