course

So Jimmy Kimmel is coming back, fast enough that there are still folks out there who didn’t know he was gone.

Hallelujah? Praise be to ABC? Free speech triumphs?

It all depends on Tuesday night, when we see if Kimmel returns undaunted, or if he has been subdued. Of all the consequential, crazy, frightening events that have taken place in recent days, Kimmel’s return should be a moment we all watch — a real-time, late-night look at how successful our president is at forcing us to censor ourselves through fear.

Please, Jimmy, don’t back down.

If Kimmel tempers his comedy now, pulls his punches on making fun of power, he sends the message that we should all be afraid, that we should all bend. Maybe he didn’t sign up for this, but here he is — a person in a position of influence being forced to make a risky choice between safety and country.

That sounds terribly dramatic, I know, but self-censorship is the heart of authoritarianism. When people of power are too scared to even crack a joke, what does that mean for the average person?

If Kimmel, with his celebrity, clout and wealth, cannot stand up to this president, what chance do the rest of us have?

Patriotism used to be a simple thing. A bit of apple pie, a flag on the Fourth of July, maybe even a twinge of pride when the national anthem plays and all the words pop into your mind even though you can’t find your car keys or remember what day it is.

It’s just something there, running in the background — an unspoken acknowledgment that being American is a pretty terrific thing to be.

Now, of course, patriotism is the most loaded of words. It’s been masticated and barfed out by the MAGA movement into a specific gruel — a white, Western-centric dogma that demands a narrow and angry Christianity dominate civic life.

There have been a deluge of examples of this subversion in recent days. The Pentagon is threatening to punish journalists who report information it doesn’t explicitly provide. The president used social media to demand U.S. Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi go after his perceived enemies.

The one that put a knot in my stomach was the speech by Stephen Miller, Trump’s immigration czar, speaking, without humor, at the memorial for Charlie Kirk.

“We are the storm,” Miller said, hinting back at a QAnon conspiracy theory about a violent reordering of society.

That’s disturbing, but actually mild compared with what he said next, a now-familiar Christian nationalist rant.

“Our lineage and our legacy hails back to Athens, to Rome, to Philadelphia, to Monticello,” Miller said. “Our ancestors built the cities they produced, the art and architecture they built. The industry.”

Who’s going to tell him about Sally Hemings? But he continued with an attack on the “yous” who don’t agree with this worldview, the “yous,” like Kimmel, one presumes (though Kimmel’s name did not come up) who oppose this cruel version of America.

“You are wickedness, you are jealousy, you are envy, you are hatred, you are nothing,” Miller said. “You can build nothing. You can produce nothing. You can create nothing.”

Humor, of course, ain’t nothing, which is why this administration can’t stand it.

Humor builds camaraderie. It produces dopamine and serotonin, the glue of human bonding. It drains away fear, and creates hope.

Which is why autocrats always go after comedians pretty early on. It’s not thin skin, though Trump seems to have that. It’s effective management of dissent.

Nazi propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels knew it. In 1939, after his party had set up a Chamber of Culture that required all performers to adhere to certain rules, he banned five German comedians — Werner Finck, Peter Sachse, Helmuth Buth, Wilhelm Meissner and Manfred Dlugi — for making political jokes that didn’t support the regime. He basically ended their careers for daring satire against Nazi leaders, claiming people didn’t find it funny.

“(I)n their public appearances they displayed a lack of any positive attitude toward National Socialism and therewith caused grave annoyance in public and especially to party comrades,” the New York Times reported the German government claiming at the time.

Sounds familiar.

Kimmel, of course, is not the only comedian speaking out. Jon Stewart has hit back on “The Daily Show,” pretending to be scared into submission, perhaps a hat tip to Finck, who famously joked, “I am not saying anything. And even that I am not saying.”

Stephen Colbert roasted Disney with a very funny parody video. Political cartoonists are having a field day.

And there are plenty of others pushing back. Gov. Gavin Newsom has taken to all-caps rebuttals. Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker, whom Trump called “nothing,” is also vocal in his opposition, especially of National Guard troops in Chicago.

The collective power of the powerful is no joke. It means something.

