"Get in the hole?"

[like confession, it's been a very long time since my last blog. Perhaps I shall one day combine the two]

Strangely, over the last year I've developed something that approximates an addiction to golf. I shall not get into the symptoms that suggest I have an addiction (surprisingly the DSM, the guide to mental disorders big and small, differentiates substance use into abuse and dependence rather than labeling the behavior as an addiction. Other addictions like gambling, lying, or stealing are classified under the impulse control disorders). As an aside, golf is more like an impulse restraint disorder. Everything in one's basest and most rudimentary behavioral self is provoked towards unbridled expression starting from the moment the ball is teed (and possibly hit). And yet, golf demands an expression of decorum that only serves to further heighten the tension between the meso-limbic urge to hurl one's driver like a battle axe or auger the green with your putter. Apart from the plaid pants and John Daly (wearing plaid pants), golf is often associated with hushed tones and muted clapping. Until recently.

Apparently over the years, golf has taken on more of a brash, sports-like feel. While I don't think the expression 'rock-star' best characterizes tour players (except John Daly), sports-star certainly does (compared to the old-school legends--Nicklaus, Palmer, Hogan, etc, the new-generation players look like they've followed the lead of Major League Baseball. I mean, Tiger has forearms like a hockey player and Camilo Villegas (however Villegas is pronounced Vee-jay-gus is beyond me) looks more like a domestique from the Peloton than a pro golfer)). Along with this relaxation of restraint comes a new breed of gallery. While one cannot deny the enthusiasm that crowds generate (or is it a mob), there is one element in contemporary golf that must be banished immediately. I'm referring to the guy who is in the gallery at every televised tour event. This is the guy who stands at every tee-box, every mid-fairway shot, every hazard, and green who yells at every shot, "GET IN THE HOLE!"

The Get-in-the-Hole Guy is either the world's greatest optimist (yelling GITH! on the tee-shot on a 650 yard Par-5 is the not the same as Tom Watson hoping to direct the ball rolling against a gentle left-to-right break on a gusty green at Turnberry) or the Get-in-the-Hole Guy discovered that the battle cry GITH! is golf's equivalent to yelling "Freebird" at every rock concert, or the East Coast chant-clap "Let's Go (Rangers-Yankees-Bruins-Sox-etc.) clap-clap-clap-clap-clap" (the last three claps are in triplet time for those who read music). The Get-in-the-Hole Guy must be discovered and awarded golf's ultimate penalty stroke (or, he should go back to the stands at a NASCAR event). Does anybody know who this guy is?

The Get-in-the-Hole Guy must be found and removed from all the courses of the world from St. Andrews to the local 4-and-a-half hole muni pitch-and-putt (using a beer can on a smooth patch of dead grass does not constitute pin placement). That is, unless the Get-in-the-Hole Guy actually is John Daly.