POPSICLE BROTHERS’ REPORT – #2 NHL 2016...
Straight No Chaser: Fat-Assed Arrogance
All good things must come to an end……thank god
DENVER — I’ve always been under the impression most people who play golf are plainly posturing and pretending – keeping up with the Jones’s is what my mother would call it.
The game of golf, the symbol of a country club lifestyle, associated with tight ass Brits and Scotts – and rightfully so, for decades – required money. At the end of the day, to play golf you had to be wealthy, White, and a dude…
The game itself is steeped in elitism, racism and sexism. But, with Tigers grand as hell emergence, it became an essential tool not just for aspiring Yuppies but Bubbies as well, to the point ….it makes me want to vomit.
The multi-million dollar homes in the gated communities surrounding the major attraction – the golf course. Trips abroad, focused not on historical sites, natural wonders or nude beaches….but on golf courses.
It is my sincere hope; the economic depression this nation is settling into will serve as a sort of reformation for golf. Hopefully the folks who truly love the game of golf will be left to it, able to raise that metal lightening rod to the sky…. in a summer electrical storm, but with a bit of luck – the posers and wanna-bees will fade away, drop the game, move on to the next activity which reflects ones’ wallet size yet takes less bills out.
Now, don’t twist this inside out, I’m an avid skier, I’ve hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and snorkeled in underwater national parks, but I invest my resources in these pursuits because I actually love to do these things, not because I may meet an potential client or if seen hiking in the Rockies by the right folks, I may win some bid or contrast.
There’s a difference, I just don’t have time to go into it.
The golf conversation - where you golf, what you golf with… Your swing, your shoes. How your game is evolving or eroding. This dull dialog comes hand-in-hand with thebusiness card, prestigious grad school info and the other extensions of one’s penis….or clitoris.
The big house you don’t need, the time share vacationproperty you don’t use…..and today can’t get rid of. Giant SUV’s – which never goes of the black-top. Need it for Four wheeling? Sure, when you roll thru the flower bed along the driveway.
This line of conversation gives me an Excedrin headache No. 757
I know, I know, I know…..I’m assuming most folks playing the game of golf aren’t doing it because of their love for the game – and this assumption is very high and all-mighty on my behalf. Well, yeah it is, sorry, I’m just offering an observation, which, after all – is just like assholes, we’ve all got one.
I’ve grown weary and leery of unbridled capitalism, where financial profit is all that matters in a nation where we all maintain the morals and values…most conducive to corporate America’s bottom line. Look where it’s gotten us.
Anyway, I’d bet over half the folks who call themselves golfers…..are into it because of what it allegedly implies. Money, class, status ….Instead of legit interest in the game of golf, I see the vast overwhelming majority of its participants as “fronting.”
Golf is like an accessory, it simply goes with the infinity pool, the gourmet kitchen – you never use, with stainless steel appliances which belong in a cruise ships galley and master closets as big as a hut in Trinidad, where a family of five live. Golf and maids. Golf and masseuses. Golf and nannies. Golf and moms/dads who’re semi-retired at 40.
C’mon, retired at 40. It stuns me how we can all pretend to be chiefs….who’s the Indians? Everybody’s large and in-charge. This is the first generation, my generation which in my humble estimation…..would pay to have someone wipe their ass for them. And the guy who would have someone do that for him, I’d bet….plays golf.
For whatever the reason, I just don’t see bowlers having someone wipe their asses for them. They appear to be too grounded. There just seems to be a profile which fits, goes hand in hand with ….golf.
A certain type of lounge lizard is drawn to it. Golf falsely projects…..class, style, an impression one grew up – on the right side of the light rail tracks. Beyond tennis and swimming, the original country club pastimes, golf is right there with water polo, fencing and croquette.
It also provides hours away from the ol’ ball and chain….. I guess it can’t be all bad…. I got out of high school with the onset of Reagan’s Revolution, and with that black night came this attitude and mind-set of…..
rich people are better than poor people, so, if you were rollin’, then you had to be obsessed with slapping whitey.
Golf became a foundational cornerstone for my greed- driven era – consumed with having it all. Substance has no substance, image is everything.
Now anybody who wanted to be somebody in American society, if they wanted to succeed in the cutthroat corporate world, would have to learn the game. It was perceived as mandatory, and to succeed at certain levels, maybe it was, but at the end of the day, it was another concession, another buying into the world of the grey flannel suit. Company first. Career before enlightment. Career before family.
Tiger merely made it cool.
The game of golf has become a symbol of the America I don’t like. It embodies the pretentious and arrogant money hungry gluttonous simple minded little bastards we’ve tragically become.
And the budding black middle class has adopted golf right along with the other drapings of so-called success without question. Which is tragic. I know folks golfing because they think their suppose to golf…it goes with their home or job title.
Ain’t that a bitch….
You know what the good fellow says; who-ever in the hell he is…despite your effort to avoid the working class rif-raft, the unwashed masses, the guy with the knife in a parking lot or the punks in the restaurant – it will be the dude in the three grand suit with alligator shoes and a sheep skin degree, who’ll bend you and your family financially over backwards… turn you inside out, and you’ll let him because of his cool business card, and…. he golfs where you do.
Now as the sun sets on this column, I confess, I just can’t type the words golf and sport in the same sentence, it would be akin to equating boxing with Tiddly-Winks or basketball with Extreme Badminton, or NCAA football with Extreme Bike Riding or Extreme Tether BalI with baseball, Extreme Checkers with …you get it. I just refuse to do it.
You don’t have to be a great athlete to be a great golfer, but you can be a horrible athlete and be a great golfer. Y-e-s this argument is even on the table because so many cats my age can no longer participate in any other physical activities, but want to continue to see themselves as athletes playing a sport… with a 43 inch waist.
I know cats that wheel the golf carts around instead of walking, and still claim their getting in some exercise. Please, you do yourself better by pushing a shopping cart around the store.
Anyway, the institution of golf is about to be scaled back, and I for one am happy, very happy.