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The Masters

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I've waited until after the glorious inauguration of Barack Obama to bring this up.

I can't remember if I ever cared that women were not admitted to the country club where the perfectly named "Masters" is played. I remember getting riled about some guy saying that women weren't good golfers because their breasts interrupted their swing, but mostly because he pronounced bosoms "buh-zooms." Have women been admitted into the club?

But here's what I've been raving about: Phil Mickelson has won the Masters a few times. I'd Google it if I really cared. He has strolled down the azalea blazing 18th fairway to victory, donned the holy green jacket a few times. He has also tanked a few times because his gut got in the way of his swing. I digress.

Poor Phil warned recently that he would have to make "drastic changes" because of all the taxes he has to pay on his $47 million income, $43 million of which was from endorsements. Phil Mickelson for Sansabelts? Aww. Is he joining Gerard Depardieu in Russia? Can't wait for the photos of them in giant fur Zhivago hats eating through a wheel of brie.

When my nephew came out to us as a Republican -- he's fiscally and not socially Republican, whatever, we hope it's a phase -- my sister said she blamed herself for allowing him to caddy at a local country club at an impressionable age.

Maybe I should have cared more about women infiltrating the Masters' madrassas -- I mean country clubs.

This is not a noble thought. Not an inaugural "Find the good and praise it." See why I waited to bring it up?

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