Pluto was a planet; Wonder Bread built strong bodies twelve ways; you could depend on Social Security; the man in moon was in it, not on it; there were four channels in black and white; everyone hated Shredded Wheat; and Leslie Gore gave us all an out with, "that's the way boys are …”
Saturday, June 30, 2018
'50s and '60s ...
... when everything was in large print!
Pluto was a planet; Wonder Bread built strong bodies twelve ways; you could depend on Social Security; the man in moon was in it, not on it; there were four channels in black and white; everyone hated Shredded Wheat; and Leslie Gore gave us all an out with, "that's the way boys are …”
Pluto was a planet; Wonder Bread built strong bodies twelve ways; you could depend on Social Security; the man in moon was in it, not on it; there were four channels in black and white; everyone hated Shredded Wheat; and Leslie Gore gave us all an out with, "that's the way boys are …”
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
You go, Sam!
I’ve watched him play in a surgical symphony of shots that raised eyebrows and caused that boyish smile and cackling laugh. He seemed surprised, and yet it is what he expects from himself—of the stuff where expectation and effort are expected to meet success, where failure boils and then comes to rest on lowered shoulders. You can’t help but feel for his dissatisfaction on any particular day should it point south, though you know and you’ll witness the phoenix in his play soon enough. The incredulous expressions he offers in both success and failure don’t surprise me. There are those who possess a passion that propels an effort connected to a personal cost: golf is not a game, but a challenge. It matters little that the foe is a reflection, it is the challenge that offers the breed more than satisfaction; only in accomplishment is a beer truly deserved and peace preserved … you gotta love that.
You go, Sam!
Monday, June 25, 2018
Yeah, I know, it ain't about golf, but WTF!
You cannot go back and decide today what a person’s motives, experience, and understanding were—a hundred years later! We won the Civil War; we raped and pillaged the South and taxed away their land until all they had left was the difference of opinion that lived in the bronze statues and flags, saying I felt differently from you. Nearly 300,000 souls died in the South and were buried under a different flag—one that is banned today—but morons still wave flags with swastikas on them. Any historian will tell you it wasn’t all about slavery.
Should we remove Jefferson from our coins and history books because he had slaves (as did Washington and most others at that time)? Are we going to decide that Germans should have known about 6 million Jews and take fresh action against them today for what happened 70 years ago? Do we boycott Mercedes and BMW and beer? When do we start a Pearl Harbor hate month: "Sushi is un-American!"?
What other retro arrogance can we now bathe in to cleanse ourselves against histories that are now viewed in black and white but that were made in color? If those histories became "lessons," so be it—use them as such. I wonder who will be first to suggest that we burn all Laura Ingalls Wilder books in the name of the view from over here now—and how very right we are!
Who makes up this shit?! Michael Landon must be turning over in his grave.
Friday, June 22, 2018
Hey Joe...
It was written across his face, facing the white tees. The
expected challenge, when it appears to have increased, allows doubt to double
its threat. I believe it took about four holes for Joe Valdez to meet and
pass the angst. “I didn’t think I could keep up”—a sentence I would
ordinarily turn into something lewd or at least off-key, but on this occasion I
looked over at the sand-bagger riding shotgun in my cart and smiled.
There’s something humbling about a humble man; I missed the Humble
Class long ago and still see d’Artagnan while shaving. We traded questions
about golf, life, and yesterday—and left plenty of room for the moment. He
never complained, just rose to the occasion (another opp—but then again golf is
rife with them).
Joe Valdez is a curious man. I think curiosity is a trait that
extends one’s life, because it fills voids and gains its own appetite. It’s the
small stories in recent and not-so-recent pasts that often catch the listener
and make him thirsty for another small revelation in the enigmas shoved deeply
in another’s pocket. Trading such pearls on the way home with “The Hat” in
tow, I found myself open to revealing the less capitalized version of my story
and willing to show some vulnerable and even less savory sides of past shadows.
There is comfort in the trust we make with confederates frozen in a set of
seats going 65 mph, something in the laughs that loosens jaws, no matter the
score that day. I might have just let this go, just thought about it
instead writing about it. But for some reason, the comfort of the company made
its way down to my fingers, and I suspect a humble man named Joe had something
to do with it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Rule 24-16...
I don’t know what the true slope is for a man playing
the women’s tees, but I suspect it is far less than the
recorded 120 for women. I don’t know how we came to accept playing from
the women’s tees—though I think in Dennis’ case it was quite necessary and kept
him moving, vying, and part of the group; amen to that! There is a
handicap system in place that, until a year or so ago, we played to; we
understood its purpose and varied only when we wanted to step outside the norm
to visit a fresh look.
Changing the field of play seems so far from the
concept of golf, its handicap allowances, and purpose thereof. Would
you walk halfway down a bowling lane to make more strikes? Lower a volleyball
net to waist level to spike? Or add two or three more strikes at the plate
before you were out? (I love analogies because they’re the lazy man’s
offering when explanation and definition of what he wants to say elude him.)
Miniaturizing the game frankly makes no sense
and ignores the game’s foundations and purpose: fair play. The handicap
system has been in play for decades; besides, there is no fair or equitable way
of measuring men playing from the women’s tees;
there seems to be complete agreement on that. We play from the “senior”
tees: 5,968 yards. The actual white combo tees are the standard “white” tees at
6,178 yards. The women’s tees are 1,000 yards shorter than those!
It’s not a dig against those playing the women’s
tees. We somehow, I believe incorrectly, accepted it as okay until it became
apparent that we were missing the point: equity is ingrained in the game
already. The field of play is the field of play. Returning to the way the
game is supposed to be played eliminates the personal and imposes the concept
and rules we began with. Handicaps will rise, as they should, according to each
player’s rounds; the field of play will dictate a player’s true handicap
accurately.
Rule
24-16 of the USGA Handbook says:
“Anyone hitting from the women’s tees must have a uterus.”
(Of course I’m having fun with this. But seriously,
let’s all get back to playing the game the way it was designed, please!)
Monday, June 18, 2018
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