I own a certain quantity of oddball golf crap, including the sexy tees in the photo above. I probably owe my interest in such things, to the extent that I have one, to Alex Shear, who died recently after being hit by a tour bus on Broadway, in New York City. (His obituary ran in the New York Times on Sunday.) I met Shear by accident in 1992, and wrote about him in The New Yorker twice, once that year and once in 1999. Here’s one of the items mentioned in the 1999 story, to give you some sense of what at least one of his many collections was like:
Shear wasn’t a golfer so there isn’t a golf connection, but he did once give me a golf-shoe-shaped tea-cup hanger, which he had bought at a yard sale somewhere and thought I might kick out of. (I just spent almost an hour looking for it, but couldn’t turn it up. I’ll add a photo if I find it.) He was one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever spent time with, on or off a golf course—although he was also, as you will see if you follow the link above, uniquely exasperating.