Swing And A Miss

Hello World, Happy July! It certainly does seem as if time is just scurrying by, helter skelter, and dragging us all along in its wake, kicking and screaming, and I don't mean that in a good way. On the other hand, we all know that things can always be worse, and in fact often are, especially in those time-sensitive businesses that have to deal with deadlines or perishable items. Recently at church, we ordered an assortment of carnations for Fathers Day, and the order confirmation arrived with helpful information about the care and handling of our flowers, as well as this curious disclaimer: ============================================== ORDERS FOR MOTHERS DAY 2016 CAN NOT BE CHANGED ============================================== So for anybody who wanted to go back in time 13 months and revise their flower order for dear old Mom, I'm afraid they would be out of luck. Tempus fugit and all that, you know. Speaking of going back in time, I recently saw part of the movie "The Legend of Bagger Vance," from the creative talents of Robert Redford in 2000, and the story is set way back in 1931. It tells the tale of an epic golf match between iconic players Bobby Jones and Sam Snead (apparently when there isn't any actual golf going on, The Golf Channel shows golfing movies instead) and is lovingly produced with meticulous attention to period details, down to the tiniest degree. So you can imagine my surprise, in this evocative tribute to those halcyon days of yore, to see the character playing Sam Snead wading into the edge of a pond after an errant golf ball, and nervously regarding a nearby alligator, as one would a ticking time bomb with a short fuse, I don't mind saying. (For his part, the alligator appeared to be sizing up the duffer less as an unwanted interloper, and more for his potential meal options.) So it seems that the dangerous modern version of golf, with its rampant alligators and exploding blimps, is not so new after all - I guess in the old days, people just didn't much care if the gators chomped on a few golfers here and there. Bon appetit and all that, you know. As long as we're in a time-traveling state of mind, Bill and I finally became about the last people in all of civilization to go see the new "Wonder Woman" movie, which not only opened to glowing reviews and huge box office success, but was already being widely praised long before it even opened in the first place. I honestly can't remember the last time any film (much less a superhero film) was heaped with such universal acclaim, so that going to see it was more like a religious obligation, and throwing accolades at its feet was a foregone conclusion. We were sorry that we waited too long to see it in glorious IMAX 3D, from whence it had been unceremoniously bumped by the new "Transformers" flick, and had to settle for watching it in regular 3D instead. But in retrospect, and with apologies to the ponderous weight of public opinion in opposition, it made no difference because we hated it, from start to finish. It's possible that it only felt interminably longer than it really was, but I am sure that it was exactly as boring as it seemed - with a sorry cast of unlikable characters, implausible situations, and unsatisfying resolutions that in no way would entice me to go see the next related offering in this repertoire, but rather send me fleeing in the opposite direction, with my cape and golden lasso flapping behind me. Mind you, I cut my teeth on Wonder Woman comics from my childhood and adored them, and like "Thor," I was prepared to jump aboard this latest incarnation, and all of its attendant compatriots in the DC studio multi-verse yet to come, and enjoy the wild (if perhaps bumpy) ride. But this dreary and ill-conceived dud proved to be a humorless and maundering slog through an uninteresting series of obstacles, that it seemed to me, would utterly fail to attract both old-time fans like me, or newer audiences alike. Even worse, despite a veritable world of digital special effects at their fingertips, there wasn't an invisible airplane in sight (get it?!) while her erstwhile partner, Steve Trevor, was basically reduced to nothing more than a footnote. The gods were not smiling on this misbegotten mess, and in fact, rather than battling against the weapons of evil Nazi scientists in their midst, they should have been more concerned about thunderbolts being hurled at them from the angry deities on Mount Olympus. Donder and Blitzen and all that, you know. Wrapping this up on a positive note, we have the following inspiring tale from the wonderful world of golf, which has almost nothing to do with golf. It seems that during the 2010 AT&T National at the scenic Aronimink Golf Club in Newtown Square, Pennsylvania, hometown-boy-turned-pro Sean O'Hair was making a late run up the leaderboard, and hoping for a strong finish. But on the 18th hole, his blistering tee shot rocketed wildly off course, into the trees, and soundly clocked one of the spectators taking refuge in the shade, right on the noggin and knocking him flat. Providentially, the victim was a healthy young college student, who seemed none the worse for wear, but emergency personnel who pounced on him at the scene immediately raced him to the nearest E.R. as a precaution. There, he was tested for concussion, and kept under observation to see if he developed any symptoms. It was while he was there that doctors noticed a suspicious lump on his thyroid, which turned out to be a malignant tumor, and because it was detected so early, they were able to remove it easily and the lad happily made a full recovery. Of course, it might have been a completely different story without that unplanned hospital visit, and left untreated, it would not have taken long for the scenario to turn into a much more dire situation. Through it all, Sean O'Hair knew nothing about what was going on, since the paramedics had whisked the youngster away on the spot, and leaving the anguished O'Hair no chance to find out anything about the injured spectator, or whatever happened to him or her. It was a year later at the same tournament in 2011, when club officials arranged a meeting between the two, and after O'Hair's heartfelt apology for his errant shot, I'm sure he was surprised when the fellow cheerfully replied, "No, I should thank you for hitting me," and then proceeded to recount the entire amazing experience, which ended with him crediting the golfer for essentially saving his life. So there you have it, sports fans, a genuine PGA miracle, where a terrible tee shot turned out to be the best thing that could have happened under the circumstances for one lucky bystander, and even better, not an alligator to be seen. Or more accurately, Alligatoridae Mississippiensis and all that, you know. Elle