Word: pleasant
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...watched Dave Hill stroke seven-irons off the Pleasant Valley Country Club practice tee, his words of two days earlier ran through my mind. Most pro golfers are, in the end, Southern, inarticulate and super-straight. But Hill, a wiry Coloradoan who downs three beers and two packs of cigarettes per tournament round, is something of an exception. Very rarely does he mince words about why he plays ("I need the money--I gotta pay that fuckin' alimony") or what he thinks about the places at which he plays ("They must have had a goddaman artist out there with...
...golf--then thrown into stark relief by the politics of the day--had become too much to endure. Caught up in the spirit of the times, I denounced the "isms" of golf, and sold my clubs for two ounces of marijuana. "Coming back" to cover the $200,000 Pleasant Valley Classic, Massachusett's only major PGA event, had been a vindicating (and, to some extent, a vindictive) experience: my assignment had been to write the "Ball, Fore!" of professional golf. Hill's remarks would go a long way toward filling that assignment--and a long way toward expressing...
...continued to muse about the tour, a stubby black caddie with a pot-belly big enough to hold fifty practice balls lumbered over from the putting green. He was wearing one of the insufferably hot powder blue jump suits that are mandatory for caddies at Pleasant Valley, a white Houston Open golf cap, and, beneath his cap, a blue and white polka-dotted scarf that gave him a sort of piratical appearance. He looked at me rather suspiciously for a moment, then introduced himself as "Killer," and told me he remembered caddying for me back in Houston when...
Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, but how would he be doing if he had to live in Cambridge during the summer? Anyhow, this is purportedly Boston's longest-running musical, and a pleasant enough way to spend an evening...
...play's end, Willie, robbed of life's energy, makes a last ditch effort to make contact with his wife. In a most pitiful manner he crawls around to the front of the dune, only to be greeted by Winnie's cheerful, "My, what a pleasant surprise." The impropriety of his wife's politely jovial remark seems to do Willie in, while Winnie is left operating out of her optimism, happily awaiting the day she is melted away...