Asymmetrical Information

From the desk of Mindles H. Dreck:

The Masters' Nanny

We'll have to call this one the "Roseanne Roseannadanna" award. Here's Selena Roberts in a hysterically idiotic column entitled "Augusta's Chairman Lives in a Time Warp."

It must be comforting to live inside a vintage Sylvania, cozy in a black-and-white world where June Cleaver is your ideal woman. "Now, there's a lady," you say. "Not only is the gal one hot biscuit baker, she worships the wingtips Ward walks on."

Comforting, yes, but sexually frustrating. Getting it on with an old cathode ray tube is difficult, to say nothing of the problems caused by static electricity. Who is this sitcom deviant, and when did he say that?

It's beyond you, isn't it, Hootie? You can't understand why women don't just keep cookin' and stop stewin' over Augusta National's male-only membership. As you told the news media this week, providing yet another scary glimpse into your unenlightened mind, race and gender discrimination are on two different levels.
"Isn't it enough that we've put an end to the fried chicken jokes?" you think to yourself.

Funny, I've read the whole article as well as the interview, and the closest thing I can find is "For men of all backgrounds to seek a place and time for camaraderie with other men is as constitutionally and morally proper as it is for women to seek the same with women." I suppose, to Ms. Roberts tortured ears, that's a lot like telling women they should stay in the kitchen and deserves falsely attributing a remark made in tasteless jest by Fuzzy Zoeller to Johnson. Remind me to take such liberties when I attribute some unsaid thoughts to her.

After months of pondering the fuss from femmes, of viewing Martha Burk as no more than a nosy neighbor from the Gladys Kravitz mold, you've chosen to bury your head in a fairway bunker. "I'm as right as a slice," you say.
It's understandable that you feel so superior, what with the shoulders you can lean on. Andy Rooney, for one. He has been in hot water with the ladies, too. "Ever wonder why women have to butt in on a man's pleasures," Rooney tells you. "Can't they stay off the football sidelines? I hate women on the sideline, and I hate childproof caps, too. Can't figure either of 'em out."

Where's the evidence Johnson and Rooney are buds, or even approve of each other? I think Roberts is riding the coattails of Barbra Streisand, myself. "I'm as PC as Kumbaya," she says to herself.....

It's a bonus that the two of you have the loving support from the ratings desperados at CBS. Rooney is a caveman? What's new? No sponsors at the Masters? Big deal.

Well, actually, it is a big deal. It says that the club would rather forego massive amounts of revenue than be told what to do by busybodies like yourself.

What's better than commercial-free Jim Nantz? What's cooler than watching Tiger Woods clean his cleats between shots?

Pretty damn cool, especially with the added chuckle that comes from knowing that the aforementioned neanderthals are essentially subsidizing it to give you and Ms. Burk a sharp stick in the eye.

Life is good, right, Hootie? It must be a relief that your chief executive members — many of whom would swallow a pocketful of tees for a leather chair in your bridge room — have backbones made of grits. Even some of the titans who have voiced their resistance to you may be only shouting for show.

Apparently you can't believe in a right to free association in order to have a backbone made of something other than a southern breakfast specialty. Is there a bit of redneck-baiting in this column?

Take Lloyd Ward, chief executive of the United States Olympic Committee, for example. He picked up his Augusta membership when he was the head honcho of Maytag, in charge of baiting women into buying high-tech washing machines capable of removing everything from ketchup splotches to lipstick stains.
"Poor Lloyd," you say. "The man never figured he'd be workin' with a woman president at the U.S. Olympic Committee. Tough break."

At this point the bug placed in Augusta's changing room went on the fritz, and the rest of the conversation is drowned in static.

You realize Ward had to talk big about working within the club to make change. You realized it so much that you didn't budge from your stance this week. As for Ward, he had no comment yesterday.
And that's the way you like it. Silence. Besides, you know Ward needs Augusta more than a platform because he is a corporate vagabond who deeply understands the power of Magnolia Lane in the business world.
That is the real issue, Hootie. You aren't running a poker hall filled with cigar smoke, folding chairs and guys called Bubba (although a name like Hootie puts you close).

No, he's running a private golf club filled with cigar smoke, mahogany chairs and guys named Warren, Bill, Sandy, Ken and Peter. Oh, and pimento cheese sandwiches (yuck).

Augusta is the 19th hole for corporate synergy.

It's "Punditry Lite" - Sounds great, less meaning!

On the board of Coca-Cola, Sam Nunn and Warren Buffett sit side by side, able to mull the perils of Amen Corner and discuss how the market is more unpredictable than (he-he-he) a woman's mood ring (back slap, back slap).

Sounds like a deal going down to me. "Hey Sam, how many sports editorialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"
"Three, one to write the nasty editorial about light bulb makers, another to write the thin companion "news" column and a third to yell at the janitor" (back slap, back slap).

On the boards of J. P. Morgan Chase, General Motors and Belo, Ward is among the industry bigwigs as a fellow Augusta member. Surely, they'll come to his rescue if he leaves the U.S.O.C. by free will or by force.

