Have Belly, Should Putt

It would be a stretch to say I embrace change. Instead, I brace myself, hide, rationalize, then begrudgingly adapt. Just yesterday, in some odd conversation with a customer, I was asked if I had gotten rid of cable. "I never have had cable," was my conversation-ending retort. So let's just say that in most things, especially technological, I lag behind the curve; curves are best appreciated from behind, some wag once said. Anyway, despite what so far appears to be a rather slow news day, I had to dig a bit to find the most earth-shattering piece of news, in its context (the world of golf, which, if we're getting honest here, easily ranks in my Top Ten Worlds [and if this were July, not cold November, I might bump into the Top Five]), one is likely to see this week. A virtual Katrandyostrophe this: The governing bodies of the world of golf, the United States Golf Association and the British version (the Royal something or other), have decided to outlaw the use of the so-called "belly putter" beginning in a couple years. I don't want to get too technical here (or anywhere, for that matter), but suffice it to say that the belly putter--and all its permutations--which has been increasingly used to great success by all sorts of golfers, permits the golfer to anchor his longish putter against his body, often the abdomen (or belly, depending on the golfer) instead of having the putter "swing free of the body" as had always been the case (contrast the photo above with that of one of the most vociferous denunciators of the belly putter, Tiger Woods, below).

Of course I met this news with loud applause, not just because I'm a Tiger fan who abhors technological change and who, nearing fifty, still putts--much to the amusement of my playing partners and opponents--with his grandfather's old (it was old when he was still using it twenty years ago) putter. The belly putter just doesn't look right. It looks alien. Now I know that "looking alien" on the golf course is a subjective opinion, especially with the garb that often passes for appropriate on the golf course, but still, get it out of here has long been my one and only thought re belly putters. But then, in the middle of my victory dance this morning (Ding Dong the Belly Putter's Dead!), I had a most surprising thought about the validity of belly putters (don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone; I wonder what Joni Mitchell's handicap is): belly putters!

Is there a more lovable, cushiony word in any language than belly? I'm on record elsewhere for my affection for the word, so I won't regurgitate it all here, but I'm thinking about the concept of tradition here. Before there was mega-pumped and -toned Tiger and all his wannabes, there was Fat Jack. There was Roger Maltbie. There was Billy Casper. The belly has long occupied a glorious spot (or several) in the world of golf. Are we in danger of throwing the belly out with the belly putter, I wonder? Young hotshot golfer Keegan Bradley, one of the most successful of the new wave of belly putter putters (young, lean, and growing up with the belly putter, rather than coming to it after years of the yips and trying and failing at everything else), reportedly vows to fight the new ruling. I hope he loses, but wins if he gains.

I hope he loses, but wins if he gains--let me explain that golf koan. I propose that the USGA and the Royal Whatever amend their ban on belly putters to allow any golfer with a certifiable belly to use the belly putter. That's it, so simple--if you have a real belly, then you get to putt with the belly putter; if not, back to the old "free swinging" putters. Six pack abs? No belly putter for you. Keg-like torso--let me show you our new line of belly putters. Name me one fat guy who's been able to beat the super-fit Tiger. I say, and the American electorate seems to back me up on this, level the playing field--give the fat guys a competitive compensatory entitlement. Think of the jobs this could create: Belly Certifiers at every golf course and pro shop in the world! Uh, sir, if you're going to pull that belly putter out of your bag, I'm going to have to ask you to lift that paisley shirt up. I'm sorry, I can't sell you that belly putter because obviously you've been doing your regular morning crunches. Hey, pipsqueak Keegan, start eating mounds of pasta and drinking lots of brew if you want to wield that freakish looking putter on this Tour.

Compromise, right? With this kind of thinking the fiscal cliff turns into a lowly speed bump on the cart path. Get to it gentlemen.