We're talking about the definitive pseudosport. CEOs grown fat on corporate compensation, balding moneymen with guts hanging over lurid plaid Sansabelts and eyes glistening rheumily with privilege in the noonday country-club sun. I heard that one a few years ago. Golf is your father's, your grandfather's, your great-grandfather's game. Golf is old.
Golf is tired.
A quick scan of the contemporary sportscape tells another story. Sales of golf equipment have been shooting through the roof. Maximum Golf, edited by former Details and Los Angeles chief Michael Caruso. And Sunday, Tiger Woods, who finished in the money so many times in his first three years as a pro that he's already surpassed the career winnings of some legendary predecessors, trounced a field of the world's best pro golfers at the 100th U.S. Open at Pebble Beach. By comparison, the recent Stanley Cup finals seemed, despite a thrilling series of battles between Dallas and New Jersey, positively ho-hum.