A Pickpocket's Paradise

Ming ran across the televised U.S. Open Golf Tournament and wonders why those crowds are willing to stand around in the rain to glean a very imperfect view of their dubious heroes doing very convoluted but also very trivial peregrinations in pursuit of their little balls whilst affording enterprising pickpockets the proverbial field day.

At least they should arm these "pros" with scythes as they plumb the forest primeval in pursuit of their little balls thus getting some use of these frequent treks into the waist high weeds. The only time Paedric Harrington, even saw the fairway during the entire event was when he teed up.

It also would be prudent to abandon all pretense that putters are of any use once the elusive green is attained. "Tiger" Woods proved this conclusively. Pool cues would clearly be more serviceable.

The money squandered on the bowling trophy with a gland condition that they present the winner could be better spent giving him a case of Guggenheimers Reserve to forget this eldritch event.

The only positive observation that Ming can make is that at least these clods have managed to escape from the dung hill of commerce that the rest of us are mired in while they are still in their prime and are not only paid to do so but actually earn adulation from the addled brained masses for playing this pointless game while someone, for instance, who does something more difficult and worthy of adulation such as pursuing a cure for a disease remains unsung.

Ming contends that anyone associated with professional golf in any manner, shape or form must devote themselves to useful employ no less than three months a year digging potatoes out of the ground to justify allocation of scarce resources to this sort of drivel. Ming will now hide in the basement under a pile of old rugs until any golfers who read this are through infarcting and cursing the fair name of Ming as they suffer apoplexy.