It snowed in Arizona yesterday, cancelling a round of a PGA Tour event. I would have paid money to see the faces of the pros when the flakes started coming down. But not all the flakes were falling from the sky.
Predictably, whenever there is weird weather, you get someone ascribing it to human folly. This time it was a PGA rules official, Mark Russell, who opined “It’s just climate change, you know — what can you say?”
Well, for one thing, you could say something that didn’t make you look like a thorough moron gibbering about something you know absolutely nothing about.
In 1954, when I was six, I awoke one morning in southern California to find about a foot of snow on the ground. My friends and I were ecstatic. Classes were cancelled; we ran around throwing snowballs, building snowmen, sliding and jumping. We had never seen snow. Among the adults no one could remember any snow there before. They referred to it as a “freak storm.” We started looking for the freaks.
No scientist from the PGA Tour was there to tell us that this miracle from the sky was a portent of doom, or a proof that we were destroying our planet. What is the difference between that snowfall and yesterday’s event in Arizona? None, I suspect, except for the tendency of self-appointed climatologists to claim it as yet another proof that their religion is the word of The One True God.