But all the sober talk in the world can’t rival one spot-on dig when it comes to kicking the clay feet of would-be dictators. Mark Twain said it best: Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand. Which is what makes Kimmel so relevant in this moment.

Can he come back with a laugh — proving we have nothing to fear but fear itself — or are we seriously in trouble?

If history has taught us anything, it’s that no one is truly safe. That gathering dread fueled some great ’70s paranoid thrillers, such as “The Parallax View” and “The Conversation,” but it’s been difficult to replicate that eeriness in today’s extremely online world, when our devices explain and obfuscate with abandon, conspiracies are lifeblood and we feel persecuted one day, invincibly anonymous the next.

The nifty premise of “Relay,” a new white-knuckle ride from “Hell or High Water” director David Mackenzie, is that a certain type of tech-savvy hero can, if not completely ease your anxiety, at least navigate a secret truce with those out to get you. And Riz Ahmed’s solitary off-the-grid fixer, Ash, who hides in plain sight in bustling New York, can do it without ever meeting or talking to you: His preferred mode of traceless communication is the text-telephone service that hard-of-hearing people use in conjunction with message-relaying operators. Like a ready-made covert operation, it keeps identities, numbers and call logs secret.

For the simple fact that “Relay” is not about an assassin (the movies’ most over-romanticized independent contractor), screenwriter Justin Piasecki’s scenario deserves kudos. Rather, Ash’s broker helps potential whistleblowers escape the clutches of dangerously far-reaching entities — unless, of course, they want to settle for cash. It’s a fascinatingly cynical update: Should we make an uneasy peace with our tormentors? (Hello, today’s headlines.)

Before those questions get their due, however, “Relay” sets itself up with clockwork precision as a straightforward big-city nail-biter about staying one step ahead. Seeking protection from harassment and a return to normal life, rattled biotech scientist Sarah (Lily James) goes on the run with incriminating documents about her former employer. When she’s rebuffed by a high-powered law firm, she’s provided a mysterious number to call. Ash, armed with his elaborate vetting methods, puts Sarah through the paces with rules and instructions regarding burner phones, mailed packages and a detailed itinerary of seemingly random air travel. It doesn’t just test her commitment, though — it’s also a ploy to scope out the corporate goons on her trail: a dogged surveillance team led by Sam Worthington (who should maybe only play bad guys) and Willa Fitzgerald.

As the story careens through airports and post offices and New York’s hidey-holes, the cat-and-mouse chase is dizzyingly enjoyable, worthy of a Thomas Perry novel. We wait for the missteps that threaten everything, of course, and they begin with learning that Ash is a failed whistleblower himself, one who is beginning to question his chosen crusade. Another vulnerability, recognizable in the occasional cracks in Ahmed’s commanding stoicism, is the loneliness of the gig. So when a restive Sarah, on one of their protected calls, gently prods for a smidgen of personality from her mysterious unseen helper, one is inclined to shout, “No feelings! Too risky!”

But that, of course, is the slippery pleasure of “Relay,” which pits individuals against venal institutional might. Flaws are the beating hearts of these movies, triggering the peril that makes the blood pump faster. Some of that effectiveness is undercut by some off-putting music choices, but McKenzie’s command of the material is rock solid, Giles Nuttgens’ cinematography achieves a sleek, moody metallic chill and Matt Mayer’s editing is always fleet. In a year that’s already given us one superlative case of adult peekaboo — Steven Soderbergh’s “Black Bag” — “Relay” proves there’s still more room for smart, punchy cloak-and-dagger options.

TURNBERRY, Scotland — It may not be typical golf attire, but one of the most ubiquitous outfits seen on President Trump’s golf course Friday ahead of his visit was the reflective yellow vest worn by Scottish police.

The standard issue garb that is far removed from the traditional Turnberry tartan was highly visible on the dunes, the beaches and the grass as thousands of officers secured the course in advance of protests planned during the president’s visit to two of his Scottish golf resorts.

Trump was expected to arrive Friday evening to a mix of respect and ridicule.

