Spectator Life

The American Medical Association just announced its adoption of a head-scratching new policy that seems to be aimed not so much at improving people’s health, but at appearing sensitive and “woke.” The new policy is “aimed at clarifying how body mass index can be used as a measure in medicine.” BMI, apparently, has a “problematic history” because it “does not account for differences across race/ethnic groups, sexes, genders and age-span.” “BMI,” explains the Centers for Disease Control site (for now — they may not be up to “woke” speed just yet), “is a simple, inexpensive and noninvasive surrogate measure of body fat.

Will the biggest merger in golf history fall apart because of politics? From the moment the PGA Tour and LIV Golf shocked the world of sports by announcing their years of negging would end in marriage, questions about the nature and structure of the secretive deal have been raised not just by players, reporters, and fans, but by politicians as well — particularly from a pair of Democratic senators from Connecticut, Chris Murphy and Richard Blumenthal, both longtime Saudi critics. Now, it seems Congress is prepared to get seriously involved in whether this deal goes through, and what it means to have this level of investment from a foreign power in what they viewed as an American sport. https://twitter.

To beat the killer combination of jet lag and altitude on arrival in the Mile High City, use the tools at your disposal — or local dispensary. I advise newcomers to: Jog around Cheesman Park and the Botanic Gardens in bright sunshine, or thick snow (likely both) Buy up all the melatonin in Walgreens Drink copious local beers Have a smoke, if that’s your jam Grab a meal Hit the hay Repeat as necessary Denver’s bursting with shiny new concept restaurants and kitsch little nooks to drop into; so my muddled brain was grateful for any steer. I hounded discerning friends for recommendations, downloaded Stoned Appetit (a genius app full of the best spots to satisfy the munchies), and took aim at anywhere with a James Beard nod.

I was skeptical when my children arrived home from school Wednesday and informed me they could not play outside, irritated when they used the faculty fearmongering to demand screen time, irate when we pulled into the drop-off line Thursday morning. There was the crossing guard in an N95, a teacher in the same. A small boy was wrapped in useless cloth, dragged to the front steps by a mother sporting a surgical mask and a smart business suit. Evidently, cartoonish shoulder pads are making a comeback after a three-decade slumber, but mass panic barely had time to take a nap here in Washington before bureaucrats roused it in the name of public safety. It feels as though we are living in a horror movie and a particular one at that: the rushed sequel to a surprise box office hit.

What just happened to golf?  On Tuesday, PGA Tour commissioner Joseph William “Jay” Monahan IV announced that the PGA Tour will merge with LIV Golf, creating a new super tour along with Europe’s DP World Tour.  So much for the war between golf’s establishment and LIV, the upstart league backed by Saudi Arabia’s $620 billion sovereign wealth fund. Starting next year, Monahan will be the super tour’s CEO, answering to its chairman, Yasir al-Rumayyan, a close ally of Saudi crown prince Mohammed bin Salman.  So much for moral posturing. Just last year, with LIV critics citing the Saudi regime’s ugly human-rights record, its links to 9/11 and Saudi thugs’ murdering and dismembering columnist Jamal Khashoggi, Monahan claimed the high ground.

The PGA Tour will officially merge with LIV Golf, the Saudi-backed golf league, in a shock bid to squash the antitrust lawsuits brewing between the two corporations. It’s a surprising move considering the PGA Tour executives and some of their high-profile players, such as Rory McIlroy, spent the past year morally shaming the pros who defected. But one man who was not shocked was former president Donald Trump, whose organization hosts LIV events at his courses. In July 2022, Trump wrote on Truth Social: All those golfers who remain "loyal" to the very disloyal PGA, in all its different forms, will pay a big price when the inevitable MERGER with LIV comes, and you get nothing but a big "thank you" from PGA officials who are making Millions of Dollars a year.

Conservatives just discovered the surest cure for America’s obesity epidemic: boycotts.  On Tuesday morning, Chick-fil-A became the latest casualty in the Bud Light War when a Twitter mob began calling for a boycott of the fast food chain gone “woke.” The outrage followed a viral tweet highlighting that the company had hired a vice president of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion. “We have a problem,” tweeted conservative commentator Joey Mannarino on Monday. “Chick-Fil-A just hired a VP of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion. This is bad. Very bad. I don’t want to have to boycott. Are we going to have to boycott?” Cockburn certainly does not want to give up his weekly chicken sandwich!

Over the last four years, one of the biggest trends in watch collecting has been the rise of the “independents” — the independent watchmakers with eponymous brands like Philippe Dufour, F.P. Journe, Roger Smith, as well as the new kids on the block like Rexhep and Xhevdet Rexhepi and my friends Petermann Bédat. These independent watchmakers typically have years of experience working for other watch companies such as Patek Philippe, Audemars Piguet and A. Lange & Söhne before starting their own brands.

