If Billy Payne wore his heart on his sleeve the way Tiger Woods, Henrik Stenson, or even Arnold Palmer did last week, he would have jumped over the podium during last week’s Augusta National press conference and popped that blabbering Irish reporter smack dab in the shillelagh.
I counted 11 times in a press conference that lasted 30 minutes that the question involving female membership at Augusta National was marched out for its traditional, annual airing.
How many times in one sitting must someone be hit over the head with the same damn question? How many ways do people have to hear the same answer before understanding that no new information is going to be revealed?
Which is, for the record: “We do not publicly discuss matters involving membership issues.” The answer was clearly given upon first inquiry, and yet still the barrage continued.
In your personal life, would you ever sit still for such incessant nagging? I love my wife, and she loves me. On occasion, we disagree. On rare occasions, I cave in. On much rarer occasions, she caves in. We have been together most of the last nine years, married for seven this July. We have come to know and understand that when we are at an impasse, argumentatively bugging the ever lovin’ hell out of each other is not going to solve the issue.
I would suggest asking the same question 11 times in about 20 minutes would fit that description. She is my wife, and I swore to love her forever, but that does not give her (or me) the open invitation to be an ass for the sheer sake of “being an ass.” Yet that is exactly what about a half dozen so-called journalists decided to do between eating the free sandwiches, drinking the free beer and watching the free golf while relaxing in the comfort of the best press facility that 300 raging misogynists can get together and build for their disrespectful candyasses.
Payne proved his ability to be the bigger and better man back during the trials and tribulations of dealing with the entire titanic production that was the 1996 Summer Olympics. When he made it through that mess without personally beating Atlanta Mayor Bill Campbell into a bloody pulp, he got my vote to be the next Pope right then and there. And I am pretty sure he ain’t even Catholic.
But he sat right there and took the questions, right up until some goofball in the gathered crowd of “unbiased members of the Fourth Estate” inquired as to what possible solace could he be to his baby daughter as she inquired at bedtime why those mean old men in Augusta would not let her join “their” club.
What a complete crock.
That guy was so offended by Payne’s sixth recitation of the standard response to that “inquiry” (which is way older than Payne’s own Green Jacket, I might add) that he got right up and left the club never to be seen there again!
Don’t we all wish.
I am not sure why I expect these media professionals to know better, but every year my optimism is right up there with Charles Howell’s hopes for a great Sunday finish.
It is clear that journalism has given way to advocacy for many of these clowns, but at least they could get the story straight as they continue to grind their axes.
Case in point, the vaunted Wall Street Journal’s Marketplace section above the fold piece on the issue last Friday, as it pertains to new IBM CEO Virginia Rometty.
“Augusta has offered membership to a number of IBM CEOs but its all male policy means no such invitation has been extended for Ms. Rometty.”
They have no “all male policy” at ANGC. No more than I have a policy that I will not ride in a spaceship. Just because it has not happened yet does not mean there is an exclusionary policy in place. The WSJ should know better than to print such a thing.
And this: “…there was considerable discussion among (former IBM CEO) S. J. Palmisano and his associates over whether he should join a club that excludes women, said the (nameless) person. He ultimately decided to apply, and he was accepted as a member.”
No one “applies” to be a member of Augusta National.
I humbly suggest to Payne that next year he has his staff run a simple background check on the credentialed media to see how many of them belong(ed) to fraternities, sororities or other organizations that are gender, race or religion exclusive. (The National Association of Black Journalists, The Knights of Columbus and The Belizean Grove qualify nicely.)
Is the state of affairs at ANGC fair? That is none of my business and, quite frankly, none of yours. If it bothers you so bad, don’t attend the tournament.
For the professional journalists who believe they are compromising their integrity to cover the event but do it anyway, I have some advice: Tell your boss to leave that week’s pay on the nightstand of your hotel, in $20 bills. That is S.O.P. for doing what you do.You Might Also Like:
Feeling His Payne
by Austin Rhodes
Honest to goodness, I give the man all the credit in the world.
