My dad used to be an avid golfer. (That’s what they call you when you like golf a lot.) He’s gotten SEVEN (7!) holes-in-one during his golfing career. That’s pretty impressive – most golfers never even come close, even the professionals. And I ain’t talkin’ mini-golf ; I’m talkin’ full-on, 18-holes, hey-here-comes-the-beer-girl Capital-G GOLF. I asked him about it, how much was luck and how much was skill. He admitted most of it was luck, while rightly asserting that to even get ONE hole-in-one, you need to be able to hit the ball very well. “The wind helped, too.”
My dad used to golf with a guy named Maynard, who was in the Devil’s Brigade during the Second World War. He didn’t like to talk about it much but, yeah Maynard had killed people. He offered the anecdotal evidence of the expert to my dad about what it’s like to kill somebody with a knife. “Oh yeah, there’s blood everywhere. That’s why it’s best to do it from behind. Even then, you still get blood all over the place.” My dad, to this very day, firmly believes in the innocence of O.J. Simpson, based on the time-line as presented in court and the lack of extraordinary amounts of blood, courtesy of the anecdotal evidence of his golfing buddy.
When I was a kid, I used to help my dad practice putting in the winter. He’d stand in the hallway of our house and putt from the kitchen to the front door, about twelve, fifteen feet or so down the hallway and I’d retrieve the ball for him, double-quick-time. We had this “durable” carpet in the hallway (read: cheap. My dad probably got a deal on it) that was, coincidentally, grass-green in colour (my mom hated it) and it was completely FLAT. My dad travelled a lot for work when I was a kid, usually to places that had lots of golf courses (ANOTHER coincidence!), so he had to keep his skills sharp and in good order. This was how I spent “quality time” with my dad in the winter when I was a kid.
I fucking hate golf. It is a ridiculous, elitist waste of time, energy and resources. It’s a pointless form of self-imposed psychological torture for rich people, disguised as a “fun pass-time”. It’s utterly racist, totally sexist and the clothing is terrible. Countless charlatans circle like sharks and offer to relieve you of money to help perfect your swing or master your short game. The entire enterprise is a magnet for assholes, liars, businessmen and psychopaths (who are often all four in one form). Mark Twain called golf … “a fine walk, ruined by a little white ball.” He was right (as usual).
Golf courses everywhere waste obscene amounts of water and spread fucking deadly poison everywhere, all to ensure that everything is all green and pretty for the stupid millionaires and idiot thousandaires who get to act like minor European royalty for a few hours a week out on the links. California is dying of thirst, except for the golf courses, of course. OF COURSE.
Golf is notoriously racist, Tiger Woods notwithstanding. (And ask him about how many times he was called “nigger”.) A lot of prominent clubs, to this day, still don’t accept Jews or blacks (or women) as members. Can we make that our next useless Internet crusade? It won’t ever work, because Augusta and St. Andrew’s will never change. Enjoy your victory over the Confederate flag. Golf WILL NEVER CHANGE. If I was a Jewish black woman who liked to golf, I’d be pissed off.
Golf pits you against the environment, the laws of physics, other players and YOURSELF. You are a team of one and if a shot gets fucked up? You’re the one who fucked it up, pal. Go ahead and blame the wind all you like. Does that sound like fun to you?
Golf is a sport created by the Scottish. THE SCOTTISH. Let that sink in. The Irish are a fun-loving people, a nation of lovers and poets and fierce fucking warriors and holy men and women. The “Scottish people” are an oxymoron – they’re SCOTS. They are their own race. They’re certainly not fucking human. Only a Scot could make up a game by saying “I’ll give you a bob if you can get yon rock in yon hole, 300 yards away.”
Have you ever watched golf on TV? I have and I wouldn’t recommend it to my worst enemy. It’s cosmically boring. It makes watching baseball on TV (more fantastically tedious television) look like a goddamn Daffy Duck cartoon in comparison. Golf televised is slower than molasses in January. Admit it. It’s fucking boring to watch other people play golf.
And it’s even worse than that to hear other people TALK about golf. Jesus, kill me now. I would rather you describe some half-remembered dream to me than to hear you talk about golf. (Please do not ever describe your dreams to me.)
Golf is like a cult. You play a few times and have fun and all of a sudden, golf becomes EVERYTHING IN LIFE. That’s a fucking cult. (Or meth. Or both, actually.) Once you drink the Kool Aid, that’s it. No going back. Now you’re just another stooge, mis-interpreting Beatles lyrics or chanting in the airport or trying to get “clear” after that. It’s a fucking CULT. Cults only appeal to those who are desperately lacking something, in their lives and in themselves. They join a cult to make themselves feel … not better, exactly but SOMETHING. A sense of community, of self-actualization. As if they could solve all their problems by whacking a little white ball.
And the first person to say golfers are athletes? HA. HA. HA. John Daly is not an athlete. Fuzzy Zoeller? Seve Ballesteros? Not athletes. Michael Jordan is an athlete. John Daly is a big fat guy. Tiger Woods lost his mojo when he threw his back out with a cocktail waitress and his wife found out so he’s washed up now. That’s not an athlete, that’s a lying, cheating piece of shit. Do you want to be like that? (And yes, I know he’s rich. But he’ll never get any richer and everyone will always say “he USED TO BE good.”)
Honestly, if you like golf? I don’t really care. I don’t. I don’t have to, unless you try to press-gang me into golfing with you (or talking about it). If golf is your “thing”, then good for you. Go out and do it and enjoy the fuck out of it. The Hell do I care? My preference is not to play golf, ever. (And yes, I’m secretly judging you. Get over yourself.)
The main reason I hate golf is that it makes little boys cry, when they realize that their dad loves golf more than he’ll ever love them.