Following a defiant seventh-round knockout of previously unbeaten Jose Pedraza (22-1, 12...
Straight No Chaser: Tom And Golf
He trains like a Navy Seal, eats like a boxer in training, still takes ballet, yoga, Karate . . . And despite being in such phenomenal shape – he can’t play in the NFL any longer, he can’t lead the league in TDs, Yards per. Catch, or YAC.
Gault is the picture of an gracefully aging athlete. Outside of his body being able to recuperated every seven days . . . .that’s the question.
Tom Watson, days away from 60, not any-where near the physical prototype Gault is, never was, can still win a major golfing event . . . .Damn near did.
C’mon man, what’s that say about the “sport of golf” if a guy, AARP certified . . . can beat men half his age? Here, let me tell your delusional asses what that means — Golf ain’t no sport.
Sorry, but alas you ass, Golf is a recreational endeavor, on the identical tier of Pool, Bowling and Auto Racing. A game composed primary of White cats from upper middle class backgrounds . . . and up.
Let me draw you a picture of how golf was elevated to sports status. First and foremost, it’s a country club game, historically associated with the wealthy, those living a leisurely lifestyle.
Those no connection between the working class and golf, except the poor Irish kid rising from caddie to pro, and that story will highlight the obstacles all the frat boys placed in his path.
The equipment and fees to practice and play the game make it off limits to the kids of a fireman and teacher . . . need I say more?
The game had it’s nitch it played to on the American sports scene, as a kid in the late 60s and throughout the 70s, golf had no populist appeal, you saw it on ABC or NBC weekend mornings, it always left you wondering why they CBS had on golf instead of the Chiefs/Raiders showdown . . . ?
But with the election of Reagan in 1980, the national mood turning it’s back on the Blue-Collar world, allowing this puppet of the elites to break the back of organized labor, mock the “help wanted” pages of newspapers and slash the social safety net created by FDR and LBJ . . .
Almost overnight everybody wanted to be a player, a baller, a shot caller, greed was good, GQ was in. Everybody was buying knock-offs at the Oak Tree, the Merry-Go-Round, walking around college campuses with ties and brief cases. Everybody was headed to Wall Street.
Greed and gluttony, exemplified by maids, drivers, Butlers, cooks and . . . golf. The games biggest promoter are the wealthy men who not play it, but love it.
Golf and tennis were the immediate benefactors of the everyday guys’ newfound upper crust thirst. All of a sudden, the drones were majoring in business, solely because “that’s where the money is,” all babbled about how they had to pick up the game, because that’s where all the big deals are made.
Only big shots, decision makers, corporate hustlers could play golf, if you considered yourself “going up”, then you needed to be on the greens.
The game of golf is associated with social mobility, movin’ on up . . . arriving
These are white collar pawns, pushing business phone systems, pills, GM car parts, and they see themselves but steps away from . . . . legitimacy, leap frogging the family from lower middle class to a half million dollar Mini Mansion. And the road to that family estate . . . ran thru a country club golf course.
Golf is an required add-on. The Yuppie or Buppie had to have some mix of the following to be legit; Alumni license plates, attached to a BMWer or Benze, brandishing Gucci Belts, shoes, watches and draws, Brooks Brother’s attire, pad in the gated suburban neighborhood, lawn boy, and you had to golf.
Golf was apart of the “on-paper” con game a person was running. Visually, on paper, as in resume it was a definite plus. Akin to belonging to a fraternity.
Then Tiger came along. Everybody . . . And their momma’s now wanted to golf. Everybody as in other people besides rich white guys had someone to pay attention to, identify with and root for to whip these pompous arrogant weasels asses from Pebbles Beach to the Masters Plantation in Augusta . . . .
Of Course the numbers have fallen from the initial highs when Tiger first arrived, but golf is now cemented in as the sport of aging baby-boomers, an essential tool in the briefcase for Afro-Americans aspiring for authenticity.
Translation, if your not golfing – you’re eyes aren’t opened daddy-o, you haven’t been enlightened, you ain’t shit, if you don’t slap whitey a couple of days a week.
And no, I don’t mean your white wife’s ass.
I’m only permitted to hang out with my materialistic partners who’re corporate checker board pieces . . . because I ski, hike ( Grand Canyon floor baby, Phantom Ranch, stew) and snorkel in the Carribean . . . those bourgeois interest get me in the “Treehouse” . . . as if I give a damn.
I come from a family of Q-Dogs and Kappas – I pledged Me-Phi-Me, I follow no man because of his mere associations.
And as these guys age, waist inflate from 34 to 42, they get fat man’s disease, they must sleep with that Buck Rodgers in the 25 and a half century air mask on because the blubber is choking off their air-ways called a throat/pizza intake pipe, golf in the only physical activity they can indulge in . . .
So, in an effort to extend and erect their limping penises, they refer to the only game they still have the skill-set and endurance to . . . butcher – as a “Sport.” It’s like an internal reenforcement mechanism or something.
You know, if we all refer to it as a sport, then it’s a sport.
If we all call it a war, and not American Imperialism . . . then it’s a war.
Not to mention, golf is the married man’s mistress, his all-day E-Ticket to hang out with his boys . . . and his mistresses.
So Forgive me, but when a 59 year old man can navigate, manipulate and ultimately, by the 18th hole, damn near dictate, mandate, create a win, in a field of the games best, that simply and loudly states – it’s not an athletic endeavor. It’s a recreation activity. And it also speaks World Book Encyclopedia volumes about other pro golfers.
Not to mention, let me toss gas on this burning bush – Tiger is dominating because Golf today is a game akin to sports in America . . . 1954. When you see Jim Brown draggin’ seven players down the field, the other four running around looking for their jocks, please note, those players are of the caucasian persuasion . . . and that matters.
Same thing in part for Satchel Paige, who at 42 went 6-1 for the Tribe in 1948, throwing against White boys . . . I’m not taking anything from Mr. Paige or Brown, but it matters they destroyed all white competition.
C’mon, hold my hand, it’s all-right, the truth will set you free Johnny O’Brian . . . Tiger has taken names and whipped ass – because his competition is soft, country club soft.
Tiger is tougher, as is most athletes of color – because this White man’s world has made us, our father and Grandfathers tougher. We had to be, we are all, by n’ large the descendent of those who couldn’t be broken and busted by White men – gone mad.
Need I say more Rush? Perhaps we all should consider Tiger’s competition . . . or lack of?
Gee, Pro Bass fishermen are most likely over the hill at 59 . . . but not golfers?
Take this to its logical 6th grade conclusion; if a guy can almost, shoulda’ won at 77 years old, then this must not be a contest where . . . top, world class athletic skills are needed. Thus and therefore, he’s no athlete, or at least you don’t have to be one to dominate the game of golf.