Men Play Golf? Because?
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The other day, I was stopped at a light when I looked out my side window at the construction crew that had only moments before been standing around, reclining on their shovels as they watched the non-union member of their crew dig a hole. Two of them had suddenly become embroiled in a heated argument.
I admittedly rubbernecked a little, as seeing these two great behemoths come to blows was too enticing a spectacle to miss. I rolled down my window to hear what they were fighting about. Politics? A woman? The war? Perhaps one was betrothed to the mother of the other and was now insisting on being called “Daddy.”
As the window dropped, their enraged voices came through:“If this piece of shit didn’t cheat on his fucking strokes, there is no way he would have won.” “Fuck you,” replied the second man. “I asked if you wanted to keep score. You said ‘naw, fuck it Rick, I trust ya’ where the fuck is that trust now, bitch?” “You’ve never had a goddamn birdie on the sixth hole in your whole fucking life,” the first man asserted, pointing emphatically as the two stared like rabid junkyard dogs at each other. “Your wife knows you can’t hit a hole that well.”
I sat horrified, mystified, appalled, repelled. Were these men talking about golf? What sort of abysmal mirror world had I stumbled into wherein construction workers – men with sweat on their brow and dirt under their fingernails – were about to engage in fisticuffs over golf?
I have seen this emerging as a trend more and more often. Men are now selecting golf as their sport of choice. I once accidentally walked in on my son as he watched an episode of “Everybody Loves Raymond.” I was transfixed that they were talking about abandoning their wives to go and golf. Incidentally, I would have much preferred to walk in on him watching snuff pornography. At least then I wouldn’t feel like a failure as a father.
But it seems that more and more, the greens of the country clubs are being populated by actual country folk. To this I can only ask: “Where are the goddamn men?”
Gone, it seems, are the days of John Henry challenging a steam hammer to a contest of brute power. Gone are the days of Davy Crockett bleeding into the dirt of the Alamo. Now the men of the nation seem to be skipping out of the shower with leave-in conditioner and product in their hair to mince off to the links.
What happened men? Did Tennis and Ultimate Frisbee become too high impact? No reason to mar a perfectly perfect manicure, is there? I don’t personally engage in sports, but if I did, it would damn sure be something with some bloodshed. Some broken bones. Where terms like “Roughing the Kicker,” “Stamping,” “Hacking,” “Slide Tackling,” “Charging,” and “Unnecessary Roughness” were bandied about. Not where “Fairway,” “Birdie,” and fucking “Handicap” are ever used, lest someone actually find themselves in a wheel chair.
Please men. Come back to us.