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The Gloves Are Off...RonMon Takes On CB

Thursday November 2, 2006 | 19:48:58 652 words, 4279 views
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Time for a good battle of words with a fellow blogger. Don’t you hate it when bloggers kow-tow to each other, avoiding a toe-stomp? Well, none of that here at TG. Why, I remember back in the day when I used to argue with Old McDonald and Bold-Whine about … well, actually I forget. No matter. Here you have today’s tift: I wrote a response to CB Maxwell’s maiden blog, where he told us every stinking, unimportant detail of his life, except what brand of toilet paper he favors (I’m told it’s Charmin.) My retort went like this:

“and the lack of civility in many of today’s daily fee players are ruining the gentle and noble game I grew up playing.”

This sort of comment raises my hackles, as it lacks the proper clarification needed to situate it within the scope of your philosophy. If you are referring to public-course golfers as a whole, in broad-sweeping, umbrella-term fashion, then you are incorrect. Public golf has always been a yan to the private club’s ying. One cannot exist. much less thrive, without the other.

If you have specific experiences that represent the norm, or the exception to the norm, then out with them! Don’t fan the flames without tossing a log or two on the fire. Other than that, the Phil comment seemed a bit staged and quite unjustified. Guts? Stamina? I see that you worked for FEEL Golf, but nowhere does it say “Callaway” on your resume. Besides the visibile gut, Phil seems to have what it takes to win majors with Tiger lurking (2005 PGA and 2006 Masters.)

So today, old acronym himself responds with this:

Hmmmm….lemme think. Golfers cutting in front of your group on 10
without asking. Golfers who hit into you without apology. Golfers
who don’t rake the bunkers. Golfers who won’t let singles player in
a cart play through a walking foursome. Golfers who start fights
with others who hit into them. Golfers who steal golf clubs while
you are posting your score. Golfers who sandbag to take home
hardware in tournaments. Golfers who talk during your setup during
tournament play. Golfers who are blocked from view and then yell at
you when you hit into them accidentally, even when you apologise.
Golfers who are late for their tee time, but then believe they have
the right to go ahead of your group who IS on time. Golfers who pick
up your ball when you hit in the wrong fairway and then act like you
lost it. Golfers who hit two or three shots and practice putting
while you wait in the fairway, just because they might have a wait
ahead of them on the next tee…and act like!
it doesn’t matter. Enough discourtesy for you RON MAN?

I guess that the gentry should stay with the gentry, then. If you grow up playing public golf, none of the above really bothers you. Lock your clubs in your car if you’re worried, or leave one of your foursome to stand guard. Yelling is part of the game, so learn to yell back or learn to appease the angry. If they grab your ball when you slice it into their turf, yell at them! Guys who fight with other golfers can also be appeased, so always carry a spare soda to appease them. Nothing quiets an angry golfer like a soda. If ‘m a single in a cart, and a four won’t let me through, I freaking skip a hole and go around them! What are they going to do, chase me? That’s why I’m in a cart. If they cut in front of you on 10, report it to the starter, then hit into them, start yelling at them, start a fight with them, pick their ball up and pretend it’s lost, and finally, play through them with your cart!!!

Ahh, I feel so much better. Who’s my next target?


Comments:

Comment from: Brandon Tucker [Member] Email · http://www.worldgolf.com/blogs/brandon.tucker
Sweet Jesus, I experience an experience CB rants about maybe 1/100 times I golf. He must play in a rough place or is a total grizzled pessimist.

I don't believe in handicap tournaments so sandbagging is not an issue for me, but I can see how it might be a nuisance.

Getting annoyed by golfers who talk in your setup? Do two things, back off the ball and say shut the F up, or zone out and hit it anyways. If you can't concentrate its your fault.

Slow groups who won't let you play through usually have about two holes to step aside before warning shots are unloaded on them.

Don't be a victim, take action!

That isn't to say I'm siding with you, Ron Mon. Your Road Hole advice was still worthless.



Permalink 11/02/06 @ 20:26
Comment from: Chris Baldwin [Member] Email
RonMon, at least this blog is almost comprehensible. Almost. That’s a start though. I can imagine how tough it is when all the high schoolers are leaving their Elmer’s glue containers open in your classroom.

But is it really a reason to hate on Maxwell just because he chose to steal my initials rather than your ridiculous moniker. Keep that head up. I’m sure WKW will hire a new RonMon sometime.