In the five years since the Supreme Court struck down a federal law banning sports gambling in most states, the sports landscape, at least in terms of the way events are covered, has been radically altered, and in many ways, changes are yet to come. Seemingly every week, a new sportsbook app arrives on the market. Broadcasts of sports are now inundated with updates about odds, point spreads and proposed parlays from analysts that fans are invited to wager on. Prior to the Supreme Court decision, gambling was the dirty little secret of the sports establishment. Of course gambling happened, and in places like Las Vegas it was legit, but it was considered tawdry among the more buttoned-down members of the sports mainstream.

Quizzed on how best to assimilate a new culture, travel writer and celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain once uttered the famous line: “Drink heavily with locals whenever possible.” I never met the man, but still I miss him and his deft writing. The Opening a Bottle series is about getting pickled with people far cooler than I am, in whatever city I’ve washed up in.  It’s my first proper day of spring on home soil, and it’s a blinder. Not a cloud in the sky, and a glorious cool breeze wafting the scent of mown grass across Lime Wood Hotel’s sumptuous gardens. They’re bursting with color, flowers blooming in every direction. White stone walls are awash with lilac wisteria. I’ve driven down to rural Hampshire from London to meet lauded resident chef Luke Holder.

The left is hard launching its response to the parental rights movement sweeping the country, and it has settled on a nifty phrase: “book bans.” Numerous media headlines, advocacy organization press releases and activist social media posts have decried the so-called right-wing Christian fascists attempting to stifle intellectual freedom by pulling scores of books from school libraries and classrooms.  PEN America, a nonprofit group of writers committed to free expression, has described the effort by parents to exert some influence over what books children are exposed to in school as “deeply undemocratic”. Children are “losing access to literature”, the group says.

Blazing sunshine. Endless traffic. Horns honking. Wine bars heaving. Trance music blasting. Street hawkers calling. Coastal wind (called the "Cape Doctor" by locals) whistling. Grit in one eye, the other looking over my shoulder. Hair flying in every direction. To explore central Cape Town is to be gut-punched: by an evolving backdrop of sublime nature and the complexity of the human condition. To visit the city’s world-class restaurants, concept stores and co-working sites is to share a street with the sick, hungry and homeless. Look up, and you’re hypnotized by the monolithic mountains beyond; a brief distraction from the painfully obvious disparity. From some angles it feels like the Mother City is being wrapped in a tight hug.

Crowds lined up to say au revoir to a Southern California landmark — not Route 66, or the elementary school operating out of the remains of the Ambassador Hotel, where an assassin shot RFK. They were gathering for the month-long funeral of the Disneyland water ride Splash Mountain. Since 1989, visitors have ridden boats up a mountain, past the animatronic Brer Rabbit escaping the briar patch, bumping into Brer Bear and Brer Fox, who kidnap him. As they toss the bunny off a cliff and down a river, the ride’s riverboats fall down the mountain after him. Miraculously, both Brer Rabbit and the log-flume passengers survive. The survival is never explained, but visitors rarely notice because they’re enraptured by the grand finale rendition of “Zip-a-dee-doo-da.

New York City mayor Eric Adams is on a quest to cut the city’s “food-related emissions” by 33 percent by 2030, and not by making Gas-X free to residents. Adams, whom the New York Times reports is “a self-described vegan who sometimes eats fish,” has expressed support for the city reducing the amount of meat it serves at schools, hospitals and in other government-funded capacities. “It is easy to talk about emissions that are coming from vehicles and how it impacts our carbon footprint,” Adams said. “It is easy to talk about the emissions that’s coming from buildings and how it impacts our environment. But we now have to talk about beef. And I don’t know if people are really ready for this conversation.

When the film version of To Kill a Mockingbird came out in 1962, America was captivated. In part it was because of the moral force of Harper Lee’s story about a lawyer who does what today’s Twitter progressives will not: think twice about whether a mere accusation is enough to convict a supposedly shitty man. But it was also because, to put it plainly, the hero Atticus Finch was played by Gregory Peck in a loosely fitting but perfectly tailored gray three-piece suit. And, well, Peck looked hot.   George Santos is not hot, but he is an icon. In the last year or so he has hit the headlines for his perfectly curated preppy fashion that make him look like an oversized prep school kid. The Washington Post described his look as "bland but utterly unforgettable.

“What the f—” “Don’t look directly at it. I’m serious, that thing is cursed.”  My childhood best friend Sofie has just scooped me up from the epicenter of weirdness that is Denver International Airport, one hand on the steering wheel, the other blocking my view of a thirty-five-foot, bright blue fiberglass horse rearing at nothing in particular. I’m sleep-deprived, but I’m not seeing things. “Why are its eyes burning red?” “Not sure. The man who built it died during construction. Blucifer fell on him and severed a main artery.” I’ve no energy left for questions. I’m fresh from nine hours in a tin can sitting next to an effusive new “friend,” insistent on sharing conspiracy theories linked to our destination.