A real-estate developer named MacDonald terrifies a coastal Oregon community, threatening its idyllic way of life. Exclusive video footage tracks the path of the monster, who bears a scary resemblance to golf firebrands Charles Blair Macdonald (1855-1939) and Donald Trump (1946 to present).
Bandon Dunes Golf Resort before MacDonald makeover
Bandon Dunes
Pacific Dunes
Bandon Trails
Old Macdonald
Bandon Preserve
After makeover
MacDonald I
MacDonald II
MacDonald III
New MacDonald
MacDonald V
Enter MacDonald (solus with smartphone):
I do NOT convene emergency board meetings when there is no emergency. I am at Bandon Dunes Golf Resort in backward Oregon, forced to walk – WALK!
Look at your screens: This wilderness is as advertised, a golf course without carts! The invention of the wheel must not have made the local news. Let’s investigate the pros and cons of a hostile takeover. Carts would liven up this joint. So would a stable of Segways, Vespas and customized jets, made to order for fast rounds and every body size!
Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!
And another thing: the ocean. See it? It could be any body of water. Who named it “Pacific,” a spineless name for an ocean! It sends the wrong message. When normal people visit a coast, they expect a picturesque village with stone harbor. They expect bobbing masts and an old salt who lives on memories, who will point to a place for grog and a sea chanty. Somebody write this down: Sea of MacDonald. I like the sound of ‘Sea of MacDonald.’ Identify legal obstacles to ocean naming rights. Brainstorm, people!
Item: Naval fleet off the coast. Big ships with the works. Somebody crack a book. The ships should be exact replicas, down to the captain’s parrot. The crew should be malnourished, suffering from the effects of scurvy and alcoholism. Item: Find out the brand of liquor drunk by Nelson’s men at Trafalgar. I bet the company exists today by appointment of the Queen. Cut a deal. Memo: Our Jack Tars must be up at the crack of dawn to swab the decks and load shells into guns arrayed port and starboard. Once the early golfers are within range, then it’s “Bombs away!” Dummy rounds loud enough to wake the Japanese, if the wind is right. That will teach their golfing community to pay attention!
Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!
Write this down: Scottish atmosphere, auld lang syne, home of golf. At a fundamental level, people admire Macbeth, the entrepreneurial spirit of the Bard’s Macbeth. His Lady was no slouch either. Who can forget the line about dashing out the brains of a smiling babe? She meant business. If Bandon has one virtue, it’s its caddie program. Program? Academy! An academy that leads to degrees, leads to jobs. A scholarship to the candidate with the best Scottish accent. University? Boring! Caddie Casino! Write that down. This peace and quiet could use some bells and whistles. We want to stand out from any sniveling competition. Kilts and parade flags. No bagpipes – I draw the line at bagpipes. Our caddies ought to be able to brandish a sword too and sink a battle axe into a target. If they can’t entertain the clientele, they are no good to me. The same skills transfer to golf anyway. A vacation package seasoned with danger is a proven commodity. Mayhem keeps the turnstiles turning!
Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!
I can see them now, the Three Witches or Weird Sisters or whatever the good old Bard called them, gainfully employed on beverage carts, patrolling the acreage, arising from the mists to circulate the property like specters of death – I mean, like go-go girls from birthday cakes. Ladies who are so inclined can pick up a little on the side in the red-flag districts tucked in our monster dunes, which, by the way, are killing my feet!
Item: Each hole to commemorate a celebrated military engagement. Birnam Wood comes to Bandon Dunes via Dunsinade. Issue a call to reenactors. Revolutionary or Civil, I don’t care which war – reenactors can be repurposed. We have sea breezes to carry the smells and cries of battle across the property. Hoof prints and dented, overturned helmets strewn across the landscape like presents around the Christmas tree. Any standing pools of blood should drain efficiently into the sand-based turf!
Item: Deluxe castles along the fairways, their great halls crammed with swords, bucklers, trumpets, long rough-hewn banquet tables, roaring spitting fireplaces. Aromas of roasted meat, serving wenches and chamber pots. Plates of haggis passed 24/7. For the high rollers, a recipe with the best of ingredients: sheep’s pluck, as the natives call it. A hot mess of lungs, heart and liver. Minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices and salt. Mixed with stock. Encased in the animal’s stomach. Simmered for three hours. Yummy.
Stay on the line while I line up my next shot. The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell!
Also on the menu: a watered-down version, such as you would find at McDonald’s. Prepared in sausage casing rather than stomach. Mothers will be pleased to see their sons eating well. The caddies can double as farm hands. Working nights in the fields. Planting crops for the table. This is arable land, for God’s sake! Find us a celebrity chef! Old MacDonald has a farm, damn it!
Here, a lush Bermuda fairway. Who else has the guts to plant azalea, dogwood and Georgia pine on the Sea of MacDonald? There, an immaculate green guarded by white crushed-marble bunkers. Sounds high maintenance in this setting, but with the technology to bill for wear and tear on every last blade of grass, who knows? Let’s try it. The media love a ballsy proposition!
Christian burial is too civilized for the sadists behind the walking-only policy. Who are they? Round ‘em up. They need a good shake and a brisk run through a gauntlet of pikes!
By the time Portland and Seattle wash up on our shore with the next tsunami, we will have a budding sovereign state. War College! Caddie War College! Write it down. If I am not around, I will have the satisfaction of knowing that my children, or my children’s children, will execute a developer’s dream in my name. Ah yes, to rebuild Bandon Dunes from scratch!
Stay on the line while I line up my next shot! The little bastard is giving me the evil eye again, damn it to hell! Out of bounds again?! No, hold on: It’s playable! Let’s wrap this up! You have your marching orders! Over and out!