My latest new best friend is a guy from Dallas I’ve never met. His name is Bill Nichols and he is a golf writer. I forgive him for that sin.
Why do I forgive him? Before I tell you about my new pal Bill, let me share my impressions of the average local golf writer. You probably know at least one of these guys in your hometown.
They are useless, round-grubbing, self-important bastards who take advantage of their positions in the media to get free golf. Nothing more…nothing less.
Here’s a typical profile of one of these clowns: He considers himself to be influential and famous because 29 or so people read his weekly golf column in the “Smithtown Shopper.” Unfortunately, some idiot editor – probably his second cousin – has given him a bit of space in the paper or the lame regional golf magazine and, more importantly, he has a business card that seemingly legitimizes him as an actual authority on all things related to golf. He has a very cozy relationship with a couple of local golf pros and he manages to parlay that into an entire writing career. He shows up at your place expecting to be treated like a VIP and complains that your greens weren’t quite fast enough and you didn’t comp the seven Bud Lights he drank during his round.
Sound familiar?
Do serious players pay any attention to him? No. Do private club leaders give a hoot? No. Yet, because the local paper gives him 10 inches of copy a week, he somehow becomes important. It sucks, but it’s the reality given the state of the golf media in this country. You have to bow and scrape before this moron because he can “make or break you.” Here’s some news: Unless the guy’s name is Ron Whitten and his business card says “Editor, Golf Digest Rankings,” he has no influence on your operation.
Yet, there are still a few shining lights among the local golf media. That’s where my new best friend Bill Nichols comes in. He actually wrote something intelligent in the Dallas Morning News. Allow me to give you a few highlights:
"’Augusta Syndrome’ still exists. But our infatuation with perfect greens requiring two daily mowings and budget-straining fertilizations have put us in a deep pot bunker. Rounds played are decreasing. More courses are closing than opening.
"In the new economy, avid players can no longer afford indulgence. A new breed of golfer will rise from the recession and celebrate self-contained courses.
"The new player will appreciate fast, firm fairways and grass that turns brown in the summer. We will not curse quirky bounces on scruffy fairways. Rather, we will find that unpredictable bounces and uneven lies are actually fun.
"We will not complain to the superintendent about the speed and color of the greens, or rough gone native, because we will come to appreciate the challenge of negotiating obstacles created by the environment. We will walk, health permitting, and finish rounds in three and a half hours.”
Bill Nichols may be kidding himself about how golfers will evolve into brown-grass-loving, superintendent-appreciating folks, but it’s nice to know that at least one ink-stained wretch out there gets it. If you have that one singular golf writer in your area, get him out to your course immediately. He might actually help you. And he might even pay attention to your world instead of just hanging out with the pro.
