The Masters…or The Master Race?

There are more than half a million blacks living in Greater St. Louis. But you would have needed a magnifying glass to find one in the gallery for the PGA last year. You had more chance of seeing Al Jolson at Bellerive.

PGA stalwarts and their fans, who line the rough in silent admiration, are etched in white. Hmm. Wait a second. Isn’t there a word for that? A word that starts with the letter R and ends in ism? Sort of White Lives Play Golf.

Yes, I know, there’s Eldrick Woods but he’s really the whitest dude out there. And that, by the way, is his name. Not Tiger. Eldrick. Obviously, Tiger is monumentally more intimidating than Eldrick. Did you see that shot Eldrick just made? Eldrick is one under after 16 holes. Doesn’t really have the same resonance as Tiger is making his charge on the back nine.

So I’d advise the rest of the crew to insert WWE nicknames into their scorecards and insist on that listing on the leader board.
Killer Koepke. Dynamite Spieth. Hit Man Fowler. Panther McIlroy. Justin “The Hulk” Thomas. Hammer Rahm. Double Bubba Watson. Slasher Scott. Dustin “The Assassin” Johnson. Unfortunately, even changing their name to Michael Corleone isn’t going to make Ian Poulter, Charley Hoffman or Patrick Reed look threatening.

Golf fans are always winners. Whoever’s ahead on the final hole is their guy. They live vicariously through the wonder of his magnificence. He’s so precious. He waves to them as he approaches the 18th green and they applaud madly, tears welling up in their eyes. He’s my hero, my Knight in Shining Nike’s. Isn’t he wonderful? And he’s so white, just like us. What’s his name again?

I often chuckle when I see this.
Imagine what it would be like if golf and tennis weren’t just country club sports for the rich and privileged. Not just reserved for pampered prima donnas from the right families, who scowl like Tony Soprano when some uncouth clown breathes or coughs while they’re on the tee or serving.
What if these elitist sports were wide open to inner city kids and backwoods phenoms.

Imagine 6-8 LeBron James or 6-6 Aaron Judge with a driver in their hands. A pair of extraordinary athletes, as strong as bodybuilders, and dedicated to working their butts off to get better every day. By the time they’re 18 they’d be driving a Titleist 400 yards.