Saturday, August 29, 2009

Ted Kennedy v. Robert Bork

Nay, I will not be issuing a broadside seeking to roast the corpse of history's 2nd most senior-serving Democratic U.S. Senator like an ersatz kielbasa-bob burbling over a Gdansk bonfire. Nor will I delve into the unseemly-to-damn-near felonious personal behavior at several key junctures of E.M.K.'s existence. For the sin of maliciously (and, ultimately, futilely) cutting the re-election legs out from under a truly decent (if, slightly, ineffectual) man, President Carter, I leave that to the two dozen remaining non-GOP Baptists to harangue. No, my point is a slightly personal one based on chance encounters and an effort to at least try to define what a good (American-version) man is?

Suprisingly [ :) ] to most, I've had experience in real politics, specifically as a U.S. Senate intern. In the course of prosecuting mundane tasks, I happened upon the Massachusetts Senator twice and found him to be - as has been reported - a genial fellow. The only more friendly Senator (including my boss - with whom I barely exchanged a glance, much less word) was then Sen. John Danforth. I almost literally bumped into him outside the Hart Building and, while walking across the Capitol's front quad, exchanged thoughts about the relevance of Rheinhold Niehbuhr - J.D.'s thesis subject - to contemporary politics. I mention this only to underscore that I've no axe to grind with the late Senator.


That said I was struck this past weekend by the contrast in the lives of Robert Bork & Ted Kennedy. Why? Perhaps the tumblers were set-off by Sen. Kennedy's deserved reputation as a protector of the downtrodden and my natural (plus counter-intuitive) propensity to flip over said existential coin for evidence, in this case, of a bully hiding on the other side. If so, the case study for this hypothesis is the '87 Judiciary Committee lynching of then Judge Bork's nomination to the Supreme Court. Less than an hour after the announcement by then Pres. Reagan, the inheritor of Camelot's tarnished mantle took to the United States Senate floor to deliver the following bombast:

"Robert Bork's America is a land in which women would be forced into back-alley abortions, blacks would sit at segregated lunch counters, rogue police could break down citizens' doors in midnight raids, schoolchildren could not be taught about evolution, writers and artists could be censored at the whim of the Government, and the doors of the Federal courts would be shut on the fingers of millions of citizens for whom the judiciary is -- and is often the only -- protector of the individual rights that are the heart of our democracy... President Reagan {See left (sorry for pun) from his initial California gubenatorial run campaign poster [ :) ]} is still our president. But he should not be able to reach out from the muck of Irangate, reach into the muck of Watergate and impose his reactionary vision of the Constitution on the Supreme Court and the next generation of Americans. No justice would be better than this injustice."

About the only thing Sen. Kennedy omitted was the insinuation that Bob B. had a sweet-lookin' swastika tatted on his butt to boot! We all have personal low points, but what got lost in much of the hoopla re the Bork nomination was that the Court lost a truly seminal thinker. The school of 'Originalism' Bork has promulgated remains a viable - and flexible - legal construct. Although usually assorted with conservative rationale, non-Justice Bork has consternated many Republicans, for example, with arguments that the 2nd Amendment only guarantees the right to a militia and not the ability to buy "teflon-coated bullets". Bork's formerly unfashionable anti-trust work is now the prevailing wisdom on the subject and undergirds his always acknowledged standing as a legal mind of the first order.

What was done to Robert Bork on a personal level during his nomination process, was downright despicable regardless of philosophical disagreements any person may have had with the man. Sen. Kennedy was by anyone's admission the primary Kapellmeister of the opposition, despite hearty assists from our current Vice President & Sen. Arlen "Flip-Flop Parties" Specter. To the best of my knowledge, Teddy K. never admitted any regret/remorse for his role (or that his opposition, in the end, just fueled the fire for conservatives to redouble their agenda-pushing efforts by pimping-out true fire-eaters like Justice Scalia as payback). My point in this rhetorical effort is to note only that I've yet to see a comparison of these two cojoined, yet diametrically different, Catholic figures' lives vis-a-vis discussion of what a good (public) man is? It's suprising because the obvious contrasts are fairly meaty and instructive (at least for those with Y chromosomes).

