Fore!

 I blundered across an essay, Golf is Sublimated Sex, that at first I thought was a parody but soon realized was completely in earnest.  I didn't really know what to make of it.  It seemed so...how can I put this?  Well, I can't.  According to the author, playing a round of golf is the same thing for a man as going to a brothel. 

Okay...(clears throat). Sure.

All I know is that if some guys said to my husband, "Hey, let's all go to a brothel," and he said, "Nah, I'd rather play golf," I wouldn't shrug and say, same diff, so boy is he gonna get it when he gets home. Not even. If I heard about it, I'd give the big galoot a hug and tell him I'd do anything he wanted me to, which would probably be to make him a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon and jalapeños on thick-sliced Italian bread with a side of french fries and a beer.

Well, I did learn from the essay that golf courses are sex objects and that playing 18 holes of golf is, for a man, the same as fcuking 18 nubile lasses. 

Uh huh.

Seriously, I did note how for radical lefties words have magical powers.  So if you describe something in a sexual metaphor, it actually is that sexual thing. Cue Twilight Zone theme.

I know when to admit I'm wrong, but I don't want to.

"Sexual language abounds. The balls, struck with clubs on long shafts are said to penetrate the air. Hills represent hips, mounds look like breasts, smooth gentle contours delineate the maiden (the fairway) from the untamed older woman (the long thick grass of the rough, which can trap a man’s ball, impeding its progress towards the hole). The long thick grass of the “rough” is like hairy legs of women who are not depilating themselves for men’s pleasure, or the wrinkled skin of older women.  Having hit his ball along the fairway, avoiding, if possible, traps such as lakes, bunkers of sand and the rough, the golfer reaches the very short grass of the “green” where the aim is to get the ball in the hole. The number of strokes he takes is recorded and the man who gets his ball into the holes with the fewest strokes is the winner."

I hate to break it to the author, but when it comes to real sex, the man who gets his ejaculate  into the hole with the fewest strokes is definitely not the winner.  Trust me on that.

The author writes, "Challenging a man’s access to sex, actual or sublimated, is in many cases threatening the thing most precious to him in the world." Um, sure getting laid is right up there on a man's to-do list, but is it really the most precious thing in the world to him?  I don't think so. Men aren't just big hairy fcuking machines.  They are human beings, unique souls in the universe. They have other interests, other desires, other priorities. Not that there's anything wrong with big hairy fcuking machines. I kinda like them, actually.  Not on a golf course, of course. Well...(clears throat again).

You know what?  When it comes to men, golf and sexual fantasies, I bet you a dollar right now that there is some guy obsessed with Greta Garbo's big toe comparing the 4th hole of Gotham City Municipal Golf Course to it and getting a chubby thinking about it.  Okay, I wouldn't actually bet on that but I wouldn't be surprised if it were so.  Okay, okay, I would be surprised.  And I'd laugh like a loon.  You guys....

The author attacks golf courses for being environmentally destructive. I dunno.  When golf courses are gotten rid of they are invariably replaced by housing developments.  Which is more environmentally destructive?  

Found this quote on Golf Course Atlas. OK, so I'm wrong. Golf is sex for men.

The major theme of the essay seems to be golf as a symbol of the patriarchy, which is, it need not be said, evil beyond the comprehension of man...er, womyn. And golf represents both the male's sexual lust and his sublimation of sexual lust.  Now I always thought that sublimating desires was a good thing.  And not just regarding sex.  You want to pig out on a whole quart of Haagen-Dazs but you sublimate that urge into writing a play called "Desire Under a No Exit Sign."  A guy wants to lay pipe with a girl who gives him the air so he sublimates his desire for her into inventing the steam locomotive. Why would anyone have a problem with that?

I'll contend that the entire creation of civilization was sublimated male sexual desire. Why do I contend that? I don't know.  Why not? Hey, if academics can contend utter crap, why can't I? But, then again, maybe it's not utter crap.  Maybe it's truth from a different point of view? What do I know? Seriously. I have no clue about this world.  I've been meaning to stop by the clue factory outlet store and buy one but haven't gotten around to it yet.

Well, I do have one clue.  It's that nobody else has a clue about what's going on, either. This world completely baffles me. And it baffles you, too, doesn't it? Come on, admit it! All you know is that you get horny when you think about your favorite golf course.  Huh? Huh?

Oh, by the way, girls play golf, too. Millions of them. I do.  And when I play I don't think I'm doing the equivalent of visiting a brothel.  Nor belting on a strap-on and nailing 18 women. As if, I'm sure.  But what about if the brothel was filled with gigolos?  And couldn't the pin or flag stick represent a...you know...? Eighteen of them all standing firmly erect. (Clears throat again, looks around, looks up at the sky, whistles tunelessly...).  Um, honestly, under no circumstances would I consort with a gigolo.  Not happening.  A gigolo, heh, give me a break. You have to be some kind of serious weenie to be a gigolo. Get out of here.

If some golf course replaced their pins with giant dildos I probably would never play that course. But then again, if it was a nice day and I really wanted to play that course...eh.  I might even have my picture taken posing next to one, maybe even hugging it.  You can't take the frivolous seriously.

By the way, it is certainly true that women like sex.  It's not just a male thing. They enjoy getting laid.  They seek out men to do it with and expend a great deal of effort into making themselves alluring to men. Hey, there, handsome, how about sublimating your golfing urges with me?

What a completely nutty time we live in. The West is melting into an ooze of gibberish.  Well, I'm just going to get my girly-girly on and dance to the devolution.

No snickering at the title of this tune!