Posted on 09/12/2002 8:15:11 AM PDT by gubamyster
Posted: Tuesday September 10, 2002 5:57 PM
It's out-and-out discrimination! To be barred from a golf club based on your genitals is an outrage! And for 78 years now!
Augusta National? Nah. The Ladies' Golf Club of Toronto.
Since it opened in 1924, the Ladies' Golf Club has never had a male member. Thousands of men have wanted to join. Are you kidding? You'd give your left Titleist to be a member. The course is gorgeous! Located on the outskirts of Toronto, it's lined with huge trees and has steep elevations.
But unless you have ovaries, don't even apply.
I know. I tried. The waiting list is one year -- unless you're a man, in which case the waiting list is forever and a year.
"We do not accept men," the receptionist said when I called. "However, if you know a member, she can sponsor you to become a guest-card holder. If you're approved, you can play before 8:30 a.m. and after noon, except on weekends, when you can play after 3. And you pay full greens fees as well."
Wait a second. Restricted tee times? Extra fees? What am I, some kind of second-class citizen?
Still, I badly wanted to play the course. I did know, barely, one member, Sandy Guluk. Like most women, Sandy has only one thing on her mind -- golf. She plays five days a week, 36 holes if she can, unless she can play 61, which she did once. She said I could join her for one (1) round last week.
Driving up to the course, it hits you that the Ladies' Golf Club has the most beautiful entrance north of Magnolia Lane. The driveway weaves under the huge trees and up a hill to a graceful, white-and-green, 82-year-old clubhouse. Seems oddly familiar, doesn't it?
But if you happen to be a man, don't try to park in the main lots. Those are female-only lots. Not members only, female only. A $9 hooker asking directions can park right up front, but I had to drive another 200 yards around back and park on gravel.
And that was just the start of the humiliation. The women's locker room takes up almost the entire top floor of the clubhouse and has a beautiful veranda overlooking the 18th green. The men's locker room is way in the back, behind the pro shop. It's the size of Gandhi's closet -- one lousy urinal, no TV, no radio, one crummy golf painting on the wall, no shoeshine guy and no attendant.
"We're lucky we have this," said guest-card holder Bruce North. "Until three years ago all we had was an old shack. There weren't any showers or lockers. You just hung your clothes on a hook. We used to have to sneak beer in and keep it on ice."
Men aren't allowed on the driving range. Or at the member-guest events. Husbands and boyfriends are not allowed on the grounds without a member. And you can just guess how many times men ask to play through.
"They better not," said one of the club's 650 members. "Or they get the boot!"
Women are pigs.
Sandy was polite, but there was tension from the start. Our group included a seventysomething woman, and Sandy had to ask, in a whisper, if she'd mind playing with a you-know-what.
"A what?" the old lady yelled.
Sandy whispered louder.
"A man?" the old lady creaked. Then she peeked around Sandy's elbow, glared at me, crinkled her nose and said, "I guess."
This joint makes Augusta seem like the ACLU.
Twice Sandy found my ball 50 yards behind where I was looking. "Typical male," she muttered. And she didn't seem to appreciate the little chipping tip I gave her. "Just like my husband," I think she grumbled.
Still, it was such a good course. Why should some old-girls' network keep men out? True, it's believed to be the only ladies-only private golf club in North America, but, hell, 78 years from now there could be another!
Men, let the girlcott begin. Until this is resolved, withhold sex. When your wife brings you your home-cooked dinner, refuse thirds. Upon settling into your Barcalounger, snap it back brusquely.
Look, any Neanderthal knows it's wrong to keep women out of Augusta National. As soon as Martha Burk can find a woman willing to eat peach cobbler with a lot of dandruffs wearing flammable green coats, I say let her in.
As soon as they let one of us into theirs.
Issue date: September 16, 2002
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