Bork was an esteemed Yale law professor while the Kennedys are part of the mortar, literally, supporting rival Harvard. Both gents spent the bulk of their lives grappling with weighty affairs vis-a-vis the inherent fairness of American domestic life from equally well-defined, but 180 degree opposing, ideologic + professional avenues (legislative v. judicial). On a personal level, R.B. - despite his vilification above - is personal probity's quintessence; a leaked expose (during the ex-Prof's confirmation) of his videotape preferences revealed only a propensity for Cary Grant films. The other, well ... lets just say Dewars can't count on robust Hyannisport holiday sales any longer. Lastly - and this isn't meant to be petty - they were on drastically different sides of a joint perennial/personal battle with their waistlines. Teddy waxed/waned perpetually, but Judge Bork successfully has kept off +50# for the past 10 years.

So? I don't seek to deny Teddy any imagined halo & I admit he did as much good as wrong. His family has been drug through the mud more indiscretely than debate over what Marilyn M. was (or wasn't) wearing when she was found dead; no further discussion needed of such tawdriness.

Robert Bork, however, still draws breath and contributes to our civil discourse. Despite being wronged, he has not let anger color his pronouncements. Beyond opposing one of Pres. G.W. Bush's ill-chosen Supreme Court nominees (Harriet Miers), the former professor has continued to espouse interesting ideas & remains intellectually engaged. The most striking example of the former being along the lines of how our Congress should be able - like the Canadian parliament - to overrule some high court decisions with supra-majorities. Go figure, eh, Earl Warren?

If we are to praise Teddy this hour, let us have a word too for one of his unfortunate victims. Moons ago in the old Washington National Airport, I sat next to Bork while both of us got a shoeshine. I had seen a "Washington Post" piece that he had been called to jury duty not too long before, reported dutifully, had not been called to sit but nevertheless applied himself diligently in the waiting room to a collection of work by G.K. Chesterton. The Judge chuckled when I brought up the story, admitted to such plus said Chesterton was an old touch-stone of his. Before departing my company, the kindly ex-bench-dweller was nice enough to sign the leaf of what I was then perusing - The Wise Men.

I found Robert Bork, albeit in only that sole brief encounter, to be just as genial in person as the late Bay State Senator and, ironically, that might be their one most common & commendable attribute.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

A bumper crop of bile, Deity doubts & other mirthful musings!

The pain, the glory, the existential heartburn! Prey-tell of what do I speak? Well, but of course, the alleged Almighty's cruel joke which was Tom Watson's 2009 British Open. Tom is to left in a suitably contemplative pic before his Sunday Hemingway code-hero collapse. To those not familiar with details, Mr. Watson, in press conferences, used the term "spirtual" to describe his play more frequently than Dick Cheney tossed-off "Al Qaeda" circa October 2001. The original T.W. specifically cited intervention from former caddie Bruce Edwards, a Lou Gehrig's disease victim, for his near miraculous play. Certainly many a duffer has hauled-out a temporary thick rug to call-in help downing the odd tricky four footer, but rarely has a quality player drafted particular personage from the big Pine Valley in-the-sky.

So what does this say about the role of a Supreme Deity and/or Tom's relationship with Bruce Edwards? Does God exist, but He/She/It really is a malicious bastard enjoying nothing more than toying-out humanity worse than someone getting their Bernie Madoff statement of steady 11% profits only, a year later, to be hit with the reality of owning a financial portfolio about as attractive as making Henry Louis Gates the next head of the neighborhood 'Welcome Wagon'? Please. Possibly - and this is truly nasty - ole Bruce really disliked Tom and, fatefully teasing along the Viagra linksman, this was his last chance to whip-out the celestial middle finger to his old patron? Personally I much prefer the lack of a Supreme Being to this alternate explanation.