His visit requires a major police operation that will cost Scottish taxpayers millions of pounds as protests are planned over the weekend. The union representing officers is concerned they are already overworked and will be diverted from their normal duties, and some residents are not happy about the cost.

“Why isn’t he paying for it himself? He’s coming for golf, isn’t he?” said Merle Fertuson, a solo protester in Edinburgh holding a hand-drawn cardboard sign that featured a foolishly grinning Trump likeness in a tuxedo. “It’s got nothing whatsoever to do with public money, either U.S. or U.K.”

Policing for Trump’s four-day visit to the U.K. in 2018 cost more than $19 million, according to Freedom of Information figures. That included more than $4 million spent for his two-day golf trip to Turnberry, the historic course and hotel in southwest Scotland that he bought in 2014.

Police Scotland would not discuss how many officers were being deployed for operational reasons and only said the costs would be “considerable.”

“The visit will require a significant police operation using local, national and specialist resources from across Police Scotland, supported by colleagues from other U.K. police forces as part of mutual aid arrangements,” Assistant Chief Constable Emma Bond said.

Scottish First Minister John Swinney said the visit would not be detrimental to policing.

“It’s nonsensical to say it won’t impact it,” said David Kennedy, general secretary of the Scottish Police Federation, the officers’ union.

Kennedy said he expects about 5,000 officers to take part in the operation.

He said a force reduction in recent years has police working 12-hour shifts. Communities that are understaffed will be left behind with even fewer officers during Trump’s visit.

“We want the president of the United States to be able to come to Scotland. That’s not what this is about,” Kennedy said. “It’s the current state of the police service and the numbers we have causes great difficulty.”

The Stop Trump Scotland group has planned demonstrations Saturday in Edinburgh, Aberdeen and Dumfries. The group encouraged people to “show Trump exactly what we think of him in Scotland.”

Trump should receive a much warmer welcome from U.K. Prime Minister Keir Starmer, who is expected to meet with him during the visit. Swinney, the left-leaning head of Scottish government and former Trump critic, also plans to meet with the president.

Ha and Melley write for the Associated Press. Melley reported from London. Will Weissert contributed to this report from Edinburgh.

There are a frightening number of ways an American can become indebted today: there’s medical debt (I won’t be paying off my child’s birth until he’s nearly 5 years old, and I have insurance). Mortgages, of course (though as a millennial living in an expensive city, I wouldn’t know what those look like). And then there’s student loan debt carried by nearly 43 million Americans, and which disproportionately affects Black women. But hey, at least one good thing has come of that, as TV writer and novelist Kashana Cauley graciously acknowledges in her new book, “The Payback”: “To the student loan industry,” reads her dedication, “whose threatening phone calls made this book possible.”

Narrated by Jada Williams, a wardrobe designer turned retail salesperson, “The Payback” is full of such you-gotta-laugh-to-keep-from-crying humor. The book opens at Phoenix, the clothing store at the Glendale mall where Jada now works, and includes a hilarious yet mostly sincere appreciation for the beleaguered centers of suburban America: “I loved mall smell,” Jada narrates, waxing poetic about the scents of the bins at the candy store and the ever-present pizza smell before admitting that she sometimes even leans down to smell the plastic kiddie ride horses. “Sometimes, when there were no kids, I’d lean into the horse and sniff it to get a whiff of plastic, childhood dreams, and dried piss. Yes, I know, nobody’s supposed to savor the aroma of pee, and I wouldn’t rank it first among the smells of the world, but pee is life. It’s humanity. It’s the mall.”

Jada loves the mall, and she even loves her job, which is not a given for anyone who’s lost their dream career like she did. She’s passionate about helping people find the clothes that look and make them feel good, even if she’s doing that for 20% commission. She’s definitely gotten over her sticky fingers habit, too, except that, well, on the day the book opens, someone leaves an expensive watch in the fitting room, and Jada can’t help but pocket it. This eventually leads to her getting fired, but not before the boss she likes, Richard, dies on the store’s floor and Jada and her co-workers get to witness the newly formed debt police in action chasing and beating up Richard’s grieving widower during his wake.

