Haight-Ashbury Correspondent, White Cover Magazine
The thing about golf is, it’s popularity has legitimized it to the point that it’s formed its own brand of cool and it’s transcended its obvious nerdy-ness.
Let’s not forget: this is a sport of men — white men — who think that Tiger Woods is good-looking. This is a sport that features a Swede with a flat-brimmed hat and a polka dot wardrobe. This is a sport where Englishmen are viewed as rogues and rebels on the scale of Ernest Hemingway. This sport makes Brandel Chamblee look cool… like the Clooney of some all-Caucasian Josh Schwartz show on Fox.
This is a sport with an athlete named Davis Love III. The digits are pronounced, The Third. That simple fact should be enough to condemn golf.
*But, of course, golf is too big for this kind of treatment and, before you think I’m being some cruel letterman jacket-wearing wannabe jock, just know that I love golf and I love the culture. I love the easy-going nature. I love that you can be fat and bald and somehow be treated like a rockstar or a charmer. I love that you can check into hotels that have golf course attached, and I love that it’s almost exclusively for the rich or for those with at least enough money that they can delude themselves into thinking they’re not rich.
But, keep in mind, these three guys are viewed as that cool almost simply because they play golf. Hearing that a golfer is cool just because he does up his top button all the time and hasn’t cut his hair in six months (ala Bubba Watson) is like hearing Republicans say that Paul Ryan is cool because he owns and iPod and works out.
Republicans think Paul Ryan is cool because they don’t realize they’re not. Golfers are no different.
Okay, I’m getting off topic. The main thing is: golf, you’re a nerdy, preppy sport. And, somehow, it’s workin’ for ya.