Middle Ages Fat Cats
No, that's not a typo
So there we were, sitting in a golf cart in the shade, waiting for the green to clear. It was about 9 o’clock in the morning. The temperature was about 72°. There was a hint of breeze in the air. The Colorado sky was at its purest azure shade. All was right with the world.
“Did you ever feel sorry for those poor fat cats in the Middle Ages?”
“Huh?” My partner glanced at me, clearly worried about my mental state.
“Just think. Take the upper one percent – they guys that were in charge of everything, the ones that owned all the land and whatever wealth there was to be had. They didn’t have cellphones, or microwave ovens, or hybrid automobiles, or running water, or central heating. The most advanced transportation was based on horses. The most advanced communication was based on carrier pigeons. Average life expectancy was probably in the late thirties. And golf? Forget about it, unless you lived in Holland or Scotland, and even there they were using feathery balls and clubs with hickory shafts. And we’re talking about the fat cats here! The ones who had it better than everyone else! Heck, today you and I are just commoners, yet we have luxuries those poor fat cats couldn’t dream of.”
My partner frowned slightly. “Anybody who wasn’t a fat cat was probably starving, living in mud hovels, and forced to work for slave wages. So, no. I don’t think I do feel sorry for the middle ages fat cats. They were cruel and thoughtless overlords, who richly deserved whatever peasant rebellions came their way. Is that a Titleist AVX you fished out of that pond?”
“Are we fat cats? Middle-aged, that is?”
“Well, I do sort of feel pretty special here on this golf course on this beautiful day. And I’m pretty proud of my titanium driver, not to mention my new laser range finder. But we don’t have any yachts or planes or mansions or sweating serfs titheing to us. I just think we’re fortunate not to live in the Middle Ages.”