Regardless the sheer depravity of Watson's inability to par the final hole - and win the Claret Jug - after hitting two solid shots from the tee, must rank as a cruel defeat worthy of any Nick Adams' short story from the pen of the original 'Papa'. Certainly it made this scribe less fearful of retribution in the Hereafter, which is a good thing considering the self-esteem body-blows suffered as of late due to reactions from my MrWillTracy Twitter 'Tweets'. No less than my own blushing bride of 18 years (see right [At least this is a fair depiction based on perpetual attitude projected!]) objected to her moniker as 'Mrs. Battle-A.' [Shortened for Mrs. Battle-Axe]. Can anyone of reasonable sanity fathom such an illogical reaction?

Nonetheless the 'Tweets' are quite popular, but - admittedly - they do reduce my time to compose more thoughtful blog entries. To tarry with a bevy of one-line broadsides or keep my satirical powder dry, so to speak, for extended rhetorical roastings? Such is the daily cross that I must bear! In said struggle I find myself much akin to condition coursing thru current crop of Republican presidential hopefuls vis-a-vis penchant, publicly, to ask following query of national import: "When exactly is that Alaskan fruit loop going to give up the electoral ghost and instead (thankfully) mud-wrestle Oprah for daytime TV's daily supremacy?".

Sarah Palin - the best answer (as has been pointed-out in a previous blog entry) to the question 'Name the modern GOP equivalent to Huey Long?'. Apparently the sturm und drang of Alaskan electoral politics thinned the Governor's hair to such an alarming extent that emergency coif procedures had to be employed. During WWII Prime Minister Churchill had his stogies & FDR the love of his faithful Fala (plus a mistress), but was that episode really any comparison to the left-wing media blitz endured by the Palin-ator post McCain? Please.

The real question is what platform will S.P. use moving forward? Remember that she & hubby have flirted previously with 3rd party affliations, i.e. Alasaka First. There was talk, too, in her rambling resignation speech of working with all those suitably S.G.-cleansed regardless of party affiliation. Will the Wasilla wonder reinvent a contemporary 'Spread The Wealth Society'?

For those who have correctly complained about the lack of meaty posts beyond the mirthful appetizers provided on Twitter, I profusedly apologize and can only bid you the blessings of Allah (or sympathy of your local shylock) as weak recompensation. In the spirit, however, of getting back to a good footing I offer all the promise of belated entries & pics of this year's trip to the Masters, the U.S. Open @ Bethpage plus the usual assortment of product reviews suitable for a discerning gent of non-Bible Belt tastes.
To that lattermost stated, let me heartily recommend the Five Vegas Miami 'Knuckle' as a tasty post-dinner and/or quick stick. Usually I abhor a less than an aesthetically-pleasing Indian and the 'Knuckle's' wrapper is nothing to write home to MOMA about, but - after getting a half dozen as a come-on with another order - I must say I've enjoyed mightily these 60 ring-size puppies; definite nutty & slightly peppery flavor to them.
Lastly I point my faithful to something else of refined taste - ellarosestory.blogspot.com. This young lady is, shockingly based on pic to left, an aspiring model. Her site, however, is quite appealing without usual graphic banality which plagues the Internet. Attendant verse not so sure about, but I still view Yeats primarily thru prism of his latent Fascism.

Monday, February 23, 2009

All a-Twitter!

For your collective amusement, may my many Internet minions be advised that now you can follow your favorite blog bard on Twitter under the moniker MrWillTracy. Let the pigeons loose!

Below are some examples of this splendid new medium in action. Basically I'm treating it - due to the 140 per post character limit - as an opportunity to launch blistering flurries of one liners, cheap shots & slightly off-the-rim comments. Segues, as always, are for children.

