Another Slice

El Presidente on the range

I’m a longtime subscriber to The New Republic, and if I were a more-serious sorta guy, I might take umbrage at a recent column in it by Michelle Cottle.

Cutely titled “Bunker Mentality,” she seems none too happy with President Barack’s supposed obsession with what she calls “a dying game.”

And by way of contrast, she mentions that John F. Kennedy actually tried to keep his keen interest in golf hidden from the public, for fear that they would judge him just as stodgy and out-of-touch with the working class as his predecessor, Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Anyway, Ms. Cottle cites a recent book about presidential golfers titled First Off The Tee, by one Don Van Atta Jr.

And apparently, according to Mr. Van Atta Jr., only 3 out of the last 18 U.S. presidents have not been golfers.  (Jimmy Carter comes to mind first, of course, the doofus.  And I suppose FDR couldn’t play.  Which would leave who as the third?)  (And it’s not Nixon: apparently he even took lessons– gasp!– to impress his boss, Eisenhower.)

Which set me to wondering: How far back does that take us?  18 presidents.  Back into the 1800′s?  The days of the gutta-percha?

One of these days I’ll have to dig out an encyclopedia and take a look at all those dead presidents.

Note: I’d forgotten that Barack was a lefty.  Shows you how much TV I watch.

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Now that we’ve got the Christmas decorations in place, it’s time to either get back to work or get outside and have some fun!

Dropped my 15-year-old off at school this morning, cuz they won’t let the kids take their skis on the bus.  (Seriously.  In Aspen.  You can’t take your skis with you, on the school bus.  And we parents always thought the kids were making that up.)

Anyway, as he was getting out of the car, I asked, “You got your helmet?”  And he yelled back, “It’s in my backpack!”

Yeah, right.

Couldn’t help remembering, looking at the picture here, of “the old days” when I worked for what’s now the Aspen Skiing Company.  And in January or February, we’d get the “get out of Dodge” itch, and drive down to Rifle for 9 holes on the golf course there.  And the only other people out there…

… would be other Aspen Skiing Company employees!  And we’d all promise not to tell on each other.

This photo looks like I’m standing at the top of Silver Rush, near the top of Lift 1A, with Gents’ Ridge and Jackpot way in the background.  I don’t think I can carry it!

Dreamin’, as always.

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When O.J. Simpson’s trial was going on (interminably and inescapably– for us as well as for him), I used to thank my golf partners at the end of a round if they hadn’t mentioned his name.  Just a 2 to 4-hour respite from hearing about him was welcome, that summer.

Well, that’s basically my take on the latest scandale, this one focused on yet another athlete whose public image (especially among people who hadn’t really been paying attention) was nigh on squeaky-clean.

And, like with O.J., this one will end some day, too, and we can all get back to worrying about Brittany Spears’ weight problem, which is what we should be focused on.

How easily we lose sight of what really matters in life.

… My other concern is: Now that winter’s here, I’m finding myself actually watching The Golf Channel occasionally.  As in: during commercial breaks in football games.  Last night it was endless holes-in-one.  I got a chance to rehearse, in my mind, what body language I’d employ next summer, should I manage one myself.  I’m kinda torn between the simple club-tossed-in-the-air and the fall-flat-on-my-back approach.  I suspect it’ll depend on who my playing companions are.

It probably won’t happen anyway.  The par-3′s at my home course are either getting longer each year, or my eyesight is starting to go.  (Does that O.J. photo look fuzzy to you?)

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