This is really hard to admit, but I am obsessed with something. I cannot get it out of my mind. I think about it, rolling it over and over again, like a shiny stone, trying to fully comprehend its essence.
What is my little shiny obsession? It’s Trump. Playing golf.
I know WTF, right? It’s crazy, but everything that happens, every news snippet, every slight or injustice, every crazy political scheme, and I think about him playing golf. And it annoys the crap out of me. He orders bombings in Syria, in a room likely overlooking his golf course. He shakes the hands of foreign leaders with the tiny hands that will swing a club at a tiny ball a few short hours later. He’s likely quite distracted by the thought of hitting the course all the while discussing important issues like global warming and human rights. With a man and an administration showing so much instability, the only stabilizing force appears to be, surprisingly, golf.
My analytical mind wants to make connections, discover the true meaning behind the actions. Why Trump? Why golf? What is it about golf that draws someone like him to it for introspection and enlightenment like some kind of weekly church service?
I wish I knew from personal experience, but golf never really interested me. I’ve played miniature golf before — in fact, it’s a family tradition when we go on vacation to Myrtle Beach. It’s tacky and touristy and we love it, but I certainly wouldn’t turn to it in times of great turmoil. Wine, maybe, but not golf. My husband has a set of clubs in the garage, covered with cobwebs, and I’m pretty sure he bought them at Walmart, so that’s kind of embarrassing. Especially because golf is for the rich. If he showed up with those clubs at Mar-A-Lago, well, the banjo theme from Deliverance would play.
The fact that Trump loves golf shows the separation of us from them. Golf costs a lot of money. Regular middle-class golfers can play, but certainly not the poor. And certainly not at a fancy shmancy golf course. And certainly not every single weekend. Golf is a status symbol. The richer you are, the more golf you can play. Trump likes that.
I think his love of golf may have something to do with the clubs. I see his form, hands gripped one on top of the other on the shaft of the club, his legs just slightly spread for stability, and that club poised in between his thighs. The follow through with his swing, showing the club straight up in the air like a giant, hard, erect … well, you get the picture. For what he may lack in gifts from mother nature, he surely makes up with a long, hard golf club swinging through the air.
(Did my Freudian slip just show? Let me adjust my skirt.)
Poor Trump. He has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Having all that money must be such a burden. Being the POTUS is hard! A man just needs a way to blow off a little steam. Hitting a tiny ball with an instrument reminiscent of a phallus is not hurting anybody! Spending hard-earned tax payer money (the government has been working so hard on our behalf to earn it from us!) on something as important as the president’s mental health and well-being is really such a small price to pay. I’d prefer to pay for him to see a psychiatrist, but if golf is keeping us from entering World War III, then I guess I have no choice. I guess I’m going to have to accept it and let it go, the leader of the free world likes to play with his long, hard, erect golf clubs every single weekend.