Running (Ruining) The Masters
If you have ever been hungover on a Sunday, you’ve probably watched the Masters. An annual tradition of high society showcasing how with enough talent, excessive money, and free time you could be one of the greats of golf. With the approaching Master’s weekend, many in the sports world recap incredible moments in golf history, centered around the greatest game nobody can afford.
If you have not caught on, I don’t like golf. Neither does our friend Malcolm Gladwell.
In many ways, running is the best athletic middle finger to golf. And golf, in many ways flips the bird right back at us. In October and November, tens of thousands of high schoolers tear the shit out of golf courses for the love of running during a variety of State and Conference Championships.
As a mediocre high school/collegiate runner, I would think mid-race about hundreds of feet tearing greens to pieces despite the half-assed efforts of assistant coaches giving us the quick “don’t run on the green” pep talks.
Some folks want to relive their glory years for love of the running. For me, I would love to just watch some late-season geriatrics get flustered as a flock of runners impeded their back nine.
So as the sports world celebrates the love of golf, let us raise our spikes and dig deep into the earth and break into the local country club and get some good miles in.
Without a track, court, field or identical playing field across the country. Cross is built on these local legends of golf courses, raiding through a grounds keepers nightmare pushing down fareways with an occasional beer can or two it truly is America’s best kept secret in athletics.