Sunday, July 22, 2007

The British Open War on Golf

According to Wikipedia, which in my line of work is known as "research lite," or "yeah, riiiggght" but which often does in a pinch:

Golf is a very old game of which the exact origins are unclear. The origin of golf is open to debate as to being Chinese, Dutch or Scottish. However, the most accepted golf history theory is that this sport originated from Scotland in the 1100s.

Which makes absolute, perfect sense to Moi. Have you seen St. Andrews, et al? I mean, we American's, we pride ourselves on creating courses that kick your ass but look fabulous while doing so. Kind of like Angie Dickinson's Sgt. "Pepper" Anderson in Police Woman.

But the Scots? Ooooo hell no. Those aren't golf courses, those are battlefields – pock-marked and windswept, and laden with danger, the way they cling to the cliffs above angry seas and chemical spill-colored skies.

Even the spectators wear expressions of grim, institutional determination. So does Moi, as Tiger hangs behind yet another Latin firecracker. Tiger, get thee back to some sunshine and concentrate, would ya?


the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

you know, I have actually accompanied my beloved husband on a game of golf a time or two when we lived in Scotland, the home of The Golf.

Scotland seems to be the only country where the working class play The Golf. Not rich old men.

We lived close to (and he often played on) one of the oldest courses ever (where Mary, Queen of Scots is purported to have played). That was our local.

wait...did I have a point?

no. Just bragging.

Anonymous said...

great golf story i heard last week. i'll try to be brief.

publisher I work with (whose grandfather started the PGA) had a friend who lived on a fairway at Winged Foot. the US Open was being played there (1974, the massacre), and all his friend's neighbors were renting out their houses. he didn't want to, wife didn't want the house filled with people she didn't know. they decide to stay.

most of the surrounding houses on the block were occupied by players. my publisher's friend decides to have open-house barbecue each night during the tournament . . . so every night that week in his backyard are Nicklaus, Palmer, Trevino, etc. hanging out, eating burgers, telling stories.

god, can you imagine?