There’s a rather alarming concept sweeping the Northern California real estate market these days and it’s not an unexpected proliferation of musical lawn dwarf landscaping.
It seems as if everywhere you look, some enterprising builder, developer or realtor is cheerfully trumpeting the benefits of “Golf Course Living!”
Uh-huh. This is, like, supposed to be a selling point?
Call me a skeptic, but why would anybody other than a (shudder!) golfer actually want to live on or near a golf course?
Golf courses, as attractive as some of them may seem at first glance, are basically gigantic lawns dotted with the occasional brackish pond (they don’t even stock ’em with trout!) and a sand pit or two.
The latter are kind of fun if you’re one of those people who occasionally enjoys dressing up as a grizzled prospector and crawling across them on your belly croaking “Watah, waaaataaaah…” to the alarm to startled spectators, but otherwise they’re rather useless.
Worse, golf courses in general tend to attract a rather hardy form of suburban pest that has proven virtually ineradicable in recent years – the golfer.
And herein lies the average homebuyer’s dilemma: Is the cry “Golf Course Living!” a selling point or a warning?
After all, this is a place where high velocity projectiles are just another part of the environment.
Those hard little white orbs don’t always land on the green. In fact – considering the skills of the average S’lano County golfer – they’re liable to land with considerable force just about anywhere, including right in the middle of your first Ramos Fizz of the morning.
Then there are the golfers themselves – club-wielding maniacs in funny shoes who scurry hither and yon through the countryside vehemently cursing those inoffensive little white orbs.
Who exactly are these guys?
Not somebody you’d want to live next door to, that’s for sure, amigos. I checked it out.
Remember when everyone used to joke about wealthy, leisure-loving medical doctors spending an inordinate amount of time puttering about on the golf course?
Sorry – that was just another one of those silly urban myths that seem to surface from time to time.
I did some research. I drove out to VacaValley Hospital and nosed around for a couple of afternoons. The place was full of doctors performing all sorts of medically related tasks. Not one of them was wearing funny-looking shoes.
Next, I made my way over to the S’lano County Hall of Justice in Fairfield. Despite an exhaustive, 10-minute search, I couldn’t find a single organized crime kingpin – not so much as a third-string lieutenant for the Medelin cocaine cartel.
It doesn’t take a genius to put this one together. If all the doctors are over at the hospital and none of the region’s organized crime figures are in court, it’s pretty obvious how our well-heeled felons are spending their leisure time…