Not as big a deal as some would think
Sorry, I don’t see the announcement out of Augusta yesterday as quite the gigantic step for humankind that some do.
Yes, it’s all well and good that the bigwigs who run a very private golf club that happens to host a big tournament once a year have finally have invited two women – a powerful banker, a former political giant – to join the club, how nice of them indeed.
But sea change?
It’s still a very private, exclusionary club and they exist all over the world. Heck, there are clubs in this area I can’t join and my life seems complete.
The men – and now women – who belong to Augusta are still what they’ve been for time immemorial.
They are rich titans of industry and captains of politics and they are dead set in their ways and they don’t get a rat’s patoot what you or I think.
Let ‘em have their little cabal, let ‘em do what they want to do. It’s not, and never was in my opinion, some huge human injustice. Sure, it was wrong but, frankly, there are many things much more wrong in this world than some gaggle of rich old dudes wanting to be by themselves. Perhaps if they’d taken some of the money the Masters makes and poured into social programs in Augusta, it would have had a heavier social impact than inviting two women into the club every will.
And, no, I don’t see how they bowed to pressure, they did things on their own timeline, which is fine with me, and they did it when it was somewhat least expected.
Yes, there will be no more awkward questions next April when Billy Payne (who I still despite because he was in charge of the debacle that was the Atlanta Olympics, by the way) has to face the media before the Masters. And it’s one less story my friends and colleagues have to report – again. And Martha Burk can’t ever get a couple dozen of her friends to protest down the road.
But you know what?
They don’t care what you or I think.
They remain what they were, with one slight change; perhaps this makes the membership a little less abhorrent to some and moves the club up in the estimation of some. But to think this is some huge move that signals a stark change in the way they operate is rather silly.
Augusta is what Augusta is. It’s just a little bit different now.
Somewhere, Fang is either wonderfully pleased or horribly afraid.
The thing about Diller is that I’m not sure she got her due as a comic. Not sure if it was the era, the competition, the style but when you talk about the great comediennes of all time, she’s never the first one that comes to mind.
Lucille Ball, yes.
Carol Burnett, for sure.
Even Mary Tyler Moore, I think.
Phyllis could make ‘em laugh with the best of ‘em most of the time.
When the batteries in the smoke detector on the ceiling run dead and it starts beeping that annoying beep at 6 a.m. truly is delightful, isn’t it?
Yes, indeed, that is me and junior hockey on the front page of the newspaper today.
That’s what happens when you’re the only reporter around and stuff happens; kind of like covering trampoline or archery over in London except it’s something a lot closer to home to a lot of you.
Now, do I know very much about junior hockey and a possible players’ association? Of course not. But I do know how to report a story and that’s what we do.
Now, do I think a players association is needed?
Probably not but if that’s what forces the CHL and the three major junior leagues to alter or beef up or make standard educational programs for players after they leave the game then I’m all for it.
Look, these leagues and teams pluck some kids as young as 14 out of their homes and ask them to become de facto professional athletes. Sure, they’re supposed to go to school and the scheduled isn’t as arduous as a pro league but, still, they are athletes first and foremost.
If there’s something definite at the end of the junior career to help them further their education or learn a trade or start a business, that’s huge. It should be happening now, should have been happening for years.
I don’t know the numbers for sure but I would guess that less than five per cent of the players in the CHL today will have any kind of meaningful professional hockey career. Sure, some may kick around the low minors for a few years, some may get gigs in Europe but the majority won’t get a sniff, won’t make a dime off the game and if there’s something mandated waiting for them when the inevitable end comes, good.
I think the only way I’d be remotely interested in 50-year-old Roger Clemens making a comeback in the Atlantic League this weekend if he was randomly selected to go pee in a bottle after his start.
So I’m loafing on the couch last night flipping through the dial and come to the Nationals-Braves game and it’s a pretty good one.
And I’m sitting there thinking, you know what, I’d really like to be a fan of the Nationals, good young team on the rise, a couple of very exciting young players, a crack pitching staff and a pretty cool look, even if the logo seems stolen from Walgreens.
And then I think, no, you can’t do that.
Those are, or were, the Expos and I hope they never win a thing.