MrWillTracy Just reheard in other room 'City Slickers' line "If hate were people, I'd be China!". My corollary is "If bile was oil, I'd be Exxon!". from web

MrWillTracy Played Regent Park in Fort Mill w/ 'Mr. SC Gyro King'. Blustery/cold but good time & ball-striking. Romeo y J. Viejo helped cut the wind! from web

MrWillTracy In vein of last 'Tweet', I'll be lecturing later this month on Lee Harvey Oswald & the decline of natural fibers in golf rain garments. from web

MrWillTracy Anyone made the connection between Boo Weekley (1 of 3 PGA-ers) coming from Milton, FL & the Errol Morris documentary which is set there? from web

MrWillTracy Today's NYT Teddy Kennedy pre-eulogy referenced much bad history but omitted his worst disloyalty - derailing his own party's sitting Pres. from web


MrWillTracy France's favorite American, Jerry Lewis, is getting a pseudo Oscar @ tonite's gala. Rumored that Dino's pickled corpse will be presenter. from web

MrWillTracy Think most politicians are bland haircuts? Google "Carl Mumpower" for some choice vignettes of rhetorical/intellectual fancy which amuse. from web

MrWillTracy The Vijay Singh paradigm: Good news is you won '08 season-ending $ title; bad news is you gave the loot to your sponsor, Stanford Financial from web

MrWillTracy My new favorite riposte after attesting to 18 years of being married: "You know, I would have got less for manslaughter in most states". from web

MrWillTracy Have to update my "Patrick Ewing @ the foul line" quip to desribe after-effect of one of my cardio workouts. No one remembers the old Hoya. from web

MrWillTracy Released (sic fired) 2 people last Fri., but informed rest of my staff that I did such while bellowing, "Bring the pain!". No one got it. from web

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Duo of delicious, yet disparate, discoveries

Short missive to shed light upon a pair of offerings as tasty as even a veritable 'surf & turf' of observing Gen. William T. Sherman in the field (and on the loose) plus listening to Bernard Herrmann score the latest Alfred Hitchcock (or Martin Scorsese, Orson Welles, etc.) opus.

Specifically from the realm of the usually sorted (plus poorly written), I submit following website of interest - londonandrews.blogspot.com - which documents the travails, treks & near weekly tumults of Miss/Ms. London Andrews, a freelance libertine & professional model.

Mademoiselle London is a pre-college slash self-financing blog-o-sphere adventurer of the slightly adult variety. Based on reading her posts for several months now, the lass will not be in need, however, of any freshman composition class to hone her rather protean prose style. It is quite refreshing to see a youthful thinking person not only take the ubiquitous Jack Kerouac to heart, but, quite literally, seek to run down the same road (albeit in a modern, though still meandering, manner). In addition (and most importantly) for those faithful to all things distaff and zaftig, Miss/Ms. London [See right] as to her non-verbal output is equally ebullient and unabashedly alluring in a myriad of (mostly) tasteful photos of her most curvaceous form. The website is studded with a smorgasbord of snaps from various sessions the young lady has graced. Bravo, L.A., and may the kindly gods of fate smile perpetually upon your efforts!

Nearly as tasty as I can, in this case, report personally is the (relatively) new line extension from the venerable house of Romeo y Julieta, which is now part of the formidable Altadis stable of sticks. Specifically I'm referring to the four Indians comprising the "Viejo" [For "old" in Espanol] family. One of my main two sources, Cigars International - www.cigarsinternational.com - recently touted a very reasonably priced sampler pack from this line extension with the following (purloined verbatim) description:

Gorgeous to the eye, its super-smooth, thick, slightly toothy maduro wrapper - grown in the famed San Andres Valley of Mexico - features an oily sheen and triple cap, while the subtle square-press presentation feels great in the hand and adds to the anticipation. The flavor is dependable and consistent throughout: mellow and smooth from start to finish, highlighted by some richness, hints of caramel and a faint sweet woody note. The aftertaste is very pleasant, while the draw is effortless and pumps out voluminous clouds of smoke. Of the myriad Romeo y Julieta blends, to me this gorgeous little number is hands-down the best.

