But several others posted similar "pig vomit" sentiments below the online Page 2 column, contending the Marine was used so credit would not have to be given to UCLA.
The world is one crazy place.
So here I am Monday morning with Ross & Friends at Calabasas Country Club, lucky to be at such an oasis and surrounded by good people.
It's good to be reminded that everyone is not a crackpot, although I am now teamed with Dave Hammers, Bob Hill and Jerry Mook.
They've done more in their lives than most athletes would ever hope to accomplish, but I'm telling them they are nobodies. After all, I'm the celebrity in the group, and for some reason I have to keep reminding them.
The three are in their 70s, friends since their days at Loyola before it became Loyola Marymount, all successful, all married to their first wives and not one of them much of a golfer.
Hammers designs the automatic detection system — you know, the spinning radar square on aircraft carriers — which makes it a little uncomfortable when he asks, what have you done with your life?
"Dave teaches an electromagnetic radar class at LMU now," says Mook. "I go to LMU basketball games."
Mook is a hoot because you have to be if your name is Mook. He put together a wholesale library book company. He's also a diehard Republican who can't figure out why his ball is always going right.
Hill is a two-time mayor of Calabasas and a stockbroker who was in Cantor Fitzgerald's L.A. office the morning of the World Trade Center attack, 658 of his colleagues dying.
"One woman called that morning all excited about a trade," he recalls. "I never heard from her again."
Hill is married to Kathleen. But of course he is, knowing he would be after his first date.
"I hit the lottery," he says.
Kathleen can no longer speak because of something I can't pronounce, but a computer for communication works just fine.
"Life is good," says Hill, and apparently he's not a Trojans fan.
They all talk sports, but sports does not govern their rich lives, which is really too bad if you want to win a tournament and you're stuck with three stiffs who really should have taken golf lessons.
But standing here late in the day, the shadows creeping in, the trees turning colors, no one looking at their cellphone, stomach hurting from so many laughs, Hill lining up another putt he'd miss — it was just perfect.
Sometimes, I guess, you just have to be reminded what really matters.
I said as much to everyone, hoping Hill gets the message and maybe makes the putt next year.