Right, the Augusta National Rescue Team. Just because there's no evidence doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Roberts doesn't realize that business tycoons drop fallen colleagues like hot potatoes. Only presidential interns with a hot story parachute into cushy private sector jobs.

Meanwhile, women of corporate America can continue to crack their craniums on the glass ceiling without the same networking privileges. In C.E.O. land, the need to impress with excess is a business tool. Augusta is a nice hammer to have when the appearance of power can make or break a deal between men.

Roberts likes to say Johnson "doesn't get it", when in fact she's the one who doesn't. Members of Augusta are already at the top. It's not a means to the top, its an end; a symptom of success not an avenue.

Hootie, you believe you've found a way to reduce the female threat to this male domain in your clubhouse: keep urinals in and tampon dispensers out.

If you don't have a point, lame bathroom humour is worth a try.

"We're a private organization, missy," you say.
There is a flaw in that logic, though. For one week a year, you prey on the generous nature of patrons who buy every last shirt, hat and sock with a Masters logo on it. In total, you pull in about $20 million when you open the gates to the commoners.

So, if it's true that your yearly dues for the 300 members do not exceed $50,000, then that's (carry the one, bring down the zeroes) a $15 million take.
That means Augusta receives more dough from the public than from its own gilded members. The people, as much as any fat cat, help pay for your course renovations, along with the new shower heads. You're one sly dog, Hootie.

The fact that people voluntarily pay to attend the Masters (incidentally, the tickets are very cheap, way below what the market will bear - the scalpers are the ones that mark them up) and buy their merchandise does not make Augusta a public organization, or even a for-profit corporation (See Johnson's remarks:"Over the past five years, the Masters has contributed over $15.5 million to charity, $3.3 million in 2002 alone."). I suppose if enough people bought Selena Roberts brand merchandise we'd have a say in whom Ms. Roberts dates?

By the way, does Ms. Roberts spew the same bile at the heads of the Colony and Cosmopolitan Clubs in New York, or the Daughters of The American Revolution? All of these organizations collect revenues from the public in the form of rooms and ticket sales. How about the Girl Scouts? The Shriners?

"Leave the math to the menfolk," you say.

"Missy", "Leave it to the Menfolk". Johnson said none of this. You did, and making it up just makes you look like an ass.

But you can't account for courage. You've said you won't back down at the point of a bayonet, but what about the point of an ink pen?
It may seem unfathomable to you, but there may be a progressive fella mixing with your Cognac crowd, a brave guy who might surprise you with a penned resignation. The man would be celebrated, cheered and kissed all over.

He would also be quickly replaced. Would the kisses be worth it? By the way, is Ms. Roberts volunteering? Would that make her a public organization? How would Winston Churchill reply to that statement?

Listen, you old coot. (Sorry if you loathe that description.) You cannot win this fight. Eventually, the code of silence will snap. Going against your 1950's idealism wouldn't make the member who stands up a very retro male, but there are also perks to those daring to pop their heads into 2002. Beware, Hootie. You never know when enlightenment will set in. Remember, June also knew how to push Ward's buttons. Sincerely, a failed biscuit baker.

Roberts has stumbled on the whole point of Johnson's public statements - Augusta is one of the most private and willful organizations in the world. They had Gary McCord removed from CBS coverage of the Masters for comparing the manicuring of the greens to a "Bikini Wax". They inflict that insipid music on the viewing public throughout the entire four days of television coverage despite howls of protest. Here are Johnson's real words:

Q. You have already eliminated your sponsors for next year. Is there any chance that there won't be a Masters next year? A. ``None. There will always be a Masters.'' [....asked about potential picketers] Q. But you'll try to proceed as normal? A. ``No, we won't try. We WILL proceed. And will succeed.'' Q. It has been speculated that there could be an economic impact on Augusta because of this controversy. A. ``I think that's an absurd assumption.''

Augusta National will never do anything because a non-member tells them to. They have plenty of money to make their point and tell everyone to pound sand. In fact, they have a thousand times more money than necessary to ride this out. If anything, Roberts and Burk are postponing the election of the first female member by having their little nanny snit because it's clear that Augusta's privacy matters more than even the position of the tournament in the majors.

There's more fiction and false character assassination in this column than a Joan Collins novel. Johnson and his clubmates are free to do as they choose, whether the community finds it repulsive or not, and even if it involves a peculiar preference for companionship. Roberts is free to be a failed editorial writer biscuit baker, and I am free to point out that her diatribe is infantile, illogical, mostly fictional, and just generally hysterical. None of us, however, is entitled to be the nanny, or put words in someone else's mouth in a major newspaper (strange - even eyebrows are getting the nonsensical attribution treatment lately in the Times). I object to all preachy busybodies, including young coots like Roberts.

By the way, most people think Roberts is all wet. For more background on the folks pursuing this case, here's a "spoof" column on forced male sterilization by the integrate-Augusta leader Martha Burk.

Posted by Mindles H. Dreck at November 13, 2002 09:54 PM | TrackBack | Technorati inbound links