My Daily Prayer

Who would ever think that one could be so miserable at a job that is relatively easy, affords a reasonable schedule for parents, and pays $93,000 per year? It is stunning how incredibly bored I am at this gig. Stunning. And I say this because it’s viciously true. I arrive each workday at 9:00-ish, head for the gym from 11:15 to 12:45, and then drive home at about 4:30. All in all, I’m “working” maybe 6 hours, though I am up to date with all my assigned chores. What an apt word, chore, to describe this scene. I am, for the most part, utterly alone in this brown-gray office. Virtually all others employed here seem to drone on and on and on, wrapped up in the minutiae of far too drawn out details. I may be able to make it another year. Maybe.

September 11, 2010 will mark 15 years in what is essentially the same exact rut on the side of the road of life. Prior to embarking on this bland mission, I had viewed government work as some noble calling, a way to serve my community. It turns out that I am exceptionally selfish and do not have much desire or need to do this folly. I have one year…one year until the halfway mark of a “traditional” 30-year career. I very seriously may vomit right now. I simply, forcefully, willfully MUST find my way before that fateful date hits me like a black bomb. Otherwise, I fear, all may be lost and I will suffer through untold more decades stuck firmly in the bleak mud of this backwater.

God help me find my way. Matthew exhorts us to “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” (Matthew 7:13-14 - NIV). I would rather be riding the cyclone with Dorothy with the chance of meeting Jesus than slowly dying at this desk/casket.

Sewer Golf

I wanted to fall in love with golf this weekend at the Legends Reno-Tahoe Open. I had always heard that golf was a gentleman's game, a genteel throwback to the days of courtesy and respect amidst competition. This rose-colored vision of spectators and players alike interacting with civility toward one another in a magnificent setting has been thoroughly dashed over the last several months, culminating at the tournament but building from my visits to the local course where I began formal lessons with a PGA Professional in late spring.

I volunteered to be a marshal on hole #9 at the RTO as I believed it would give me some on-course insight to the game. Situated along the landing zone, I saw some incredible second shots from 10 yards away. The ease at which most of the touring professionals swing a golf club is rewarding to experience. The sound of the clubface striking the golf ball, when it is done to perfection, is satisfying to hear and feel, even in spectator's shoes.

What I did not expect was the nearly constant onslaught of profanity coming from my fellow volunteers, drunken spectators and the players themselves. Regardless of the substantial presence of children in the galleries (though this should have no bearing on such behaviour) foul language was heard loudly and often at tee boxes, along the fairways, on the greens and throughout the public areas of the course. Much of the talk amongst the 50-60-something volunteer force involved alcohol or sexual references about each other or any attractive female within eyeshot. Drunken spectators, ranging in age from 21 through at least 70, staggered about the grounds, shouting profanities or uttering crude comments. Though I did not personally hear foul language from the players, a few standard bearers informed me that it was rampant. A few threw their clubs after poor shots, which, in a professional tour setting, is completely unacceptable. Where have the gentlemen of this game gone?

Earlier this year, I enrolled my 9-year-old son in the First Tee program at the same course where my lessons are located. The draw for me was the Nine Core Values of golf, including sportsmanship and courtesy among others. The program itself is wonderful and I highly recommend it to parents of kids with golf aspirations. I ensured that both my son and I were outfitted appropriately to be in accordance with course rules about collared shirts and the like. Wholly unexpected was, again, the absolute preponderance of vulgar language on and around the course. Mind you, this is a private and relatively upscale club with members ranging in age from 45-70 and employed as executives in a variety of professions.

With cigar smoke pouring from their cart and empty beer cans rattling on the floorboards, a twosome just finishing 18 rolled up to the clubhouse shouting and making profane gestures, screaming at their drunken buddies already at the bar. My son and I were walking toward the First Tee meeting at the driving range along with other parents with their 6-15-year-old junior golfers in tow as this bacchanalistic scene played out before us. I wish I could say this was an isolated incident. Though myself and other parents reported the incident to the owner of the club, such behaviour has not changed and we have witnessed similar embarrassments during nearly every visit.

My son no longer wants to endure the barrage of foul, drunken old men reeling around the clubhouse, and the parents that I have discussed this with are equally dismayed. I am saddened that the noble sport of golf has devolved to the point of being no more refined than a Raiders game.