Could not agree more with all of the above and a hearty thumbs-up to a brand which already produces the lovely "Vintage" and (previous favorite) "Reserva Real" sticks. To reemphasize just a bit, the aesthetics of this Indian are heads-and-shoulders superior to almost anything available; square-pressed jobs are particularly appealling. In Italian for this repeat invoking - Bravismo!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Stina Sternberg sucks back (so to speak)

Erroneously thought Swedes were definitively in pancake family of high gluten preference, but there's one member of golfing community showing predilection, based on recent comments, towards waffling instead. Said Nord is none other than the Golf Channel’s Stina Sternberg [See cartoon right] and evidence is her partial plus nuanced semi-apology in the Jan. 2009 “Golf Digest” for some highly offensive cigar-lover comments in the Nov. issue.

Apparently poor S.S. got a bevy of angry responses to her previously penned (and unprovoked) attack against cigar smoking on the golf course, whether as participant or spectator. In a memorable riff from her Sly Stallone-esque machismo hall-o-fame piece, the Swede S2 claimed that she has been known to haul around, grab a lit cigar out of some puffer’s mouth and stomp it out right in front of his girly-self when walking in the gallery. Obviously blonde basher is unbeknownst white female Samuel L. Jackson because anyone doing that (and without a pack of menthols in their shirt pocket) is one Jack Shaft bad motherf$%^&+r!

Although suitably, albeit - I must confess - only momentarily, cowed by such a rhetorical display of ripe bravado, your humble scribe able still to summon sufficient courage to send following to Ms. Sternberg's “Golf Digest” e-mail address:

That you don't like cigars is your right, but the faux machismo of "In crowded places like that, I've been known to grab a cigar out of a guy's mouth & stomp it out" is flat-out wrong + impertinent.

Public smoking is allowed at many PGA venues per the local ordinances. Not only do you have no right to follow that course of action in said situation, but I'm sure my fellow stogie workers will be glad to have the relevant authorities - afterwards - apply whatever criminal code redress is most suitable/penal should you try to perpetuate your hostile behavior upon one of us. As another golf aficionado once said, "Go ahead, make our day".

More importantly than the quasi-battery you espouse without even Pearl Harbor-like warning, your comment flies in the face of our game's inherent spirit. Leave the silly rhetorical bravado & verbal showboating such as yours to all the other sports which exploit supposed students to line, instead, the coffers for the developmental programs of their professional ranks. In the only game still which prizes the competitor who calls a penalty on themselves and continues to embody the true ethos of the amateur, there's no room for smack talk by spokespeople based on silly personal peccadilloes. You set a poor example for us all with these type of Chuck Norris-wannabe remarks, besides personally embarrassing yourself.

If you're offended by the smoke, simply ask my fellow indulger to refrain in your proximity. Based on bellicosity exhibited, I'm sure the gentleman (or woman) would be more than happy to remove themselves from such a toxic presence in favor of mild leaf burning at considerable distance to a potentially hostile fellow patron.

Your new enemy for life and I'm beginning post haste, rest assured, to line-up fellow compatriots. Keep up the columns; doing wonders for your PR.

p.s. Can't wait to see the "Cigar Steel Cage" Pay-Per-View of yourself vs. Dana Quigley on the back nine of next year's Champions Tour opener. Vegas odds-makers, no doubt, will give you the edge based on attitude alone, but I'll put my money on the cagey Bay State veteran. Go DQ!!


Well I shan't cite exclusive credit for such, but fellow stogie-imbibers must have swelled with rancor similar to mine own, and Ms. S2 was compelled to try to put out the simmering fire of resentment with following, under title of ‘Readers Smokin’ Mad’, in her Jan. column:

“My strong stance against public cigar smoking resulted in a pile of reader hate mail so large that I could barely find my way to my desk (some of the e-mails … were downright scary). Most of the wrath was aimed at my statement that I’ve been known to snatch a cigar out of a guy’s mouth and stomp it out in a crowded gallery. Let me clarify: …”

Stina-la, at this point, then becomes the “Golf Digest” equivalent of Bill Clinton expounding upon the ontological definition of what “is” is [Still my favorite Bubba moment] by stating that it only happened once, the guy was drunk, she had asked him to put it out (which she implied the opposite of in the original piece) and, finally, that it is, in fact, okay in her estimable opinion for the rest of us to keep puffin’ with our buddies without raising the prospect of her potential smack-down retribution. Basically her ‘clarification’ has about the same veracity as the argument for WMD’s poppin’ up like fresh-made Bojangles biscuits all over the Iraqi desert, but did we really expect any better from an Annika Sorenstam bud?

