Charge golfers by the hour?

A one-seater golf cart? According to Tim McDonald’s recent piece, the wheels are in motion. Now, pardon me for being a little conservative again (see: cell phone blog), but as much as I’m for squeezing in a round of golf in the time it takes to play normal recreational activities akin to golf like polo and wallyball, maybe we’re forgetting the simple yet beautiful paradise of two guys, some titanium sticks, and a revved-up buggy for two.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a proud child of the “ADD Genration” and nothing is more frustrating than lounging on a tee box anxiously squeezing my driver while I witness a man teach his girlfriend how to “plumb-bob” for the first time on the green ahead.

But one of the things I loved so much about golf growing up was learning the game with my grandfather. We’d take a cart together, and the moments in between shots were spent on his pointers on everything from course etiquette to why I should always use the parking break (okay, learned that the hard way).

Also, apparently golf is good for “networking", a term used by businessmen to describe communication between two people, usually trying to setup a deal of some sort for the future. I don’t know if I’ve ever “networked", but I think it’s similar to when I’m on the phone with relatives around the time rent is due.

And forgive me for being superficial, but it would be ridiculous, borderline ludicrous to see four Rascal-looking things speeding down a golf hole in a flight pattern resembling four stumbling drunks chasing down an ice cream truck.

Alas, slow pace articles are everywhere in golf mag’s not unlike this little online pub. They all try and pinpoint the problem without offending too many subscribers, then offer a solution which seems reasonable, but in the broad scheme of economics, etiquette and tradition, would never work.

Here’s another idea that would never work: charge golfers by the hour. If a foursome is waiting to hit, the clock stops. So golf will be just like bowling, paddle boats, and those little hot tub spas–the clock is ticking, so no lolly-gagging. Get down to business.

This also means the next time we’re held up by a discourteous group of slow hacks, at least we can take pleasure in the fact we’re paying less to see the same course. We could even use the money we saved to buy a sudsy lager at the 19th hole to throw at them in the parking lot.

Okay, I’m sorry, that’s the Detroit in me trying to get out again. Perhaps hurl something less messy. Like a chair.