Chavez Attacks Caracas Country Club

Forces commanded by The Mighty Wind - Generalissimo Hurricane Hugo Chavez - announced victory in the first battle of the recently declared war on the Caracas Country Club. This stirring defense of the proletariat (occasionally described as a sneak attack, but only by colonialist lackeys reporting from outside the boundaries of Venezuela) began only yesterday, but the Venezuelan troops have already captured the first hole, a par four playing 380 yards from the white tees with a line of trees on the left and bunkers on the right. The Chavez strike force, an elite squad of special forces personnel, overcame fierce resistance from two fairway bunkers, a steeply sloped, closely shaved green and Bertina, an attractive teen operating a beer cart as a summer job, to reach the green in less than five minutes. Bertina, who's blond hair and blue eyes proved a Dutch ancestor would appear if her family tree were shaken hard enough, was so startled by the attack that she veered her brews cruiser directly at the leading edge of the commando force. Vincente, the dark, lithe commander of the strike force, fretted as she sped straight at him. Generalissimo Hugo would not hesitate to bury her with a burst of automatic fire, but Vincente was not Generalissimo Hugo. He turned his humvee directly toward Bertina and began firing, far over her head. At the last second, Bertina swerved, glancing off the corner of Vincente's jeep and spinning to a stop. Bertina was stunned, but only for a moment. In the confusion created by scores of spraying beer cans she raced to the tree line near the first green. Vincente looked up from the melee created as his soldiers chased the rolling beer cans, saw Bertina still yards away from the trees and thought about chasing her down. With a small smile he looked down again and began to restore his men to order with a string of carefully selected oaths. As dusk fell, Hugo's Hombres established a command post and rested for the night. The second hole, a par three on a peninsula jutting into piranha infested waters, would present unique challenges to the forces of The Mighty Wind.

...............On such a winter's day

Big Swells, Tall Waves, Wipeouts and a Perfect Ride - Congratulations to Greg Long, winner of the Mavericks Surf Contest at Pillar Point in Half Moon Bay, California. The Time's story presents its most interesting news with an aside here, an assumption there. You might have missed it if you were sleepy. In this contest, 30 foot waves are considered "medium" size. The medium size waves allow the surfers to relax and strut their stuff.

Only when the waves arrive from the West can you veer left and surf the North side of the wave, which will hold it's shape and not crumble and crash down on you. I will be sure to remember this next time I am surfing a medium size thirty foot wave.

After collecting his check Long announced that the six finalists had agreed to split the prize money evenly while waiting to catch a wave during the contest. Imagine the uproar if a winning golfer announced that the top six players on the leader board after round 3 had agreed to split their prize money evenly before the beginning of the final round. The world of golf would go berserk. Banner headlines would trumpet the scandal. Players would face suspension and shame. Sponsors would withdraw in disgust. In surfing this pact seems to have generated little more than a yawn.

I sometimes play golf alone, without scorecard, just enjoying the feel of the occasional well struck drive or the sight of a long iron shot taking a direct line to the flag, but for most rounds by most players, golf is a game of elaborate rules built by dour Scotsman around the scorecard. The competition for lowest score is the heart of the game. Even players of vastly different skills can compete thanks to multiple tee boxes on each hole and the handicap system.

Surfing was probably developed by joyful Polynesians who wanted to take the thrill of riding an outrigger canoe down a breaking wave one step further. The notion of competitive scoring is a dubious modern imposition, one that seems to ride the waves in a very uneasy coexistence with the heart of the sport. Splitting the prize money pot does not seem to be generating any indignation in the surfing world. In fact it happened once before, in the Red Bull Big Wave Africa a few years ago. So, As Good As News kudos to all the finalists for splitting the prize money, and more kudos to Mr. Long, not just for winning, but for announcing the deal on the prize money and sticking to it. Forget the press conference, surf is still up.