My latent animosity stands & don’t buy Stina’s re-stance; she is now, officially, on Enemies List. [A future post, to be sure.] Although fetching in figure [Not S.S. to right though], her voice - which makes fingernails scratching a blackboard sound like Bruckner by comparison - target Ms. S. as ripe candidate for ongoing rhetorical animosity. Most importantly though, the sheer sucking-back feebleness of her subsequent reply, in reaction to the lightning rod of animosity her original blowhard comments, is proof positive that only media venue to which she should be allowed future contribution is the next “Playboy” ‘Girls Of Golf’ pictorial extravaganza! The prosecution rests.


Thursday, December 11, 2008

All-time great cigar men

Of civilization’s many recent setbacks, the ever-widening loss of pipe-smokers is a prime milepost. “Did you ‘misnome’ this diatribe, Laddie Boy?”, one might be thinking after that lead. Nay, but I am at a loss to set a personal example – the optimal response always – to ameliorate above reasoned charge. Though my own father was a confirmed Dunhill private mix man, the lovely aroma of a lit pipe doesn’t suit me (though I do look quite fetching, still, in the requisite matching argyle cardigan with oversized ivory buttons).

No, I am brusque & biting not smooth & soothing. My personal Basie rhythm section modus operandi stands juxtaposed to this latter description of something more akin to a Bing Crosby, swingin' sweetly left, melody. [Preferably, one can only hope, sans a child wailing in the background from the incipient bubbling of their buttocks due to ‘Der Bingle’ recently exercising the family hair brush. Ahem.]

My persona is that of the cigar – burning brightly pungent & perniciously. Also, as occurred to me only recently (and as sworn to on whatever stack of books you consider holy) many of my favorite men were/are imbibers of hand-rolled delights too. So, in a most self-indulgent vein admittedly, let me expound briefly upon this pantheon of Cuban-derived greatness in character & taste by supplying some not so well known tidbits about these designated Connecticut wrapper gentlemen.

1.) H.L. Mencken


Many of you, I’m sure, have noticed a near felonious borrowing with pride on my part of the verbiage, flavor & tone in this ongoing internet funfest from Mr. Henry Louis Mencken of 1524 Hollins St. Guilty, as charged, is all I can answer. My only weak mea culpa is that even if I tried to exorcise such an influence, I would fail if only due to osmosis. Mine was a misspent youth, at least in part, and the Chrestomathy loomed large and often in my literary debauchery.


Mencken's latent anti-Semitism aside, there is much in the tragic figure of H.L.M. I have always regarded highly besides his obvious textual genius. In fact (and I do mist-up even at the thought of such), that which I loved more than anything else in this world was named in honor of the ‘Bard of Baltimore’. As alluded to in a previous post, FDR’s & William Jennings Bryan’s primary nemesis not only puffed copiously in his own private life, but, in fact, was the descendant of a family prominent in cigar-making and had, at one time, their own factory for manufacturing Indians right in the heart of the ‘Charm City’.

2.) Winston Churchill


Could I really need to write anything that would even approximate that which has been scribed (including most trenchantly - and voluminously - by the man himself) already? No, sir, certainly not. My only addition, albeit a small one, is to note that the Great Lion came to his habit early when, as a young man, he and a companion were literally stranded & near penniless in Habana. For a period of two weeks Winnie subsisted, by his admission, on nothing more than oranges and the peculiar size ‘stick’ that came to have his surname’s appellation. Surprisingly he doesn't add in this diet reference to a decent cup of Cuban coffee?