If Billy Payne wore his heart on his sleeve the way Tiger Woods, Henrik Stenson, or even Arnold Palmer did last week, he would have jumped over the podium during last week’s Augusta National press conference and popped that blabbering Irish reporter smack dab in the shillelagh.
I counted 11 times in a press conference that lasted 30 minutes that the question involving female membership at Augusta National was marched out for its traditional, annual airing.
How many times in one sitting must someone be hit over the head with the same damn question? How many ways do people have to hear the same answer before understanding that no new information is going to be revealed?
Which is, for the record: “We do not publicly discuss matters involving membership issues.” The answer was clearly given upon first inquiry, and yet still the barrage continued.
In your personal life, would you ever sit still for such incessant nagging? I love my wife, and she loves me. On occasion, we disagree. On rare occasions, I cave in. On much rarer occasions, she caves in. We have been together most of the last nine years, married for seven this July. We have come to know and understand that when we are at an impasse, argumentatively bugging the ever lovin’ hell out of each other is not going to solve the issue.
I would suggest asking the same question 11 times in about 20 minutes would fit that description. She is my wife, and I swore to love her forever, but that does not give her (or me) the open invitation to be an ass for the sheer sake of “being an ass.” Yet that is exactly what about a half dozen so-called journalists decided to do between eating the free sandwiches, drinking the free beer and watching the free golf while relaxing in the comfort of the best press facility that 300 raging misogynists can get together and build for their disrespectful candyasses.
Payne proved his ability to be the bigger and better man back during the trials and tribulations of dealing with the entire titanic production that was the 1996 Summer Olympics. When he made it through that mess without personally beating Atlanta Mayor Bill Campbell into a bloody pulp, he got my vote to be the next Pope right then and there. And I am pretty sure he ain’t even Catholic.
But he sat right there and took the questions, right up until some goofball in the gathered crowd of “unbiased members of the Fourth Estate” inquired as to what possible solace could he be to his baby daughter as she inquired at bedtime why those mean old men in Augusta would not let her join “their” club.
What a complete crock.
That guy was so offended by Payne’s sixth recitation of the standard response to that “inquiry” (which is way older than Payne’s own Green Jacket, I might add) that he got right up and left the club never to be seen there again!
Don’t we all wish.
I am not sure why I expect these media professionals to know better, but every year my optimism is right up there with Charles Howell’s hopes for a great Sunday finish.
It is clear that journalism has given way to advocacy for many of these clowns, but at least they could get the story straight as they continue to grind their axes.
Case in point, the vaunted Wall Street Journal’s Marketplace section above the fold piece on the issue last Friday, as it pertains to new IBM CEO Virginia Rometty.
“Augusta has offered membership to a number of IBM CEOs but its all male policy means no such invitation has been extended for Ms. Rometty.”
They have no “all male policy” at ANGC. No more than I have a policy that I will not ride in a spaceship. Just because it has not happened yet does not mean there is an exclusionary policy in place. The WSJ should know better than to print such a thing.
And this: “…there was considerable discussion among (former IBM CEO) S. J. Palmisano and his associates over whether he should join a club that excludes women, said the (nameless) person. He ultimately decided to apply, and he was accepted as a member.”
No one “applies” to be a member of Augusta National.
I humbly suggest to Payne that next year he has his staff run a simple background check on the credentialed media to see how many of them belong(ed) to fraternities, sororities or other organizations that are gender, race or religion exclusive. (The National Association of Black Journalists, The Knights of Columbus and The Belizean Grove qualify nicely.)
Is the state of affairs at ANGC fair? That is none of my business and, quite frankly, none of yours. If it bothers you so bad, don’t attend the tournament.
