Rob et al.,
Thank you, although some in the Treehouse have privately opined my intellectual discourse (tongue in cheek for the humorless libtards at the corner table) is really just an excuse to spew racist, homophobic, irrational, intentionally inflammatory twaddle.
Ever one to give credit where credit is due, my fist-waving ex-wife chalks up my literary bird-walks to the fact I *actually did* kiss the Blarney Stone twice - putting aside my ex-mother in-law also found me neither funny nor entertaining. . . . . . but full of Blarney.
Clearly, Ran is a merciful God, for the cancel-culture shitbirds we let into the Treehouse have been unsuccessful in relegating me to the permanent penalty box, so I got that going for me.
However, before you stigmatize me with a Scarlet “R," know I’ve been a card-carrying Libertarian since 1979 - the years before we actually *had* “cards.” That stated - under the Log Cabin Republicans “Big Tent” theory - my natural political proclivities admittedly land far to the right of unserious gadflies like Vermin Supreme.
The point of the thread was the unlikely discovery of a “rater” both open minded and intelligent - and my lament the pool of learned golf scholars deserving a seat on the panel has plummeted to a thimble full of aging anachronisms . . . snarled the aging anachronism, mumbling into his Hamm's beer about the good old days.
Years ago, I recall a thread called “When Golf Was Good” . . . . somebody ought to find and revive it from the archives. One of the biggest problems is not just finding cogent, insightful raters, but having an American readership worthy of the yeoman efforts made to identify golf courses of interest and merit.
I write “American” because it always seems our younger Brit and Irish counterparts think more deeply about the game - which may explain why their conversations and posts are more often several steps above the sophomoric observations of their American counterparts. My assertion comes from countless pints, lovingly poured over clubhouse craic.
In other words, whether a public or private track, respect and reverence for the game runs strong in the youth across the pond - while America has cultivated a culture of wall-to-wall dingbats, with no interest in anything beyond the next $500 driver or ball retriever that doubles as a humidor or flask for cheap whiskey.
Problem is, these are the next guardians of (repeating myself: “what is left of”) golf in this country. Hmmm, where are we to get our future course raters? When I was young, there was a strong spirit of noblesse oblige towards junior golfers. Most clubs extended playing privileges to the local high school team - and bag rooms and pro shops were full of budding JUCO hotshots.
But in this awful era of self-absorption and insanely expensive American country clubs, the next crop of kids and young adults moving up the ladder now end up fending for themselves on overcrowded muni courses - primarily because private clubs, populated by the same cigar-smoking cartable jockeys - are no better than the CCFAD money machines, who would rather have an empty tee sheet on Monday afternoon than let the local girl’s team play a league match.
And spare me the bullshit about the flaccid “First Tee Program.” My experience is the only thing it provides is good optics and cover for the fabulously wealthy USGA - and a photo op for their lily white corporate puppet-masters. Not to sound too egalitarian, but the truth is, the vast majority of those kids do not have the resources or transportation (Mommy and Daddy both work like rented mules for minimum wage) to stick with the game longterm - particularly the girls.
Reminds me of the 22 trillion our brain-damaged politicians have wasted since LBJ’s mythical Great Society, which worked so well in elevating the uneducated masses from the basement, every Blue State city since 1965 remains a dangerous tinderbox.
Maybe the USGA, the equipment barons - and those phony fucks who run the PGA Tour - ought to spend less time and money "virtue signaling" to the mob that has torn the country apart and devote their ample resources to encourage, underwrite and otherwise beat the snot out of private clubs and well-heeled CCFAD joints to open their doors - and take the time to mentor and cultivate the next generation of kids in the joy and mores of our game.