Have you noticed how Tiger Woods, since he’s become Mr. Adonis from his 6-hour-per-day gym workouts, holds the pose on his backswing just a couple of seconds longer than he used to? Wants to give us all time to admire his physique, and get the photos, I suppose. We’re used to seeing Michelle Wie and Paula Creamer holding that pose, but I think the Tiger is getting just a little carried away in the vanity department these days. Somebody needs to sit him down and ask him, “Who do you think you are? Tiger Woods?” The self-importance is leading me to believe that perhaps he’s found a cure for cancer, but is keeping it quiet for now, waiting to make an announcement to the world after he wins the next Masters. I don’t want to be the one to remind him that he’s actually just hitting a little golf ball into a hole in the ground, but I might have to if no one else does.
Somebody once said, when asked if he enjoyed playing golf, “Why would I want to ruin a good walk in the park?” I actually love playing golf. I’m a pretty bad golfer compared to a good golfer, but for just playing every two or three years, I can usually find the hole with the ball before it gets dark. I’d probably be better if I got some of those golf shoes with the spikes so that I could actually walk on that beautifully manicured grass without slipping, sliding, stumbling, tripping and falling down all over the place. Get a good grip on the lawn, y’know. Hazardous ground, those golf courses. And maybe a pastel shirt and pants outfit to complete the look.
I like how when somebody is getting ready to hit the ball (I think they actually call it ‘teeing up, and striking the ball’), and everybody in the crowd (I think they actually call it the gallery) has to hold their breath, not make a sound, and then exhale together with a whispered chorus of ‘ooohhs’ and ‘aaahh’s in admiration of the magnificent feat of hitting (striking) a stationary ball with an $800 custom made club embedded with a global-positioning device that will actually allow the club head to find the ball for you. I think it’s a study in concentration, not necessarily for the golfer, but for the crowd (gallery), who has to co-ordinate the group response as if it were the ultimate affirmation to legitimize the shot. And then they throw you out of the gallery if you cough, or if your mother calls to ask “How come you never call?”
Baseball players trying to hit a 98 mile per hour Randy Johnson fastball, or a wicked, curveball, slider or changeup that’s ducking, darting and moving around like your little tickle sister, and with the crowd hollering, stomping, taking flash photos and talking on their cell phones, must find that golf protocol just a little silly. Wouldn’t ya think?
OK, the inevitable, and always controversial, question? Are golfers athletes?
Answer: I don’t know, but those guys that carry their bag, find their ball for them, and tell them which club to use, might be.
Second, and more thoughtful answer:
Who cares?
Please, no emails from disgruntled, or offended, golfers.
Just having a little fun folks. I don’t want to be accused of being too serious all the time.