The debt police are exactly what they sound like: cops who come after people in debt. Cauley, a former writer for “The Daily Show With Trevor Noah” who has contributed to the New Yorker, has fun with this concept: she dresses them up in turquoise and makes them all obnoxiously hot and as annoying as the worst Angeleno cliché you can think of (they’re especially obsessed with overpriced new age treatments and diet culture). The cherry on top is their true apathetic evil. “These Leo moon incidents are always the worst,” a debt policeman says, for example, while literally beating Jada up.

Six months after she’s fired, Jada is making money by “eating food on camera in the hope that internet people, mostly guys, according to their screen names and Cash App handles, would pay [her] rent.” She eats shrimp for its pop and the way she can lick it; graham crackers for their whisper and crackle; almonds for their snap; celery sticks for their crunch. On the one hand, she’s paying her rent; on the other hand, her relationship to food has become sonically focused and exhausting.

The saving grace is that Jada manages to stay friends with her former Phoenix co-workers, Lanae (frontwoman of a punk band, the Donner Party) and Audrey (a runner and hacker in her spare time). Together, they come up with a plan to erase their own — and everyone else’s — student loan debt. It’s a heist, of sorts, except instead of getting rich, they’ll stop being in the hole for tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. But the real pleasure, just like it is in any good heist movie, is witnessing the three women spending time together and becoming closer over the course of the book.

Jada is a deeply imperfect narrator. She’s quick to judge others, slow to trust, and even steals a watch on page 12 (Gasp! She’s a thief!) So, yes, she’s a messy millennial who has some issues to work through, but neither she nor anyone deserves to spend the rest of their life indebted to a system that claimed a college education as the only way to break into the middle class, and which instead ends up keeping so many from it.

The novel is a satire, of course, and the debt police are over the top because it’s generically appropriate, but also because Cauley is using humor to approach the horrifying reality that people really do go to prison for having debt in this country. And even when they don’t, student loan debt ends up increasing the racial wealth gap. According to the latest data from the Education Data Initiative, “Black and African American college graduates owe an average of $25,000 more in student loan debt than white college graduates.” Flash-forward four years after graduation, and “Black students owe an average of 188% more than white students.”

Yet the job of a novelist isn’t to hit you over the head with statistics but to entertain you — if you learn anything along the way or think more deeply about something you’d never considered, that’s great, but it’s not the main point. For all that it deals with systemic racism and economic precarity, “The Payback” is a terrifically fun book that made me laugh out loud at least once every chapter.

Masad, a books and culture critic, is the author of the novel “All My Mother’s Lovers” and the forthcoming novel “Beings.”

Alex Caruso is an NBA champion!

Of course, Caruso already had a ring before he and the Oklahoma City Thunder closed out the Indiana Pacers in Game 7 of the NBA Finals on Sunday night. His first one came with the Lakers after the slightly shortened 2020 season and a postseason played entirely in the NBA bubble in Orlando during the COVID-19 pandemic.

“Now I got a real one,” Caruso told reporters following the Thunder’s 103-91 victory over the Pacers. “Now nobody can say anything.”

He was joking, of course, making reference to the trolls who try to diminish the Lakers’ title from five years ago because of the unique circumstances under which it was won.

That Lakers team had an average age of nearly 29 and was led by LeBron James, who was 35 years old upon winning his fourth NBA championship.

This Thunder team is led by league MVP Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, who is 26 and — like the rest of his Oklahoma City teammates, except for Caruso — hadn’t won an NBA title until now. Their average age is 25.68 years, making them the youngest NBA champion team since the 1977 Portland Trail Blazers.

“I think just because of the way the team is constructed now versus the team I had in 2020, it was much harder with this team just because of the experience [level],” Caruso, 31, said. “… I think through the playoffs, this team grew up and learned on the fly. Most teams have to learn through losses and learn though defeat, and I think this team learned through success. And it’s a unique capability to be able to do that for 21- to 27-year-old kids.

“For me, I’ve seen greats do it, so I knew the way, I knew the mindset. But to see these guys do it, man, it’s really cool to see it in person, and I’m so happy for the guys just to be able to figure it out and be able to get this done.”