Permalink 11/02/06 @ 22:25
Comment from: Ron Mon [Member] Email · http://www.buffalogolfer.com
Elmer's Glue has no odor, amigo. I think it's the rubber cement to which you are hearkening back. I don't hate on anyone, just enjoy the repartee. And, as with Shivas Irons, stop looking for another RonMon; the mold was used but once.
--RonMoniker
Permalink 11/02/06 @ 22:51
Comment from: William K. Wolfrum [Member] Email · http://www.worldgolf.com/blogs/william.wolfrum
It just occurred to me. I bet no one ever gave RonMon an invitation to TravelGolf's day-long seminar: "The Paragraph: It's your Friend"

I think we need to make that happen. Senor Mon is losing too many readers to hynoptization from reading 625-word paragraphs.

--WKW
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 06:40
I feel the same way, William. This RonMon must be a wannabee Faulkner. Rreminds me of how her voice would not cease, it would just vanish. There would be the dim coffin-smelling gloom sweet and oversweet with the twice-bloomed wistaria against the outer wall by the savage quiet September sun impacted distilled and hyperdistilled, into which came now and then the loud cloudy flutter of the sparrows like a flat limber stick whipped by an idle boy, and the rank smell of female old flesh long embattled in virginity while the wan haggard face watched him above the faint triangle of lace at wrists and throat from the too tall chair in which she resembled a crucified child; and the voice not ceasing but vanishing into and then out of the long intervals like a stream, a trickle running from patch to patch of dried sand, and the ghost mused with shadowy docility as if it were the voice which he haunted where a more fortunate one would have had a house. Out of quiet thunderclap he would abrupt (man-horse-demon) upon a scene peaceful and decorous as a schoolprize water color, faint sulphur-reek still in hair clothes and beard, with grouped behind him his band of wild niggers like beasts half tamed to walk upright like men, in attitudes wild and reposed, and manacled among them the French architect with his air grim, haggard, and tatterran. Immobile, bearded and hand palm-lifted the horseman sat; behind him the wild blacks and the captive architect huddled quietly, carrying in bloodless paradox the shovels and picks and axes of peaceful conquest. Then in the long unamaze Quentin seemed to watch them overrun suddenly the hundred square miles of tranquil and astonished earth and drag house and formal gardens violently out of the soundless Nothing and clap them down like cards upon a table beneath the up-palm immobile and pontific, creating the Sutpen's Hundred, the Be Sutpen's Hundred like the oldentime Be Light. Then hearing would reconcile and he would seem to listen to two separate Quentins now-the Quentin Compson preparing for Harvard in the South, the deep South dead since 1865 and peopled with garrulous outraged baffled ghosts, listening, having to listen, to one of the ghosts which had refused to lie still even longer than most had, telling him about old ghost-times; and the Quentin Compson who was still too young to deserve yet to be a ghost but nevertheless having to be one for all that, since he was born and bred in the deep South the same as she was-the two separate Quentins now talking to one another in the long silence of notpeople in notlanguage, like this: It seems that this demon-his name was Sutpen-(Colonel Sutpen)-Colonel Sutpen. Who came out of nowhere and without warning upon the land with a band of strange niggers and built a plantation -(Tore violently a plantation, Miss Rosa Coldfield says)-tore violently. And married her sister Ellen and begot a son and a daughter which-(Without gentleness begot, Miss Rosa Coldfield says)-without gentleness. Which should have been the jewels of his pride and the shield and comfort of his old age, only-(Only they destroyed him or something or he destroyed them or something. And died)-and died. Without regret, Miss Rosa Coldfield says-(Save by her) Yes, save by her. (And by Quentin Compson) Yes. And by Quentin Compson.
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 06:55
Comment from: Ron Mon [Member] Email · http://www.buffalogolfer.com
Ahh, jealousy! Rather than criticize the writer, might I suggest that you two light-weights weigh in on the topic? Might be of more merit to our readers.
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 09:04
Comment from: Kiel Christianson [Member] Email · http://www.travelgolf.com/departments/authorarchives/christianson.htm
I'm with Ron & Brandon: All I play is daily fee golf, yet I can count on one hand the times any of the atrocities CB lists have happened during a round. What the hell kind of public courses does he play at?
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 10:29
Comment from: CB MAXWELL [Member] Email
"He's been told it is Charmin?" Well, I must confess to actually using toilet paper, having moved on from using leaves. It must have been a slow news day for RM, to resort to becoming my "critic at large." In looking over his past posts it seems that the world simply is not up to RM's high standards. I look forward to the day when I am in the foursome following RM, so I can deploy some of his ideas on courtesy.
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 12:38
Comment from: ronmon [Visitor] Email · http://ww.travelgolf.com/blogs/ron.mon
If you follow my crew on the course, better put on your track shoes. We play fast, politely and publicly. Regarding the insinuation that I have high standards, I resent that remark. I recently learned how to spell standards, and am still not completely comfortable with the term. Congratulations on the evolutionary step of adopting TP...it's the best, don't you think?
Permalink 11/03/06 @ 13:54

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