3.) Groucho Marx

Speaking of oranges, there's a nice biography of the comedic brothers which describes a '50's desert road trip they made. Strip malls then were still a concept rather than utterly ubiquitous. Groucho, as background, had lost a small fortune during 1929’s Great Crash. Since such time, he had never slept very well nor trusted practically anything. Paranoia, in this case, caused the prankster to bring on the trip a large brown bag of oranges & tomatoes just in case the car broke down somewhere near the future grave sites of various Teamster loan officers. His companions, much to their amusement, noted that he kept the bag in sight as if the Holy Grail, itself, were being protected. Another salient morsel: The funniest brother, in reality, was Zeppo and the top side-splitting prize in the family went to Gummo, a brother who dropped out of the act to become an agent when the troupe transitioned from Vaudeville to the silver screen.

4.) Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman

‘Uncle Billy’ to his men, it is my regret that I will never attempt a historical work which examines the true lynchpin of the Civil War – Grant’s personal relationship with this quirky individual who – besides breaking the back of Confederate resistance – invented the modern theory of war. Possibly the only superior memoirs to U.S.G.’s are those of Sherman’s - “He (Grant) stood by me when I was crazy and I stood by him when he was drunk.” Personally I’m completely biased on this matter because, despite no physical proximity, the figure in history I most approximate is W.T.S. – with regards to the good & (in particular) the bad.


From a ‘stick’ perspective, most reports are that it was rare for the General, especially in the field, not to be seen working an Indian (lit at times, no doubt, by the smoldering remains of that which his “Boys” had just marched through). A soldier is said to have remarked during Sherman’s infamous ‘March To The Sea’, that his army’s practice of living-off-the-land was so effective “A pig found would be tossed back through the marching ranks – gutted, cleaned & eaten - so that only the bones and a piece of the ear remained by the time it reached the rear. The ear kept so that Uncle Billy would have something on which to strike a match!”. A bit of hyperbole this is, certainly, but colorful nevertheless.

5.) ‘Joseph Petroni’


Who? This one is quite a stretch and not even remotely in the same weight class as any of the other gents listed above, but, please, indulge me. This is the George Kennedy character [Seen right explaining the meat grinder effect through cabin windows of decompression at thirty thousand feet] in that late ‘60’s movie epic - and spoof engine extraordinaire - “Airplane”. The fill-um is remembered most now, I admit, for the near-splatter level testosterone contest between the characters of Burt “I love my job more than my damn wife!” Lancaster and Dean “Damnit, Lincoln, I need runway 2-9-er!” Martin. My favorite part by far, however, involves ‘Petroni’.


Despite being from TWA [There’s a blast-from-the-past name] in the picture, George Kennedy’s guy is charged with trying to dislodge a fictitiously named airline’s 727 from the infield so that ole Dino’s prized runway can become available for a landing which will save the passengers and, in so doing, also not further endanger the love child he has conceived with Stewardess Jacqueline Bisset (beyond, to be certain, a genetic proclivity of the tot to double Martini milkshakes during most of his/her elementary school years). When our husky hero, 'Petroni', finally climbs into the cockpit to “give her (the plane, that is) all she’s going to get” and blow, quite literally, the 727 out of the ditch, he so overworks his Indian in the process that the spent carcass is simply tossed over his shoulder after the deed is most assuredly (and violently) done.

Obviously I could go on, but enough frivolity for now. To those of who indulge, more power to you! To those who don’t but know/like someone who does, we appreciate your indulgence of our enjoyment and can only say, “May a thousand camels ring your caravan and you always be upwind of them!



Thursday, December 4, 2008

The positively insipid Hank Haney

Bile built for this screed based on prepping for an alternative piece, "The disappointing Tiger Woods". Researching that to-be-finished project however, the sight of Mr. Woods’ current momo-head teaching appendage, Hank Haney, on the Golf Channel demanded priority for this brief broadside before the extended Eldrick effort.