Caruso was a valuable player off the bench en route to both of his NBA championships, averaging 6.5 points per game in 2020 and 9.2 this season. He scored 20 points in three different games during the 2025 season, including twice during the Finals; his high score during the 2020 campaign was 16 points.

He signed with the Chicago Bulls as a free agent during the 2021 offseason and was traded to Oklahoma City for guard Josh Giddey last summer. Caruso’s previous championship experience was also valuable after Sunday’s game, when Caruso had to give his teammates a crash course on popping champagne to celebrate the victory.

“We didn’t do it all at the same time until like the third try,” Caruso said of popping the corks. “I tried my best when we got in there, I was like, ‘All right, let’s get a head count, let’s make sure everyone’s here before we do the first one.’ And through the learning experience of taking the foil off, undoing the metal and having the cork ready, there was like three or four guys that popped their corks. And then it happened again. …

“We went through the process a couple times and eventually we got everybody on the same page. But, yeah, it was a good first try. We’ll get some rest, reset, try to go again next year and see if we can do it again, and we’ll be better.”

Well, we could just cancel baseball.

And, to be safe, every doughnut shop in Los Angeles should be closed pending investigation.

Some Dodgers fans might be undocumented, which could explain why federal agents were camped near Dodger Stadium on Thursday but denied entry.

Or there could be another reason.

Roughly a quarter of the players in Major League Baseball are from outside the country. Those foreigners have visas, as I understand it, but these days, the Trump administration has made clear that temporary protected legal status is no guarantee against ejection. Not from a game, but from the country.

Has anybody checked Shohei Ohtani’s papers lately? Or those of Teoscar Hernández, Kim Hye-seong or Yoshinobu Yamamoto?

And what about the doughnuts?

It’s no secret in Los Angeles that a lot of doughnut shops are run by immigrants. So it can’t be a coincidence that, on Wednesday, agents arrested several men at a bus stop near a Winchell’s Donut House in Pasadena.

State Rep. Judy Chu (D-Monterey Park) posted comments and video on social media.

“As you can see, these ICE agents are pointing guns at innocent individuals, no warrants, no explanations, just fear and intimidation,” Chu wrote, adding that agents “masked and armed like a militia” constitute an “absolutely vile” abuse of power.

This country is under threat like never before. Immigrants playing baseball, making doughnuts, hustling construction jobs at day laborer sites, changing the diapers of seniors with physical and cognitive disabilities.

But for all of that, it can be a little difficult at times to follow the Trump administration’s thinking.

One day we were told the plan is to make 3,000 arrests a day.

Then Trump quickly reversed course, saying raids on farms, hotels and restaurants would be curtailed because he learned in a shocking revelation from employers that “our very aggressive policy on immigration is taking very good, long time workers away from them, with those jobs being almost impossible to replace.”

Then, almost immediately, the administration is back to going after everyone.

I have a hunch as to why that is.

First of all, it’s worth noting that consistency has long been an issue for the president, so much so that he should be wearing flip-flops at all times. To the Oval Office, to the golf course, to bed. Everywhere.

And yet, although we’re used to him saying one thing and doing another, I think something else is at play here.

Trump has kept some campaign promises, but struck out on key vows, and he’s not a guy who handles defeat well.

Grocery prices were supposed to drop on Day 1, and a new age of American prosperity was about to begin.

How’s that going, folks?

He was going to end the war in Ukraine before he even took office, and then put an end to the war in the Middle East.

Hmmmmmmmm.

He was going to usher in a new era of budget accountability with his buddy Elon Musk leading the way.

Well, that was a quick and ugly divorce, and Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” adds $3 trillion to the national debt.

We know Trump loves to watch television, so we can only assume that after he threw himself a birthday party with a military parade on Saturday, he had to have caught news clips of millions of Americans marching at “No Kings Day” rallies across the country, including in red states.

Ouch.

I’m wondering if Trump saw the same sign I saw at the El Segundo demonstration, which was about a certain wife who hasn’t spent much time in the White House: “If Melania doesn’t have to live with him, America shouldn’t have to either.”

Weak men, under duress, flex their muscles.

Trump can deport, and so he will. It could ruin the economy, but that won’t stop him.

