Mark Twain once called golf, "a good walk, spoiled." A local golf course in the 'burbs of Los Angelels might have changed his mind!
William W. Bedsworth, an associate justice in Santa Ana, was reading the Los Angeles Times when he read the following headliine, "Golf Course Prostitution Raid in Norco Leads to 6 Arrests."
Here is what it said in the very first sentence of the article:
"Authorities arrested six people early Saturday morning, hours after raiding a Norco golf tournament that allegedly offered romps with prostitutes inside tents set up on the greens."
Sex tents… On the greens…
Here’s Mr. Bedworth’s story…
A crime which combines my two favorite things in life, and I have never before heard of it. And it was going on right next door. Not in Manhattan, not in Newfoundland, not on some asteroid in the outer Van Allen Belt. In Norco. You can drive from my home to Norco in 45 minutes. Less, if you know there's golf prostitution there.
GOLF PROSTITUTION! Where was that when I could have benefited from it? How many abysmal rounds of golf have I played that could have been immeasurably improved by the simple erection of "tents set up on the green"? Now I've reached an age where "lost balls" and "two strokes a side" are terms I relate exclusively to golf, and I fear it's too late for me to adjust to the game as it's played in Norco.
According to the article, "Riverside County sheriff's deputies, some of whom hid in trees to conduct surveillance," broke up the tournament that was being played and arrested three women, two golf course employees, and a prospective customer.
Picture this, if you will. The golf course is littered with tents. ON THE GREENS. There are deputy sheriffs perched in the trees. Prostitutes are plying their wares while golf carts driven by men in plaid pants whiz by. And somewhere in the midst of all this, some poor fool is shanking a six-iron into the woods and worrying that he's two shots back with four to play. This isn't a golf tournament, it's a Marx Brothers movie.
And what's the response of the golf course owner? "These are clean-cut guys, and I can tell you we had no connection whatsoever to what was going on."
Obviously, this is a man who failed Marketing 101. Here he's handed the best publicity in the history of the game -- which dates back to a British Open won by a Neanderthal with three sticks and a rock -- and he tries to dodge it. The Los Angeles Times wants to tell everyone within fifteen Zip codes of his golf course that it's the best place in the universe to play a round, and he's trying to say it was a fluke. Jeez, has he no sense of public relations at all?
Let me try to help him out. This took place at Hidden Valley Golf Club. And yes, that was its name before this took place. Golfers -- or aficionados of the criminal law, wishing to make a pilgrimage to the site of this historic crime -- may call 909-737-1010 for tee times. Or whatever. I've never played Hidden Valley, and now I probably never will. I guarantee you their phones have been ringing off the hook with people who've never previously played there, but want to now.
You probably can't get a tee time until 2008. Hell, you probably can't even get a space in the parking lot until November. .
