During the recent presidential campaign, I made a point of reading many columns from various political pundits. Regardless of party affiliation or political position, I was struck by the colorful characterizations and preposterous leaps they made in their writings. A sliver of truth from a simple observation would often provide a foothold from which to jump to conclusions based on intentionally twisted logic; so that later in the column, we might accept questionable assertions based on logical assumptions as true.
Whether I agreed with these columnists or not, I must admit I was often entertained by the intellectual contortions they performed through the creative, albeit convoluted, sentences that spun their agenda. No matter how inconsequential the subject matter may have been, for sheer language arts, writers like Maureen Dowd, Leonard Pitts, Ann Coulter, George Will and many others, truly know how to make each paragraph a breathtaking spin, or twist, or turn, on a wild but literate amusement ride.
For the fun of it, I have written a golf column in this spirit. It is called:
Caught in the Act of Back to Back Birdies! Where’s the Party?
Ever play in a golf tournament with a guy who either spews nothing but expletives or says nothing at all? That is, until he makes back to back birdies and artificially resuscitates the remnants of his miserable personality just enough to stomp around on the green like a back-up wide receiver doing that ‘what-I’m-tawkin’about’end zone bobble-head power dis, after having soaked in the juices of his own depth chart discontent and perceived media disrespect. Then he snap-hooks one deep into the Disenchanted Forest, and starts shaking and swearing and looking around as if in search of a kitten to kick, and then rushes to finish his round so he can gamble on illegal cock fights after the strip joints close.
(Maybe I exaggerate, but this is fun.)
How about the guy who continues to spew nothing but expletives, or says nothing at all, even after back to back birdies. His face often wages an internal war, of sorts, as false-bravado is overcome by the forces of raging shame on the unguarded road to self-loathing. Guys who hide inside their own arrogance like this are probably too preoccupied making secret pacts with an influential peddler like Lucifer to be civil; and lends to speculation the possible acceptance of illicit birdies in exchange for willful shadiness or a dark deed along the lines of a no-bid Halliburton contract. This manufactured swagger, however, is betrayed by their all too furtive glances - as if they anticipate a lightning bolt from the fingertip of God at any moment. “Dreaded others” lurk like bogeymen as their demise becomes the very manifestation of a self-fulfilling prophecy for which they have no real defense. Whatever - their comeuppance awaits – and when it hits, they find God quickly and swear, “never again” instead of a the usual blue streak. I laugh at the thought of them paying greens fees just to get into hell.
(Take that! But, truth be told, there are some odd ducks that are nothing more than crabby jerks who putt well - strange as that might seem.)
Just as revolting are those who make back to back birdies and are overcome with a flowing love that fills their hearts and spills onto everyone else’s micro-fiber. There is no love quite like “birdie love,” for it is the one love that comes closest to conquering all - the issues with those mentioned above notwithstanding. I’ve seen dark-dealing, kitten-kicking, cock-fight-betting, disrespected back-up wide receiver types all of a sudden start dispensing grace like a TV evangelist while offering to buy a round of Gatorades for the entire group after two straight birdies. And, after three birdies, there are golfers who would not hesitate to pluck the belly-button lint from the dankness of his caddie’s major innie.
(This is the “birdie buzz” – aphrodisiac version: a weapons-grade discharge of love for all mankind.)
I’ve even seen large, sweaty men, put
their arm around other large sweaty men for a moment while waiting on the
next tee after back to back birdies. Also, the big, infatuated man in
mid-birdie buzz will sometimes laugh shamelessly about unfunny things
while the other large, sweaty man fumes over a round gone mad, as well as
the phony laugh-track coming from a large sweaty man who wants to touch
him.
I believe that in my lifetime, I will see a sweaty fuming man punch a touchy-feely birdie machine in the face. And the fuming man - could be a teacher or policeman - will then strut around like a disrespected back-up wide receiver in the end zone as the slimy, birdie making televangelist lay motionless on the tee box. But no one ever cries for the Birdie-man, he feels no pain, for it is a fact that birdies literally crap endorphins upon the brain.
(This is the “birdie buzz” – opiate version: no pain, no worries, no anger - just the joy of… being awake.)
Most golfers, however, take a tact that’s much more matter of fact. In fact, many put on an act of being matter of fact when in the act of back to back birdies.
I have seen variations of all the above when observing those in the act of back to back birdies. But the greater truth is that most people I play with, in competition or socially, are good people who know how to behave in whatever circumstance they find themselves. There are a wide range of acceptable reactions, from subtly distinctive to tastefully effusive. And this is where most everyone falls. All it really comes down to is nuance, authenticity, and timing. It is the art learning to be happy in public.
I set out to ask some players about their feelings and observations after back to back birdies. But the first guy I asked just looked at me like I was throwing a pop quiz on how a perfectly prepared steak tastes. “Uh…good?”
So I threw out some analogies. “Would you
consider it like….
a beautiful surprise - something like, oh say… a
nocturnal emission?"
“I don’t get it….I hate waiting in line at those testing stations,” the guy replied.
“Oookay,” Then, since birdies are sometimes a huge relief , like after a bad front nine. I asked, “How about…like finding your car keys after you thought you’d lost your only set?”
“Does this have to be about my car? I thought we were talking about birdies, you know, golf.”
“Just forget it,” I said.
It was then I decided, that for this column, I would point out how people feel, why they act the way they do, and what it all means. I hope I have done this. So, here we go.
He who would cut a no-bid deal with Halliburton would likely be a Republican, but, maybe a Democrat since both the past two administrations have ties to them. He who would kick a kitten or bet on cocks would not vote to extend funding for PETA may suggest a Republican by his vote, but would likely be an independent as are most psychos. The TV Evangelist votes Republican, but the free Gatorades point towards a Democrat. Tough call. The sweaty guy touching a sweaty guy is likely to be a Democrat, but the guy who punched him may be a Republican homophobe. I have found their party.
(And that’s the way it is. It’s all quite logical.)
So add me to the list of columnists who can divine anything from anything. I too, am now a pundit. And I am always right, except when I’m not. Let’s just say my views are little more accurate than the recent election exit poll, but just as meaningless, unless you made it to this sentence.
The Hainer is a freelance know-it-all and welcomes your emails at this address -TheHainer@golftalkwisconsin.com