Catch a Dodgers game while you can, and stock up on doughnuts.

[email protected]

OAKMONT, Pa. — J.J. Spaun is still new enough to the U.S. Open, and a newcomer to the brute that is Oakmont, that he was prepared for anything Thursday. He wound up with a clean card and a one-shot lead on an opening day that delivered just about everything.

Scottie Scheffler had more bogeys in one round than he had the entire tournament when he won the Memorial. He shot a 73, his highest start ever in a U.S. Open, four shots worse than when he made his Open debut at Oakmont as a 19-year-old at Texas.

Patrick Reed made the first albatross in 11 years at the U.S. Open when he holed out a 3-wood from 286 yards on the par-five fourth. He finished with a triple bogey.

Bryson DeChambeau was 39 yards from the hole at the par-five 12th and took four shots from the rough to get to the green.

Si Woo Kim shot a 68 and had no idea how.

“Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m doing on the course,” Kim said. “Kind of hitting good but feel like this course is too hard for me.”

Through it all, Spaun played a steady hand in only his second U.S. Open. He played bogey-free and finished with 10 straight pars for a four-under 66 on America’s toughest course hosting the major known as the toughest test in golf.

He matched the low opening round in U.S. Opens at Oakmont — Andrew Landry also shot 66 the last time here in 2016 — and it was no mystery. Good putting never fails at any U.S. Open, and Spaun holed five par putts ranging from 7 feet to 16 feet to go along with four birdies.

“I didn’t really feel like I’m going to show a bogey-free round 4 under. I didn’t really know what to expect especially since I’ve never played here,” said Spaun, playing in only his second U.S. Open. “But yeah, maybe sometimes not having expectations is the best thing, so I’ll take it.”

Oakmont lived up to its reputation with a scoring average of about 74.6 despite a course still relatively soft from rain and moderate wind that didn’t stick around for long.

And oh, that rough.

Just ask Rory McIlroy, although he chose not to speak for the fifth straight competitive round at a major since his Masters victory. He had to hack out three times on the fourth hole to get it back to the fairway, and then he holed a 30-foot putt for a most unlikely bogey. He shot 74.

“Even for a guy like me, I can’t get out of it some of the times, depending on the lie,” DeChambeau said after a 73. “It was tough. It was a brutal test of golf.”

The start of the round included Maxwell Moldovan holing out for eagle on the 484-yard opening hole. Toward the end, Tony Finau hit an approach just over the green, off a sprinkler head and into the grandstand, his Titleist marked by green paint of the sprinkler. He saved par.

When the first round ended more than 13 hours after it started, only 10 players managed to break par. That’s one fewer than the opening round in 2016.

Scheffler, the heavy favorite as the No. 1 player in the world who had won three of his last four tournaments by a combined 17 shots, made a 6-foot birdie putt on his second hole. Then he found the Church Pew bunkers on the third and fourth holes, made bogey on both and was never under the rest of the day.

“I made some silly mistakes out there, but at the same time, I made some key putts and some good momentum saves in my round,” Scheffler said. “But overall just need to be a little sharper.“

Spaun, who started his round by chipping in from ankle-deep rough just right of the 10th green, was walking down the 18th fairway when a spectator looked at the group’s scoreboard and said, “J.J. Spaun. He’s four under?”

The emphasis was on the number, not the name.

But some of the names were surprising, starting with Spaun. He lost in a playoff at The Players Championship to McIlroy that helped move him to No. 25 in the world, meaning he didn’t have to go through U.S. Open qualifying for the first time.

Thriston Lawrence of South Africa, who contended at Royal Troon last summer, had six birdies in a round of 67.

And perhaps Brooks Koepka can count as a surprise because the five-time major champion has not contended in a major since winning the PGA Championship in 2023, and he missed the cut in the Masters and PGA Championship this year.

He looked like the Koepka of old, muscling way around Oakmont, limiting mistakes and closing with two birdies for a 68 that left him in a group with the South Korea duo of Si Woo Kim and Sungjae Im.

“It’s nice to put a good round together. It’s been a while,” Koepka said. “It’s been so far off … but now it’s starting to click. Unfortunately, we’re about halfway through the season, so that’s not ideal, but we’re learning.”

