Another gem

 As I have said, whenever my ego tempts me to drift into sort-of thinking I might be a half decent writer, I read another brilliant column by Cathal Kelly of 'The Globe and Mail' and despair.  He is ostensibly a sports columnist, but weaves so many other threads into his work I just love to read him.  

Today's offering is a perfect example.  Reading a congratulatory ad from Rolex to Bryson DeChambeau, who'd just won the US Open Golf Championship, I said to B, "That's the thing about golf.  Someone can just come out of nowhere and steamroll all the so-called greats."  No sooner had I said it when I lighted upon Kelly's column, which was all about this guy, his triumph and golf.  

Entitled "Golf's regular Joes are on the way out," it starts out with this:  "If you break golf down to its basics, the attraction is that any slob can play it.  Generally speaking, 'playing it' means 'playing it poorly', but that is also part of the appeal.  Everyone's bad at golf.

(Note:  I have always said that the problem with golf is you can't hit the ball.  The physics are off because the ball is too small and the club too long.  Just too hard to hit it big and in the right direction in the same swing.  Full disclosure, although I have tried, I discovered this law of physics early on and thus don't play.)

"Regular golfers love telling you how bad they are at it.  (This also happens to be a sneaky way of letting you know they have a bit of spare cash and a lot of spare time.)  Another note:  Like snooker, hence the expression.

"Golf?  'You should have seen me shank it on the fourth tee.  Hit two cars.  One was moving.  Along with darts, billiards and bowling, golf remains (sort of) democratic because whatever John Daly can do without embarrassing himself, you can too.

"Then Bryson DeChambeau shows up.  DeChambeau is built like a brick plinth.  His biceps bulge out of his polo shirts like wheels of cheese.  Most pro golfers have been gym-fit for a few years now.  Blame Tiger Woods.  His transformation, by the way, coincided with a spate of back injuries."

The column continues with so many gems I lost count.  "DeChambeau doesn't attack the course.  He grievously assaults it.  His approach off the tee doesn't emphasize ball placement.  Instead, DeChambeau hits the ball as hard as he can with little care for where it lands.

But listen to this:  "It is an article of golfing faith that if you don't hit fairways, you can't win.  DeChambeau just walked into golf's temple and started flipping tables."  Who writes like that?  "If long-ball golf isn't as entertaining to watch (and it isn't), seeing the likes of McIlroy trying to frame his own looming obsolescence as an affront to the game's hallowed traditions certainly is.

Talking about other pros, Kelly writes, "They looked average -- middle-aged, somewhere between paunch and fat.  There was, and is, something joyful about a sport that still featured a few people -- not a lot, but a few -- who looked like the great horde cheering them on.

"The only message lesser aspiring golfers will receive from DeChambeau's success is, 'Get big.  Get good.'  Prepare for a generation of bulging DeChambeau clones at the lower pro levels and in US college programs.  The swole bros will be arriving soon enough in the PGA."

And that's why Cathal Kelly works for 'The Globe and Mail' and I toiled in the trenches of the business press at Maclean Hunter.  I have to add that had I not resigned and moved to Ottawa with my then-husband (RIP), I might have risen a tad higher.  When I left M-H, I was already writing book reviews for 'The Financial Post' and making up horoscopes for 'Miss Chatelaine".  Two of my colleagues stayed and became stars in the Globe and Maclean's.  Who knows!?  A writer at heart, I cannot stop putting pen to paper.  Thank heaven for my blog.      

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Read a shocking story this morning about a woman named Debralee Chrisjohn, of the Oneida Nation of the Thames near London, who died while in police custody.  Apparently, she was running around the streets, high on meth, trying to jump into moving cars and generally causing mayhem in the public thoroughfare.  Naturally, the police picked her up and put her into a cell until she came off her high.  Problem was, she died there of a heart attack.  

But the real issue here is that one of the officers who put her in the drunk tank was charged and found guilty of negligence-causing-death and has been sentenced to 12 months in jail.  That's an abomination, in my view.  The woman was basically committing suicide in public, but for doing his job, this guy's life has been ruined.  Only 39, Chrisjohn had.....wait for it.....sit down......11 children and three grandchildren!!$%**%$$##!!  So here we have a mother of upteen children running around London in the middle of the night, high on meth, putting lives at risk and the policeman is charged?!?!?  

Anyone who has 11 children and lives on a reserve doing drugs is at the very least irresponsible, and at the most incompetent and unfit.  And the habitually-outraged Perry Bellgarde-Cindy Blackstock gang say native children should be left with their people.  Those poor orphans, what will be their sad fate?  More of the same, I fear.