A Gendered Cyborg?

Golf, one of the last bastions of men, is under siege — and the movement has been underway since long before Martha Burk arrived on the scene.

In many sports with a high degree of male bonding, one of the strongest unifying factors is the proverbial swinging dick, and so it is in golf. The driver in golf is nothing more than the extension of the male phallus, shooting Balatajaculate hundreds of yards in all directions (preferably straight) while onlookers go slackjawed or nod approvingly. Even with drivers made out of graphite or titanium or moonrock, or whatever, the man's always got the Number One Wood in his hands.

There's even a class of "golfers" out there who do nothing but hit long drives, evoking comparisons to the disembodied circus schlongs of the porn industry. Preying on our insecurities, both groups can sell our fears back to us, either as equipment to lengthen us on the tee, or in the sack.

If you can't grip it and rip it, then you're not a man at all — or so the subtext reads.

But this is where it gets confusing, yet interesting. Many women are gripping it and ripping it right along with the men. Now maybe they aren't as dick-swinging as the male pros, but the top 25 female players are averaging over 260 yards per drive, which is much further than most Joe Titleists out there. The female golf pro is hermaphroditic in the vast ecosphere of sport.

Or maybe not. Golf is indeed a sport with a high K/L ratio (which shall hereafter be known on sportsBabel as the cyborg ratio so as to differentiate it — and the individual it represents — from the capital-labor ratio of the firm found in classical economics). Golf is a cyborg sport. And as Donna Haraway notes in A Cyborg Manifesto:

The cyborg is a creature in a post-gender world; it has no truck with bisexuality, pre-oedipal symbiosis, unalienated labour, or other seductions to organic wholeness through a final appropriation of all the powers of the parts into a higher unity.

So perhaps the female golfer isn't hermaphroditic, after all. Perhaps the golfer — any golfer — carries with them the withering remnants of a phallocentric Western culture as they enter the posthuman cyborg state of tomorrow.


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