“You’ve always had a purpose-your business, your family, politics,” the friend said. After leaving office, Boehner says a longtime family friend approached him. At 67, Boehner is liberated-to say what he spent many years trying not to say to smoke his two packs a day without undue stress to chuckle at the latest crisis in Washington and whisper to himself those three magic words: “Not my problem.” And yet he is struggling-with the lingering perception that he was run out of Congress with his alarm about the country’s future and with the question of what he’s supposed to do next. To outsiders, Boehner might just be the happiest man alive, a liberated retiree who spends his days swirling merlot and cackling at Speaker Paul Ryan’s misfortune. But these days … ” Boehner pauses for several seconds, then pulls hard on the Camel 99 wedged between his knuckles. I could always concentrate on what I had to do. “That’s my biggest problem in golf these days. “You have to concentrate while you hit the ball,” he tells me. After he misses that 10-foot putt, and we climb into our cart, I ask why. Sensing my surprise, Boehner says his handicap has skyrocketed since leaving Congress two years ago. Long considered one of Washington’s finest golfers, he is spraying shots left and right with choppy, self-doubting swings. With wealthy donors ponying up to play alongside them-but some of his old buddies also in town-Boehner decides to form a group of nine players, myself and Zoeller included, and creates a team scramble that pits five golfers against the other four.īut something isn’t right with the former speaker’s game. The former speaker is one of two star attractions the other is his friend, the professional golfer Fuzzy Zoeller, a character known more for his off-color jokes than his two major championships. Tucked away in West Chester, Ohio-an affluent enclave of suburban Cincinnati, part of his old district-the club is hosting a charity fundraiser, dubbed the “Boehner Classic,” benefiting a nearby Boys & Girls Club. We’re on Boehner’s home course, the Wetherington Golf and Country Club, on a Monday afternoon in early June. Today he is saying it with ruinous frequency. House speaker uses it-“Aww, Jee-sus, Boner!”-it’s almost always to rebuke himself for a bad one. When spoken by his close friends-“Thatta boy, Boner!”-it’s almost always to congratulate him on a good shot. To play golf with John Boehner is to learn there are unwritten rules governing the use of the word Boner. As the Titleist Pro V1 finds its resting place, several feet shy and slightly west of its final destination, he can’t mask his frustration. The veins are still dancing in his muscular, leathery legs as the blade retreats from the ball, and it’s apparent within moments of their reunion that something isn’t right. With a posture as unique as his personality-back hunched over nearly parallel to the turf, left shoulder dipped well below the right, fingers interlocked around a grip of blue rubber-he gazes downward and shuffles his feet. We’re on the green now, surveying his 10-foot par attempt, a modest breeze transporting his tobacco cologne. Maybe it’s a metaphor for a conservative politician who often turned to liberals in crunch time, but I’m too busy losing $20 on this hole to appreciate it. WEST CHESTER, Ohio-He swings the golf club like a right-hander, which he is, but putts as a southpaw. Tim Alberta is national political reporter at Politico Magazine.
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