I either need to drink a lot more of the good stuff or dig out my college bong to get in the proper frame of mind for this thread, but since it's late at night let me just try and get to what I think is the nucleus of the argument for naturalism, or obscurantilism in as few words as possible.
At its core, golf is illusion. It provides man with the happy fantasy that through his actions, he is in control. We talk about the challenge...of the land, of the elements, of the vagaries of life and fortune, and it seems that our greatest golfing dreams are seemingly hitting that perfect shot or even several reasonably satisfactory ones that termporaily overcome our physical insignificance and ineptness and allows us to feel momentarily powerful in a vast, unknown universe not of our own making.
To help complete the illusion, we need to travail and prevail against a canvas that at it's most genuinely, conspiratorially authentic , is almost indistinguishable from the hostile realities of nature at her most unpredictably complex, arbitrarily emotive, and seductively alluring.
Anything that obviously screams out the planned hand of man; whether some disdainful, unmerciful, sadistically penalizing attitude of an angry, frustrated artist towards his unfortunate patrons, or worse yet, a platitudinous, patronizing, and condescending attempt to neutralize naturally wild, random forces while ingratiatingly contriving to limit the silent, metaphysical conversation to simplistic man-made understandings...to arrogantly attempt to "tame" the earth, to limit her variables, and somehow stack the odds in our favor (i.e. the hated "containment mound"), causes some degree of inherent, reactive conflict between the primal urges we instinctively use our golf to satiate, and the fragile relevant reality of what our finite mortal limitations are contrastasted with what we hope they might be on this world.
Crossing a bridge, or driving a road, or building a shelter hold none of the same vain, valiant attempts at temporary immortality.