For the professional journalists who believe they are compromising their integrity to cover the event but do it anyway, I have some advice: Tell your boss to leave that week’s pay on the nightstand of your hotel, in $20 bills. That is S.O.P. for doing what you do.You Might Also Like:
If Billy Payne wore his heart on his sleeve the way Tiger Woods, Henrik Stenson, or even Arnold Palmer did last week, he would have jumped over the podium during last week’s Augusta National press conference and popped that blabbering Irish reporter smack dab in the shillelagh.
I counted 11 times in a press conference that lasted 30 minutes that the question involving female membership at Augusta National was marched out for its traditional, annual airing.
How many times in one sitting must someone be hit over the head with the same damn question? How many ways do people have to hear the same answer before understanding that no new information is going to be revealed?
Which is, for the record: “We do not publicly discuss matters involving membership issues.” The answer was clearly given upon first inquiry, and yet still the barrage continued.
In your personal life, would you ever sit still for such incessant nagging? I love my wife, and she loves me. On occasion, we disagree. On rare occasions, I cave in. On much rarer occasions, she caves in. We have been together most of the last nine years, married for seven this July. We have come to know and understand that when we are at an impasse, argumentatively bugging the ever lovin’ hell out of each other is not going to solve the issue.
I would suggest asking the same question 11 times in about 20 minutes would fit that description. She is my wife, and I swore to love her forever, but that does not give her (or me) the open invitation to be an ass for the sheer sake of “being an ass.” Yet that is exactly what about a half dozen so-called journalists decided to do between eating the free sandwiches, drinking the free beer and watching the free golf while relaxing in the comfort of the best press facility that 300 raging misogynists can get together and build for their disrespectful candyasses.
Payne proved his ability to be the bigger and better man back during the trials and tribulations of dealing with the entire titanic production that was the 1996 Summer Olympics. When he made it through that mess without personally beating Atlanta Mayor Bill Campbell into a bloody pulp, he got my vote to be the next Pope right then and there. And I am pretty sure he ain’t even Catholic.
But he sat right there and took the questions, right up until some goofball in the gathered crowd of “unbiased members of the Fourth Estate” inquired as to what possible solace could he be to his baby daughter as she inquired at bedtime why those mean old men in Augusta would not let her join “their” club.
What a complete crock.
That guy was so offended by Payne’s sixth recitation of the standard response to that “inquiry” (which is way older than Payne’s own Green Jacket, I might add) that he got right up and left the club never to be seen there again!
Don’t we all wish.
I am not sure why I expect these media professionals to know better, but every year my optimism is right up there with Charles Howell’s hopes for a great Sunday finish.
It is clear that journalism has given way to advocacy for many of these clowns, but at least they could get the story straight as they continue to grind their axes.
Case in point, the vaunted Wall Street Journal’s Marketplace section above the fold piece on the issue last Friday, as it pertains to new IBM CEO Virginia Rometty.
“Augusta has offered membership to a number of IBM CEOs but its all male policy means no such invitation has been extended for Ms. Rometty.”
They have no “all male policy” at ANGC. No more than I have a policy that I will not ride in a spaceship. Just because it has not happened yet does not mean there is an exclusionary policy in place. The WSJ should know better than to print such a thing.
And this: “…there was considerable discussion among (former IBM CEO) S. J. Palmisano and his associates over whether he should join a club that excludes women, said the (nameless) person. He ultimately decided to apply, and he was accepted as a member.”
No one “applies” to be a member of Augusta National.
I humbly suggest to Payne that next year he has his staff run a simple background check on the credentialed media to see how many of them belong(ed) to fraternities, sororities or other organizations that are gender, race or religion exclusive. (The National Association of Black Journalists, The Knights of Columbus and The Belizean Grove qualify nicely.)
Is the state of affairs at ANGC fair? That is none of my business and, quite frankly, none of yours. If it bothers you so bad, don’t attend the tournament.
For the professional journalists who believe they are compromising their integrity to cover the event but do it anyway, I have some advice: Tell your boss to leave that week’s pay on the nightstand of your hotel, in $20 bills. That is S.O.P. for doing what you do.You Might Also Like:
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