Alphabet Soup: Superman, Kryptonite, Pat Perez, Bob Hope Celebrity Classic

I was driving along when it hit me: Superman always wilted in the presence of kryptonite on Earth, right? So how come we see all those Kryptonians cruising around their planet, before it blew up, as if nothing was the matter? The whole planet was made of the stuff, so why weren’t they doubled over in pain, just like Kal-El is on Earth, everytime he comes in contact with the deadly rock? I guess it wouldn’t be all that dramatic if he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “crap, there go my powers. Someone want to get rid of the rock?”

Superman entered my mind because he is the essence of eponymous hyperbole. What he is, is the perfect man. He came to Earth and not only increased his powers, but also preserved a metrosexuality/alphamaleness in one happy package. Does he ever argue with people? No. Does he always have the correct answer? Yes. Is he well-groomed? Yes. Metrosexuality, check. Does he swoop in to save the day, independent of assistance? Yes. Does he waver from his principles ever? No. Is he strong like bull? Yes. Alpha Male, check.

Watching Pat Perez over the weekend, it ocurred to me that of all the accidental supermen that accidentally happen over time, Kal-El was the jackpot. He could actually shoulder the load. Look at Perez: starts the week off with a 12-under 60: Superman. Heads over to some other courses, and discovers kryptonite bunkers and hole liners. It’s pretty darned hard to be Superman for five days in the desert, much less 24/7/365. To be sure, there were a bunch of other hero candidates in the bunch, but no one else could really shoulder the load.

Superman in post-modern times is a day-to-day, week-to-week thing. Most supermen in our world don’t have nearly the charisma that Kal-El or even the dude from Smallville exude. Look at the man, square, extended jaw, dipsy-doodle-inverted-Dairy-Queen-hair-curl on his forehead, unbroken nose. The supermen I know smell funny, have pockmarks on their faces, and do not provide camera-ready smiles and delovely sound bites.

That local putz (and we all know or are one) who exclaims “I would love to take time off from work, and do nothing but play and practice, to find out how good I am,” would last three days. These guys are good because they, in the realm of golf, as Rocky Thompson once exclaimed on the 18th green of a forgotten course, “today, are the man.” Or is it the superman?