For those not familiar with such, double H runs a Juniors golf academy down Hilton Head way. As bubonic plague spread during the Dark Ages, the growth of reality-based TV has infected fully even a far-flung outpost like the Golf Channel. Mr. H-Squared has a show in which, laconically, he mouths platitudes with cliché chasers to panting pre-teens who, unfortunately, don’t actually genuflect reflexively [Maybe next season?] when a reference to El Tigre is worked-in for one time more per every 10 minutes than John Daly has had wives since winning the PGA. Nauseating as this is, the topper is Haney’s absolute blasé mien. The Parisian 1920’s ex-pat American literary crowd looks like friggin’ cheerleaders on double Espressos compared to the Hankster during most episodes. One only wonders when an EMT will appear from off-screen and whisper “Clear” while administering the paddles.

What spanked my wrath however was a 2005 "Golf Digest" ‘My Shot’ piece featuring a pair of truly vapid comments from H2. That they are inane isn't the point. Just because someone knows swing plane dynamics doesn’t mean, necessarily, they can expound upon failure of the Democratic Peace Thesis as the raison d’ etre for the Iraqi war. The disturbing thing is the mindset behind these comments, from someone so regrettably high-up in golfdom, vis-à-vis seemingly trivial concerns such as environmental sustainability, golf maintenance costs and – for good measure – the unimportance to keep historically-steeped courses viable for future major competition.

Bit hard on the lanky lad?” you think. Well, your kind Magistrate, let me enter into evidence following from said '05 magazine opus:

I can't believe all this talk about how we need to scale back the golf ball and how far it's going. Are you hitting the ball too far? Has the game gotten too easy for you? To 99.9 percent of us, the answer is no. Golf is too darn difficult. Courses have gotten longer and more challenging. Fairways are irrigated so the ball doesn't roll, but they're mowed so tight it's like hitting off this table.

The man is literally from sun-stricken Texas and Hanky's carping that fairways today get too much water so “the ball doesn’t roll” to justify the orbs' recent technological improvement? Then, to make matters worse, he adds that the short stuff is cut – surely by non-emission hand mowers – “so tight it’s like hitting off (a) table”. Hey, Einstein, here’s a radical notion: save some water and the extra fuel from bikini wax-like sod-trimming by dialing down the ball to something less than the current nuclear pellet. Not only would it be environmentally clever, but your maintenance budget would stop ballooning at same annual clip as health care and/or private university tuition increases.

This tasty nugget though is a mere appetizer. To show not only his eco-side, double H decides to take-on squarely this poppycock about history having anything significant to do with golf. Feast - albeit increduously, I admit - on below bon mot from same article:

The concern that courses like Merion are becoming obsolete for the U.S. Open because they're too short is a little nuts. It might be obsolete for the very best players in the world, but Merion is more than almost anyone can handle. So Hogan hit a 1-iron into the 18th hole and today they're hitting an 8-iron? I have a great solution to that: Just hold the U.S. Open somewhere else and stop lengthening all these courses. The game is hard enough for the rest of the golfers who play it.

Absolutely! Let us, in fact, create a whole new rota of courses each decade and obsolete the remaining catalog for merely play by the length-challenged lumpen proletariat who might remember the links’ faded glory days. Maybe – like an Appalachian coal family – we could set up a hand-me-down schedule of tournament course distance deprecation that went something like PGA-to-Nationwide-to-Champions Tour–to-LPGA-to anybody not wearing a wife-beater shirt on the 1st tee? What a dipsh$%! Forget, also, the whole notion that golf’s oldest championship, played across the pond, has only a prescribed family of tracks on which it has been contested since just after that wee skirmish of ours stateside concerning the keeping of those with dark complexion in perpetual bondage.

That somebody could be this daft is frightening (and not just "a little nuts" as Hank is quoted as labelling his critics above) for our hallowed game considering this man's position plus present prominence. People actually probably listen to what he says, is the unfortunate truth.

That he has, as well, the ear of Tiger Woods no less, speaks to the considerably less than stellar decisions and examples set off the course by the greatest golfer of all-time. Discussion of such will be made at length in a subsequent post.