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Women at the Masters, change is coming

Features Column

T. Gamble
Feature Columnist

T. Gamble Feature Columnist

By the time you read this article, one of the great events in America will have begun its annual destruction of egos of the greatest golfers in the world. Yes, the Masters will again begin on Thursday and again I am not invited.

But Augusta National now has women members, who are invited, and I understand Condi Rice and Phil Mickelson played a practice round last week. One of the last vestiges of male bonding is no more. I guess they now serve white wine with carrots instead of hard liquor at the bar.

Yes, women now work in any field a man does. They play all the same sports. They can sleep around all they want before marriage and sometimes after.

They expect men to cook and clean and change the babies’ diapers; that is if they decide they need a man for the baby at all. Men should be sensitive and listen well; you know, ask things like “how was your day and say, oh, I’m sorry your boss yelled at you; I know just how you feel.”

Is it any wonder men are now marrying other men? At least if I married my best friend Joe he wouldn’t care if I’m wearing plaid shorts with a striped shirt. Well, actually, he might care if I was wearing plaid shorts.

Then again, if I was married to him plaid might be right up his alley. I’d never have to see Lifetime TV again. I wouldn’t need to watch my language, pick my clothes up off the floor, or even care if the kitchen sink collapsed from the weight of dirty dishes. I could paint the walls of the bedroom and live in comfort knowing they would still be the same color on the day I died even if that were 50 years later. I could go blind and not worry about negotiating around the house because the furniture would be in the same exact location as the day I took it off the moving truck and placed it in the house.

Can you imagine how many times the women are going to rearrange the clubhouse furniture at Augusta? Poor Bubba Watson, he probably won’t be able to find his green jacket after the closets are renovated.

I’d be happy with a Philco refrigerator from 1952 and a few bean bag chairs, which after my wife reads this may be all I am left with. I’d Roundup the yard, buy a motor grader, and scrap the yard about 3 times a year.

I’d get my 8-year-old boy to drive the thing as I figure in a few years he’ll be driving one on the work crew anyway. I’d concrete the den floor, put in a center drain, slope the floor to the center, and hook me a garden hose to the kitchen sink.

Vacuum cleaners would become obsolete, which for me they already are, as I can’t even turn one of those things on. Joe and I would go to the ball games, talk about politically incorrect things all day, like gay marriage, and be able to act like a man, except, of course, for the little problem that we would be married to each other.

Well, I should just get over it and accept that mankind has now been fully metrosexualized. Men wear earrings, shave places I didn’t even know a razor would go and get manicures. They get in touch with their inner feminine side, whatever in the hell that is.

Before you know it they’ll be working at Hooters in orange short shorts. I may as well surrender and scrap the gay marriage. He’d probably just get fat and try to change me. I’ll watch the Masters alone, maybe just me and the 8-year-old boy’s dinosaurs.

Contact columnist

T. Gamble at t@colliergamble.com.

Comments

waltspecht 1 year, 6 months ago

Just which Joe areyou referring to?

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