What America gave golf: we might have burned the edges, but the good outweighs the bad

IT’S EASY ENOUGH TO blame America for the six-hour round, the painstaking plumb-bob, the blimp-size driver, the island green and “Get in the hole!”–son of “You da man!”–but ask yourself this: What would the game be like without the gimme, the mulligan, the shapely cart girl and a chili dog at the turn?

OK, maybe I’m only speaking for myself, but it’s away to get into the discussion.

There are, of course, hard-line purists out there who eat grated persimmon for breakfast and would take us back to the square-dimple ball, the Wright-Ditson blade putter, the stymie, no sprinkler systems, play it down everywhere (even during terrorist attacks) and require blazers and ties in the clubhouse at all times–may the devil run away with their brassies.

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