So I was standing over the pink golf ball not thinking about keeping my head down, my left arm straight or other routine swing thoughts.
No, I was thinking, “Will hitting this pink golf ball make me less of a man?”
What? You hoped today we’d be talking about Brexit?
What? You hoped today we’d be talking about Brexit?
Our LBGT community has achieved greater civil rights successes in less time than perhaps any special interest group in history. Even reflexive congressional gay bashers realize it’s stupid politics to be so vocal in their bigoted oppositions.
What’s it going to take to liberate the color pink?
I believe my generation will be the last to use “that’s so gay” as a reflexive put down. Amen.
Blatant homophobia is frowned upon.
Pinkophobia is not.
He-man Arizona Sheriff Joe Arpaio humiliates his inmates by making them all wear pink underwear. I remember seeing an NBA team make an under-achieving rookie dress all in pink on a road trip to discipline him. And I still see sitcoms that use a pink shirt as code for effeminate behavior.
Pink remains a punchline.
I sensed this as one of my golf buddies insisted it’d be a mistake the play the pink ball I’d found in the woods while looking for my primary shot.
“You’re not seriously thinking about playing that pink ball, are you?” he asked.
It was the kind of question the grade-school bullies ask a pink-loving innocent in the popular children’s book, “Pinkalicious,” all about how pink is something to be ridiculed.
Indeed, I was thinking of hitting a pink golf ball.
I own one dandy pair of pink socks. But I don’t own any pink shirts or pink pants.
I think a pink sports coat would be a summer sartorial success. Maybe one day if I get enough green I’ll buy me some pink.
I’m friends with a man who for years has worn lots of prominent pink. He’s Arnold Palmer. Esquire magazine named him one of its 50 most stylish men two years ago. I remember the picture showed him wearing a dazzling pink.
He’s been proudly wearing pink since way back when pink was primarily associated with gays and commies.
I could play golf in a snazzy pink shirt and could cite Palmer to ease the tease.
But there’s no way I could wear that same pink shirt on a night to drink with rednecks in a blue collar bar.
“The Top Tens” website lists blue as the most popular color followed by red, green, purple, black, orange, yellow, gold, white and lastly, uh, pink.
The list must make lovers of pink see red.
Is latent homophobia the reason pink is so unpopular?
As the father of two daughters, recollections of little loved ones toddling up to me in pink dresses with bright smiles always chases away the blues.
How come color-wise so many things still have to be so black and white?
In fact, they do not.
As gays have added associates to their ever-growing acronym they’ve added colors to their spectrums.
So now the LBGT glorious rainbow has diminished pink’s prominence.
Does that mean pink will become more acceptable to men like me?
These were among my thoughts as I stood over the ball.
So what did I do?
I turned yellow and went white.
I pulled out a traditional golf ball. I didn’t do it because I lack courage.
I did it because I lack a sound golf swing.
I didn’t want to dribble a bad shot up the cart path and have my buddies blame it on the pink ball. A pink ball needs a stronger proponent than I to strike a blow for our least popular primary color.
I realize it’s unwise for a man who plays with pink balls to try coming out of the color closet when he can’t even get out of the rough.
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