On Seventeen, the Stadium Course has fully achieved its name; sometimes it’s hard to see the golf through all the people. And should we ever doubt the significance of THE PLAYERS, the new Tuscan-inspired megalith of a clubhouse assures us that, while we might not be watching a major, we are watching something big, something important enough to require a castle.
Currently the Kings suffer the same modern dilemma that disillusions us in the Year of the Under Armour Curry Twos. All controversy and content, but lacking in discipline. The Kings fling headlines into the mediasphere like crap to a ceiling fan. They don’t bother with the directions on the dynamite.
“It’s meant to be! It’s surely meant to be!” screams the announcer. There isn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that this is the winning goal, the final goal, the magic last goal. After the game, there’s a touching tribute ceremony to say goodbye to the Boleyn Ground, but there’s no greater farewell than this on-the-field goal.
For being a Blues fan in exile is not even remotely the same as being a fan in exile for other teams. You comb the schedules of the local teams to see when, or even if, they’re coming to town. You calculate if you can get tickets, how beaten up will you get in the parking lot, and if just makes more sense to watch the local broadcast.