Time to Get Happy. Again.

Happy Gilmore 2 is on Netflix. Time for all the good little golf balls to go to their Home. Just go to their Home.

By Greg Rabidoux

Golf is cool. But it wasn't always that way. If you miss the days when golfers all wore horribly colored plaid slacks, overly ironed polo shirts, caddies with a decidedly upper-crust accent, announcers whispering in overly hushed reverential tones, and when it was a (mostly) Republican rich man's hobby then I feel for you. You probably also miss the days when the GOP was Bushy country too and Jeb was considered presidential material. Next, you'll confess you also miss the days when the rest of us working class dogs mixed Orange Julius drinks spiked with vodka for when all you conquering heroes of small ball returned to the clubhouse (more on this later). Nope, golf belongs to regular folk now, so go ahead and blame Adam Sandler, John Daley, the late great Rodney Dangerfield and more recently, Page Spiranac. Because those good/bad old days aren't coming back anytime soon. As Don Henly used to sing, "I saw a deadhead sticker on a Cadillac, don't look back, you can never look back."

Golf (thankfully) is no longer the exclusive domain of uber-wealthy Captains of industry or super-talented legends like Tiger Woods, Jack Nicklaus, or Arnold Palmer. Nope, golf circa 2025 and beyond is a lot more everyman (and woman) and hitting your ball with a hockey stick is now optional. We have more public courses, low tee-fee spots, driving ranges and open tournaments today than ever before. Okay, sure it remains the game of choice for old, kinda out-of-shape white guys like President Trump who tend to not pick their own ball up (though he's made golf cool and not in a Dwight D. Eisenhower way) after a made putt but it's also now being dominated by younger girls like, say his own granddaughter Kai. As well as a foursome of Jamaican dudes on vacay I saw the other day just knocking the stuffing out of their golf balls with smoking drives John Daley would envy.

Speaking of which, John Daley whose milelong drives and rolled-up sleeves stuffed with Marlboros opened the door to fairways everywhere for guys who smoked, barbecued, and golfed some, also inspired the Happy Gilmore character which Adam Sandler made legendary. Punching and then getting by true legend Bob Barker (The price is right, b*tch) was just the hole-in-one cherry on top.

Before Happy met Shooter, Gilmore and McGavin that is, Rodney Dangerfield did his improv "no respect" schtick to perfection as he bribed, connived, and offended his way into previously unexplored elite golfer territory (Caddyshack}. And now, we have social media influencers extraordinaire like Page Spiranac who inspire a whole new legion of short-skirt, halter-top wearing gals who can also knock the talon off their Titleists and sink putts like Tiger used to. At least before Erin chased him with a golf club for um, sinking punts on another gal's fairway. By the way, she not surprisingly showed great form and backswing. She was married to a golf pro after all.

So, lift up your Orange Julius, spiked or non-alcoholic (I was pals with a guy who used to tend bar at a club one summer many years ago for a group of wealthy golfer chumps) as we salute the return of Happy Gilmore to fairways across America and beyond. With so much nasty political news these days it is indeed time to get happy once again. Golf is no longer just for elites. Just don't get me started on all those golf carts loaded up with kids and dogs driven by 12 year-olds taking over the road. Talk about needing to manage my inner Happy Gilmore anger. And paddle ball. Let's not even go there. Happy. Time to get happy. Again.

Greg Rabidoux is an award-winning filmmaker, author, and scriptwriter. He can drive the ball a country mile. But putting,

now that's another thing entirely.