This isn’t a replacement for Doug Pugh’s column.

There is no replacement for either of the columns nor for Doug, which a few others and I have discovered on a Friday afternoon. What I and a few others have discovered is that the only thing better than the print version is Doug himself. We enjoy each other’s company in agreement and disagreement. We have a few extra chairs on occasion.

The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal. He was in a bind, cuz he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal …

… when he came upon two men who didn’t mind his company. One named Joe and one named Lefty. They were both willing to take their chances with the Prince of Darkness.

I probably have no business commenting on this PGA/LIV thing, since I haven’t even played a round in several decades. That last occasion was a foursome at a course somewhere in Southwest Michigan.

Two of the four were retired farmers from the Posen area and the third a blind man from Marcellus. All were in their 80s except me. I was in my 60s. I came in third, beating the blind man by a stroke. Seriously.

The Phil Mickelson thing is simple and only disappointing if you were a fan of his, which I never was. It was simply a question of how cheap he could be bought. How cheap? Two hundred million, and that was just to put his name on the LIV list of players. Somehow, having Phil in the list will take away one’s disquiet with his alliance with the crown prince and Saudi Arabia.

We knew he had a gambling habit. So, there’s no wonder he would jump at those numbers. He’s simply the most recent athlete in the most recent sport on the entertainment merry-go-round to jump for the golden hoop with his No. 2 iron in hand.

He knew whose bed he was getting into, and who was under the covers. He referred to them as crazy “m-effers.”

Phil, don’t be surprised at the present you may find on your pillow some morning, but it will be a camel’s head, not a thoroughbred. Really, this is just the most recent example of astronomical salaries/prizes awarded to men with the ability to hit a ball into a hole, which always seemed to me to be slightly smaller than the little white ball.

Anyway, it’s just a number, isn’t it?

They liked the feel of his dollar bills and the clink of his silver coins (30, I’m told) and bars of gold stained with Jamal’s Khashoggi blood. Yesterday’s pariah red went into Lefty’s hand and Joe’s right came out white.

We’re a big tent, says every political party in every country that has them. That’s always a problem for every party. The broader the invite, the more likely someone won’t like the canapes. And look who snuck his nose underneath our tent, and did so at the behest of our prexy, the same Joe who recognized the devil he called a pariah just a few short weeks ago.

I’ve been around political animals long enough that I’m seldom surprised by flip-flops, but I confess to be somewhat shocked by Joe’s embrace of the crown prince. That will have to be an uncomfortable hug. This switcheroo will despoil the legacy of Joe and the Biden name. I guess a lifetime of trading this for that can lead you into a time and place where you’re standing on a street corner with your reputation tucked under your arm, in a plain brown wrapper, ready to trade it for crown jewels. I’m sure you can explain this to Hunter, but, Joe, how will you explain it to Beau?

The devil got whopped by Daniel Webster in 1852 and Charlie Daniels fiddled him up in 1979, but Beelzebub had a prince at hand and his caddy was Giuliani, Rudy, who handed the prince his platinum driver and whispered in his ear, “You purchased Lefty with 200 million and Jamal Khashoggi’s in pieces.”

Then he winked at Joe and clicked his heels and you can guess the rest.

Keith Titus is an author and a former chairman of the Alpena County Democratic Party.