I don’t watch much televised golf. If I am going to take four hours away from my family, I’d better be the one playing, not spending my day rooting for a player I had never heard of, just because I can pronounce his name.
This year, a guy named Bubba won the Masters, much to my delight, since the runner up was something like “Oozeelederhosen.”
There’s just something alluring about the Masters. I’m not sure whether it’s the pristine and historic golf course they refer to every five seconds, or the half dozen regally sounding British announcers making it seem like you are on a museum tour at The Louvre. I never realized the artistic appeal of an over-sized lawn until I listened to these chaps describing a fairway. Not since Cheech and Chong have I heard grass chronicled with such devotion.
They often speak of how difficult it is to purchase a ticket to this once-a-year event, which adds to the seduction. Americans always want what they can’t have, even if it means paying a fortune for the right to stand in the sun for ten hours, sharing a Port-A-Potty with thousands of strangers to watch a few men in slacks and collared shirt filled with corporate logos, stop by every 12 minutes to take one swipe at a little ball.
There are many traditions unique to this tournament, as there are in all the majors. Whereas in the British Open they compete for the accustomed trophy (called the Claret Jug), in this match they compete for a green sports coat. Personally, I’d choose the jugs over jackets, but that’s just me.
Speaking of jugs…
Okay, mea culpa on the most forced segue in literary history, but just pretend I said it with stateliness and grandeur of a retired golfer from southern England. Better yet, Scotland, the birthplace of the game of manners and decorum.
So, speaking of, in my best brogue, “joogs”…
For several years now a congregation of women have protested The Masters, demanding women be allowed to hold membership in the Augusta National Golf Club.
I am normally a huge fighter for the little guy (or gal), and am opposed to most cases involving white male dominance over the historically oppressed. Occupy Wall Street I can rally behind, but to organize a boycott to have the right to pay 500 thousand dollars to have the hallowed doors opened to enroll in a snob group does not put a rise in my kilt. If a woman is being denied food at the soup kitchen because she is a female, then rally the troops and fight for the cause. But Country Club access? This is where we should draw the line.
Please, don’t run to your thesaurus and come up with another adjective for “misogynist”. I was raised in a females dominated home, and growing up in “Estrogen House” caused me to have much compassion and empathy for the other gender. I probably have more respect for the womanly than the masculine energy, and wish our nation would embrace more of the feminine instincts.
Raised by a wonderful single mother, I was on the frontline of women’s liberation, watching women fight for equal rights. My mother often cried herself to sleep wondering if we were going to be able to settle the electric bill, a result of our patriarchal society not paying her a comparable salary to a man who did the same job.
That’s a fight I can get behind. But at other times I don’t get it. My first memories of feminine independence were bra-burning and Virginia Slims cigarettes, whose slogan was “You’ve come a long way baby to get where you’ve got to today. You’ve got your own cigarette now, baby!”
Even as a child I was confused why having the same access to lung cancer was a win for women.
It’s kind-of like all those lines I stood in to get into trendy nightclubs. Once I’m inside I’m thinking “OK…now what?” They have strobe lights, deafening music and drinks marked up 300 percent, and all the hotties on the dance floor go for the non verbal men of tight abs, who have good show, but not much tell. I buttered up and bribed a velvet rope-guarding moron for THIS?
Women have fought long and hard for the same rights as men, but now many seem to want to become men. I, along with many friends are perplexed, mostly about what’s at the true core of the battle of the sexes.
I am speaking to you, ladies, when I say it’s not that great a place to be a dude.
I’m on the inside! Think of me as a spy, and I will share all the secrets I have stored on microfilm. Believe me ladies; you are not missing anything by skipping certain male gatherings.
Bonding with the boys does not involve sharing color schemes we’ve learned from the Home and Garden channel. You’ll rarely hear one of the guys discuss whether to go with the eggplant or the avocado berber carpet. Colors are not foods in our world. We know 5 colors and one of them – pink – will not touch our bodies (nor, all too often with “real” men:, does soap.)
