Make Mine Rare

Blood and guts spilled on the first hole of Dyker Beach yesterday. And it wasn’t some poor soul committing hari kari after an exasperating three-putt.

As we trundled down the frozen fairway after a less-than-perfect tee shot, a bird of prey, wings spread imperiously, swooped down in front of us. Did it think the Titleist was an egg to be rescued from the five-iron about to smack it? No, the regal, stoic hawk, secure in its power over small mammals, had espied breakfast, a fat, furry protein source running for its life. The squirrel took to the nearest tree, grasping the trunk midway up, hidden from the view of the hunter.

Ah, but Mr. or Ms. Hawk is a patient stalker. He or she (how do you tell the gender of fowl?) stood motionless with what we swear was a satisfied smirk on its beak. Then in a flurry of action that can only be described as primeval, this descendant of velociraptors swung around to the other side of the trunk and tore the unfortunate fellow to pieces, gorging itself on a feast of raw flesh. Which made us put down our Danish and contemplate the cruel rule of the food chain and the suddenness with which we vanish from this vale of tears.

The squirrel, at the moment of leaving this sporting life, once filled by gleeful gathering of acorns and procreating with playful abandon, must have screamed in his squirrel brain, “There is no God!”

Yes, there is, Virginia. Indeed, there are several. Monotheism is overrated. Just as the Greco-Roman pantheon of immortals meddled mercilessly in human affairs, the hawks of high finance insist on eating filet mignon (squirrel meat is actually delicious rolled in flour or corn meal and fried) washed down with ambrosia.

The gods of Wall Street complain about the fettering of finance, while record profits and bonuses were made possible by making them whole at the taxpayer’s expense (see the pledge to back the liabilities of Bear Stearns and AIG, for example). We understand the argument that the need to make dough oils the wheels of commerce and that upper middle-class families organize their lives around the expected bonus. We also understand that it can’t be built on the backs of the squirrels.

As fun as it was to be out in the winter sunshine and watch the hawk fill its belly, we note that yet again life is not fair. Squirrels must be culled; hopes to break 100 must be dashed. Alas, a bogey on 18 put the final tally at 100 even.

World Series Diary III: Scaredy Cat

Fear is a valuable but debilitating emotion. It is one thing to fear God and the tornado tearing across the prairie toward your ramshackle farmhouse, rightfully causing you and Auntie Em to run for the root cellar. It’s another to fear failure and thus invite it. How many putts has Kev left woefully short for fear of sending the Titleist down a sloped green to the rough on the other side?

After a camera carom and a flair for the flare handed New York the game the day before, the fireman- turned-arsonist Brad Lidge helped the pinstripers to the brink of a 27th World Series triumph. Eschewing his best pitch, the slider, scared that a wild pitch could plate the go-ahead run, the Phillies’ Lidge served up a two-out fastball to Alex Rodriguez, who stroked the winning hit in the ninth inning yesterday. Might as well have hit him in the ribs again and fired up your team with -- what? A bench-clearing brawl, of course.

It’s bracing how this sporting life teaches us, even as we age ungracefully, that knee-knocking moments, like fatigue, make cowards of us all. Except for Johnny Damon, who used to look more like the Nazarene than Derek Jeter. After a nine-pitch battle, He singled and then promptly walked on water, stealing second and going on to third, taking advantage of an unguarded third base caused by the shifted infield.

Now the Philadelphia team rests its hopes on James Bond, alias Cliff Lee, who was a work of art in the first game. Fellow Arkansan A.J. Burnett goes for the empire on three days’ rest. Expect no parade on lower Broadway yet. Another game will be played in the Bronx.

Meanwhile, Kev loves to putt. Think I’ll roll a few on the carpet right now.

A Day at Forest Park

The greensward glistened in all its rain-softened lushness before us. My professor friend and two more elderly gents who happened to join us stepped to the tee box with visions of par dancing in our heads.

The maitre d’hôtel of this paradise, a diminutive crew-cut son of Italy, had welcomed us with a smile and laugh, greeting me with a “Happy New Year” and a handshake. I had not visited his Tuscan villa off the Interborough for almost a year, but he constructed a perfect bacon and egg sandwich on a roll with butter to properly slicken my right hand in preparation for the first swing of the driver. Predictably, I dribbled it up the middle and lost my second shot in the deep rough.

A repeatable swing I have. I just want to replace it with a good one. Shot the same score on the back nine as the second, but need to lower each by ten, a seemingly impossible task but one which I will pursue this sporting season with all the zest of our host. I was in fat city, so to speak, all day, but not living off the fat of the land. Pitches that should have landed pin high for a chance turned into three-shot chunks and then three-putts.

Our majordomo showed up again driving the beverage cart as the professor searched for his ball in the trees and rough to the left of the 14th green. “Hey, it’s on the cart path, shankanopolous. Take a drop” he roared. We roared as well.

But life is good. On the 15th, over the water, hit the green and made par. The 16th, eminently birdie-able, became multibogey-able, and the rest I’ll leave to your imagination.

Yet I believe in the future, just as Miss Market does. This redoubtable dame refuses to give into the gloom. The world economy is braking well short of the depression that helped spawn a global war which shaped the world for us boomers. The New York Times' Krugman on the skeptical center-left and the Washington Post's Samuelson on the skeptical center-right are way too pessimistic.

Many more jobs vanished in the USA in April, but the pace is slowing. Australia reported a decline in its unemployment rate. China alleges a firming of demand. Oil is climbing.

Just as I will fix my wedge play, Miss Market will not be denied. She must have her way. Stay with F, PALM, AMD, DDR, SLV, DXO and NVAX.