Fore!
Yesterday, the front page of Yahoo was advertising some interview with Bush from Politico.com. It was only in video format, though, and I reached the point where I avoid actually hearing the man speak about 10 years ago*.
Anyhow, the teaser on Yahoo said something about "learn why the President stopped playing golf. You'll be surprised to find it's a serious one." And I thought, "Holy shit! This is great! Bush actually cares about the environment and is doing his part to avoid hurting it even more. Hot damn! I never thought I'd see the day."
So today, I found the interview in print form, and scrolled to find the word "golf." Q Mr. President, you haven't been golfing in recent years. Is that related to Iraq?
THE PRESIDENT: Yes, it really is. I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the Commander-in-Chief playing golf. I feel I owe it to the families to be as -- to be in solidarity as best as I can with them. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal.
Q Mr. President, was there a particular moment or incident that brought you to that decision, or how did you come to that?
THE PRESIDENT: No, I remember when de Mello, who was at the U.N., got killed in Baghdad as a result of these murderers taking this good man's life. And I was playing golf -- I think I was in central Texas -- and they pulled me off the golf course and I said, it's just not worth it anymore to do.
Ok, fine. That's actually not a bad answer, though I was hoping acknowledgement of the whole environment thing.
A few days ago, a golf discussion broke out on my lawyer board. My sole experience with golf involves putt putt, and the last time I played was at Burning Man. The time before that was the night before moppety got married. I don't really have any love for the sport qua sport, but in recent years, I've become more and more uncomfortable with the impact that golf courses have on the environment.
Golf courses are a water suck, and for some reason, people like to build golf courses in places like Arizona and Nevada and other places where water isn't actually all that abundant. A few years ago, the PGA wanted to build a massive complex in San Antonio, and residents there were up in arms about what the impact to the Edwards and Trinity Aquifers, the underground resiviors that provide water for that part of Texas. The fight was huge, and the PGA ultimately pulled out of the whole thing. Of course, Marriot started construction on something similar last year, so there's no denying golfers their playgrounds. I imagine sooner or later someone will find pesticides in the water.
Over a decade ago, I read an article about the type of golf I'd like to play. A writer for Outside Magazine golfed the Lewis and Clark trail. This sport-in-the-rough is a variety of the game Kitty and I already played where we live on the Clark Fork River, near the Pacific side of the trail. Once in a while we pack our clubs and ride our horses to some state-owned parkland where we can hit golf balls for free all day long. It's a far cry from what goes on in that bright but tormented land I call Fairway--the sum of U.S. golf courses now approaching the size of Connecticut in aggregate square miles. There's a lot I don't like about Fairway: its unquenchable thirst (which has started big fights in parched venues like the Southwest), the ceaseless overuse of pesticides and fertilizer, the absence of all wildlife save the ubiquitous golf-course goose. All of this seems at odds with what is a simple, ancient game offering a sweetness like no other.
It took Lewis and Clark only nine weeks to make their way home from Sand Coulee Creek to St. Charles. But they didn't have to lug any clubs. I decided to set aside a summer and part of a fall for this journey. I intended to float the cleanest length of the river; later, when the waters became hopelessly fouled with agricultural by-products spewed by farmers and ranchers, I would car-camp in the floodplains.
So with a hearty "Fore!" I sallied out, toting a ratty blue Naugahyde golf bag, ten $3 clubs from the Salvation Army, and 400 range balls. I hoped I could make them last.
That's the sort of golf I think I could play.
*He was the speaker at my sister's high school graduation in 1995. I actually missed that particular event, but I've had to listen to the man a hell of a lot longer than most people. With the exception of the year 2000, I've been governed by him for the last 14 years.
Anyhow, the teaser on Yahoo said something about "learn why the President stopped playing golf. You'll be surprised to find it's a serious one." And I thought, "Holy shit! This is great! Bush actually cares about the environment and is doing his part to avoid hurting it even more. Hot damn! I never thought I'd see the day."
So today, I found the interview in print form, and scrolled to find the word "golf." Q Mr. President, you haven't been golfing in recent years. Is that related to Iraq?
THE PRESIDENT: Yes, it really is. I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the Commander-in-Chief playing golf. I feel I owe it to the families to be as -- to be in solidarity as best as I can with them. And I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal.
Q Mr. President, was there a particular moment or incident that brought you to that decision, or how did you come to that?
THE PRESIDENT: No, I remember when de Mello, who was at the U.N., got killed in Baghdad as a result of these murderers taking this good man's life. And I was playing golf -- I think I was in central Texas -- and they pulled me off the golf course and I said, it's just not worth it anymore to do.
Ok, fine. That's actually not a bad answer, though I was hoping acknowledgement of the whole environment thing.
A few days ago, a golf discussion broke out on my lawyer board. My sole experience with golf involves putt putt, and the last time I played was at Burning Man. The time before that was the night before moppety got married. I don't really have any love for the sport qua sport, but in recent years, I've become more and more uncomfortable with the impact that golf courses have on the environment.
Golf courses are a water suck, and for some reason, people like to build golf courses in places like Arizona and Nevada and other places where water isn't actually all that abundant. A few years ago, the PGA wanted to build a massive complex in San Antonio, and residents there were up in arms about what the impact to the Edwards and Trinity Aquifers, the underground resiviors that provide water for that part of Texas. The fight was huge, and the PGA ultimately pulled out of the whole thing. Of course, Marriot started construction on something similar last year, so there's no denying golfers their playgrounds. I imagine sooner or later someone will find pesticides in the water.
Over a decade ago, I read an article about the type of golf I'd like to play. A writer for Outside Magazine golfed the Lewis and Clark trail. This sport-in-the-rough is a variety of the game Kitty and I already played where we live on the Clark Fork River, near the Pacific side of the trail. Once in a while we pack our clubs and ride our horses to some state-owned parkland where we can hit golf balls for free all day long. It's a far cry from what goes on in that bright but tormented land I call Fairway--the sum of U.S. golf courses now approaching the size of Connecticut in aggregate square miles. There's a lot I don't like about Fairway: its unquenchable thirst (which has started big fights in parched venues like the Southwest), the ceaseless overuse of pesticides and fertilizer, the absence of all wildlife save the ubiquitous golf-course goose. All of this seems at odds with what is a simple, ancient game offering a sweetness like no other.
It took Lewis and Clark only nine weeks to make their way home from Sand Coulee Creek to St. Charles. But they didn't have to lug any clubs. I decided to set aside a summer and part of a fall for this journey. I intended to float the cleanest length of the river; later, when the waters became hopelessly fouled with agricultural by-products spewed by farmers and ranchers, I would car-camp in the floodplains.
So with a hearty "Fore!" I sallied out, toting a ratty blue Naugahyde golf bag, ten $3 clubs from the Salvation Army, and 400 range balls. I hoped I could make them last.
That's the sort of golf I think I could play.
*He was the speaker at my sister's high school graduation in 1995. I actually missed that particular event, but I've had to listen to the man a hell of a lot longer than most people. With the exception of the year 2000, I've been governed by him for the last 14 years.