Another shot back at 69 was a group that included two-time major champion Jon Rahm, who went 11 holes before making a birdie, and followed that with an eagle.

“I played some incredible golf to shoot one under, which we don’t usually say, right?” Rahm said.

The course allowed plenty of birdies, plenty of excitement, and doled out plenty of punishment.

McIlroy also was bogey-free, at least on his opening nine. Then he three-putted for bogey on No. 1 and wound up with a 41 on the front nine for a 74. Sam Burns was one shot out of the lead until playing the last four holes in five over for a 72 that felt a lot worse.

Spaun was not immune from this. He just made everything, particularly five par putts from seven feet or longer.

“I think today was one of my best maybe putting days I’ve had maybe all year,” Spaun said. “Converting those putts … that’s huge for momentum and keeping a round going, and that’s kind of what happens here at U.S. Opens.”

Spaun wouldn’t know that from experience. This is only his second U.S. Open, and his ninth major since his first one in 2018. He didn’t have to qualify, moving to No. 25 in the world on the strength of his playoff loss to McIlroy at The Players Championship.

“I haven’t played in too many,” Spaun said “I knew it was going to be tough. I did my best just to grind through it all.”

It was every bit of a grind, from the rough and on the fast greens. Three more days.

Ferguson writes for the Associated Press.

Jaden Soong, a freshman golfer at St. Francis High, thrives under pressure.

“I will say I like pressure,” he said.

Twice in the last two weeks, he has won playoffs to keep his season going. But the story of his first playoff win is comedy at its best.

He had left the Temecula Creek Golf Club at the Southern Section individual championships after concluding he had failed to qualify for the SCGA regionals and stopped at Jack in the Box to get food for the ride home. Then he got a phone call from a friend: “Hey dude, we’re in a playoff.”

He was 17 minutes away from the course and needed to be back in 10 minutes. “We hauled it,” he said.

Thankfully, there were no police with radar guns in the vicinity as he was driven back to the course.

The playoff had already started when he arrived. Players were in the fairway. He had no time to change into his golf shoes, so he played in his Nike Air Force shoes. He got a par on the first hole, then a birdie to win the playoff and advance. Last weekend, he won another playoff to reach the state championships on Tuesday at Poppy Hills in Pebble Beach.

The 14-year-old is ready for anything.

This is a daily look at the positive happenings in high school sports. To submit any news, please email [email protected].

On the most basic level, “Stick” is about a prematurely washed-up golfer who takes a teen prodigy under his wing and on the road. Off they go in an RV to hit some big amateur tournaments, accompanied by the kid’s mother and the old pro’s irascible buddy. The kid gets to fall in love with a free-spirited lass. Adventures are had. Lessons are learned.

But very little about golf takes place on a basic level (except maybe in “Caddyshack”). The sport is rife with metaphors. Lay up or go for broke? (see also, “Tin Cup.”) Keep your cool under pressure or lose it in the sand trap? So it makes sense that “Stick,” premiering June 4 on Apple TV+, uses the game of golf to take a swing at the game of life.

The wash-up, Pryce Cahill (played by Owen Wilson), seeks redemption. Years back, he flipped out on the course, and his life has been in free fall since — he and his wife (Judy Greer) are getting a divorce, and their home is being sold. But then he meets the 17-year-old prodigy, Santi (newcomer Peter Dager), who he sees as the key to a second chance. Santi, meanwhile, knows he’s good; when he pummels a ball, it sounds like a sonic boom. But his first coach was his hard-ass, now-vanished dad, and Santi now has trouble taking golf seriously or respecting his elders.

These human elements intrigued series creator Jason Keller far more than anything that might happen on the links. “I love golf, but I’m not good at it,” he said. “I am routinely frustrated by it.”

Owen Wilson, left, Judy Greer and Peter Dager in a scene from “Stick.”

(Apple)

Frustration, of course, is a universal quality. So is disappointment. These are the elements that pushed Keller, who wrote the screenplay for the 2019 movie “Ford v Ferrari,” to create “Stick.”

