Saturday, January 18, 2014

Really? Give me a break . . .

Those who know me know I'm really into golf. So it shouldn't be a surprise that I'm interested in pro golf tournaments. I like to watch the LPGA because the ladies frequently show better fundamentals than the men, and I can learn from that, and I have a better chance of driving the ball as far as the women.

This summer the ladies are having a major event at Pinehurst a week after the PGA will have a tournament on the exact same course. That should really be interesting, to see what the women can do in comparison to the men.

But I heard that some of the ladies are worried that the course will be beat up from the men playing on it just a week before.

Give me a break. It's Pinehurst for heavens sake, and you can bet your grandmother that the course will have pretty much nothing but maintenance for the intervening few days between the tournaments. No golf course is perfect but tournament golf course preparation is a far cry from what most of us see -- even club golfers.

And public courses? The ladies are worried about three and four day old divots? You go to public courses and you'll even find divots on the driving tees where some poor hacker has taken a divot with his driver, four inches behind the ball and two inches deep -- after having done the same thing with a practice swing. Then he does it again, fifteen yards ahead, because that's as far as the ball dribbled after he hacked up the tee box. Then, eventually, he slams his putter into the green leaving a small trench, because he missed his fourth putt that was only eight feet away from the hole.

So what do everyday golfers do in such conditions? Play it as it lies and accept what the course gives you. That's what golf asks.

Give me a break. Top pro golfers are a coddled bunch. Watch one of 'em throw a small tantrum because a camera clicked or a mosquito farted in the next county, as he was making a backswing. Compare that to competitive gymnastics where a little fifteen year old girl will do a cartwheel into a front flip and land in perfect balance with her little feet on a four inch balance beam, all while music is playing elsewhere in the gym for floor exercises while the spectators are cheering and hooting for some other little girl in a different location flying around the uneven parallel bars. And pro golfers want silence as they hit a ball.

No golfer ever risked a concussion or broken collarbone or a shredded knee while competing.

Well, one thing. Pro golfers, men and women, don't get paid for just showing up. Sure, they live a coddled life compared to most of us, but their comfort is nothing to pro basketball players, who get a million or two for dogging it up and down the court, whether the team wins or loses, after having been exempted from all the normal expectations and rules of civilized human social behavior from the age of fourteen on, because they reached the height of six foot three in the eighth grade.

Give me a break.

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