Our shoes are polished, our breath is minty fresh, our Nose is powdered and we’re ready for our closeup.
Tacoma movers and shakers say they have everything under control as the 253 prepares for thousands of professional golf fans to spill onto our shores in June for the U.S. Open at Chambers Bay.
Welcome signs and banners? Check. Slick promotional videos? Check. Street repairs? Check.
Volunteer ambassadors in orange T-shirts telling visitors there’s lots to do here, just please don’t wear golf spikes on our linoleum? Check.
Pro golfer lookalike contest? Check. (Give credit to Mayor Marilyn Strickland for that ace-in-the-hole idea.)
The winning scorecard was reviewed and celebrated at a City Council presentation this week.
But there’s one oversight — big enough for Cheech and Chong to drive a lowrider golf cart through — and we thank Councilman Marty Campbell for pointing it out.
We need to educate our guests on the ABCs of buying legal pot.
Campbell said he’s spoken with a T-Town marijuana retailer who expects to do as much business each day of the U.S. Open as he does in a normal week.
So forget all the hoity-toity, Cuban-cigar, Polo-shirt golf stereotypes. And never mind that the U.S. Open’s corporate sponsors include the likes of Lexus and Rolex.
Pro golfers might be drug-tested, but their fans aren’t. They evidently enjoy a doobie as much as Nascar fans do.
These are presumably the kind of aficionados who have money to burn but are clueless how to burn it. The kind who want to know where to buy original Dale Chihuly bongs and bowls.
The kind willing to pay high green fees.
“It’s very sticky,” he said (no, he didn’t say stinky), “and there can be a lot of chuckles and laughs” (surely not from us, sir), “but ultimately it’s one thing people are going to ask about.”
We hear you, Marty. It’s high time local golf boosters pull their heads out of the sand trap and admit the obvious: The best way to appreciate a slow-moving game is with a slow-moving brain.
The real reason duffers disappear in the woods for 20 minutes at Spanaway Lake is not to look for lost balls. And after they go to the 19th hole for a drink, they probably head to the 20th hole for something else.
If you don’t believe Marty Campbell, listen to one of the great golf gurus of all time.
Carl Spackler, the groundskeeper played by Bill Murray in “Caddyshack,” had a special affinity with the grass he tended.
“The amazing stuff about this,” he said, “is that you can play 36 holes on it in the afternoon, take it home and get stoned that night.”
Does the fine fescue at Chambers Bay have similar magic properties? Our research staff is on it.
“A chicken in every pot, and enough pot for every chicken.”
Southern blues: It’s easy to feel overlooked down on the south frontier of Pugetopolis. How would you feel if the main reason people drop by is to ask for directions to Lacey — or worse, Lakewood?
Such is the curse of the good people of DuPont.
They’re stuck in a Bermuda Triangle between Pierce and Thurston counties and JBLM. And they’re tormented by outsiders who always forget to capitalize the “P.”
Normally DuPontites muddle through with dignity. But now they’ve stooped to dirty tricks, trying to steal another city’s thunder.
Banners around town declare: “Welcome to DuPont, the home of golf in the Pacific Northwest.”
Seems like a bait-and-switch, preying on visitors who get lost on the way to the U.S. Open.
Too bad the lost souls won’t stick around. Not only is DuPont not hosting the championship, it also doesn’t have any pot shops.
“Welcome to DuPont, birthplace of Almond Roca and Bing Crosby.”
But memo to the DuPontiffs in charge down there: You don’t need deceptive wordplay to sell your city.
By golly, you are the original site of Fort Nisqually and the Hudson’s Bay Company! For decades, you fed the West’s appetite for dynamite! You have Intel and State Farm and an Amazon distribution center!
To quote Tacoma’s personal therapist, Stuart Smalley: “You are good enough, you are smart enough and, doggone it, people like you!”
And for what it’s worth, Le Schnoz thinks you’re tres chic because you have the frenchiest name this side of Des Moines.
Viva la Dupont!
Sorry, we mean Viva la DuPont!