We’re also ignorant of fashion tips from all the gay men on Bravo, and are not looking for one of their makeovers. Straight men are simple and do not require facial creams to make us happy. We don’t care about looks. Most guys by the time they are 30 have the same haircut they’ll be buried in. Our greatest concern about pants is how comfy they make our balls.
Want to be in our inner circle? You want to come into our locker room? Consider what happens in there. Have you ever had “Atomic Bomb” heating ointment put in your pants? Enjoy.
Ladies, here are some of the locker room highlights you are missing out on:
1. Pick and scratch are no longer a lotto game- it’s what you do while you’re watching a game.
2. “Making love” is out. Get down with the carpenter’s terms – bang, screw and nail.
3. The “F” word is no longer “fine”.
4. You had better be able to suck every bit of meat off a buffalo wing.
5. We’re honest- “Do I look fat in these pants?” Prepare for the answer!
6. If you go to Japan on business, accept the fact that it will include a Japanese man walking on your back and turning you over to “finish” you. And you will give us your connections too.
7. You know that guy you slept with in Cancun that no one knows about, prepare to give us every detail, as well as adding a few more to your list of one-nighters.
8. No more long, after-shock orgasms either… and take the word “multiple” out of your vocabulary. You get one (if you’re lucky), and a second only happens in your late teens, so enjoy it.
You want to be a member of that club? If women want equal rights then all things should be equal. So next the time you want equality consider your man’s equal rights. If we are to consider both sides of a 50-50 agreement, then it works both ways:
Get ready to have a wet tush at 4am as you fall into the toilet because that thing stays up half the time.
If you are out of doilies, then there will be cardboard coasters stolen from the local bar.
Half of the money you’ve been saving for a trip to France will be placed on the Rams to beat the Vikings by 7 ½ . Don’t know where the half point comes from — better learn.
Need a jar lid removed? Start working those hand muscles.
Is there a class that teaches celebrating? Remember, high fives are out, chest bumps are in. When you score a goal for your local beer league team, are you willing to tap ta-ta’s?
If you ladies really want to be a part of the men’s club, consider what it really means to be in our fraternity. We live in a world of logic and blunt truth. Here are a few you will have to deal with:
1. Many men smoke cigars. We know it smells – that’s the point. And if you choose to smoke with us, just know we are visualizing what you will be doing to our Macanudo later.
2. Men like auto racing. You can’t hear complaints over the engine roar.
3. We golf because we want to crack our own balls instead of the ball busting that awaits us when we come home late.
4. Men read on the toilet not because they are educating themselves – it’s to have some alone time – and we know the odor will keep it that way. We read shampoo directions rather than come out to another household chore.
5. We like to see explosions in movies because we’re wondering how good it would be if someone came along and blew up our home that looks like Martha Stewart threw up in.
6. We snap towels at each other in the locker room without fear that it’s the new “decorative” towel. Yes, it also hurts, but you can’t cry or tell anyone.
7. if you make a mistake or have a habit to make fun of, men show no mercy. I know a friend who forgot deodorant one day, and is still call him “skunk” ten years later.
There are some honest facts about why we do want to be separate.
Want to battle to be able to handle weapons better? Want to race for the beer chugging championship and be able to describe your vomit with a sense of pride the next day? Want to join us in line at the stadium as you pee in front of a hundred strangers while your friend behind you pushes your head into the wall?
The point is – shouldn’t we have some things that can remain separate and exclusive to our specific gender? Shouldn’t we celebrate our differences instead of trying to change the other sex into one that is more like our own?
Ladies, you’ve already won the battle of the sexes, so back off on this one. Let us have our freedom to assemble in private clubs. If you really need to be a part of a private club, then build one. Spread the word that you play naked golf at your place, and leave the men begging at your door to get in.