“Long before the story was set on a golf course, I was really interested in exploring a character who had not lived up to expectations,” he said. “I was interested in characters that had great promise but ultimately didn’t achieve that promise. What happens to somebody afterward? How do they react to that? Do they let themselves be defined by not achieving that level, or do they try to reconcile that? Does it motivate them to excel in other areas of their life?”

Wilson, who also readily admits his golf game isn’t the strongest — “My dad and my brothers played, but I was always intimidated by it” — sees another key parallel to life: As much as you seek perfection, you can never achieve it.

“There’s a little bit of a chess thing with golf, in that you can never really master it,” he said. “That can feel like life too. People talk about Tiger Woods winning the Masters by like 12 strokes and deciding his swing isn’t quite right. Pryce talks about how the game takes and takes and takes. I think people feel that way about life as well.”

Mariana Treviño, the Mexican actor who plays Santi’s mom, Elena, agrees that “Stick” is about dealing with hardships. “Elena is in a moment in her life where she had a big disappointment,” she said. “Her family broke down. Sometimes in life when something very strong happens to you, you just kind of shut out from the world. You think that you’re going to protect that wound by just not moving too much from a place, or not directly confronting something that is painful.”

“Long before the story was set on a golf course, I was really interested in exploring a character who had not lived up to expectations,” said “Stick” creator Jason Keller.

(Matt Seidel / For The Times)

If this all sounds a tad serious, “Stick” really isn’t. As with most anything starring Wilson, whose Texas/California cool works just fine in the series’ Indiana setting (Keller hails from Indianapolis), “Stick” feels easy and breezy even when it gets into heavy-ish themes. The tone suggests a riff on “Ted Lasso” but with golf instead of soccer.

Wilson and Marc Maron, who plays Pryce’s grumpy, long-suffering best bud (who is dealing with grief of his own), keep up the steady banter of two guys who know each other’s foibles and try to resist the urge to poke them. Zero, Santi’s new friend and life guru played by Lilli Kay, is a self-described “genderqueer, anticapitalist, postcolonial feminist,” and the series manages to have fun with her without making fun of her.

Elena, meanwhile, is mildly suspicious of the whole endeavor, but she finds the aging white golfers amusing. She also likes the cash Pryce has thrown her way for the privilege of coaching her son.

Put them all together in an RV, and on a series of golf courses, and you’ve got the makings of a modern family comedy. Except most of the “family” aren’t related.

“They’re a sort of a found family, and they are all very different personalities,” Keller said. “But ultimately they are what each other needed, and none of them knew it. I think that’s the beauty and the fun and the heart of the show. We’re watching a group of people that don’t fit together at first, and then they realize they needed each other. I hope that warmth and the feel-good element of that is felt by audiences.”

“They’re a sort of a found family, and they are all very different personalities,” said Jason Keller about the characters. “But ultimately they are what each other needed, and none of them knew it.” Lilli Kay, left, Mariana Treviño, Judy Greer and Marc Maron in “Stick.”

(Apple)

But that sense of major disappointment, and the question of how to turn the page, still lingers over the story. Keller is intimately acquainted with that kind of challenge.

He was 25, newly arrived in Hollywood, when doctors discovered a benign brain tumor. It was successfully removed, but the subsequent nerve damage meant Keller had to retrain his brain to let him walk again. Now 56, he says he “didn’t realize what a gift that hard experience was. I became very grateful for being physically healthy.”

Keller used that sink-or-swim experience to write his “Stick” characters. “Everybody has a point in their life that just brought them to their knees,” he said. “It could be a divorce or the death of a loved one. We all face these personal tragedies or challenges. What do you do with them after you go through ’em and survive ’em? That’s the real question.”

Even Santi, the youngest character in “Stick,” has been burned by life. “He’s scared, and he has every reason to be,” Dager said. “His father left him.” And he responded by building a hard shell and walking with a swagger.

Dager embraced the whole package. “I fell in love with his past but also his soul and the way he protects himself with the humor he uses as a defense mechanism,” Dager said. “And then once we get to know him and he starts to fall in love and he starts to trust people, you really see the kid. You see who he actually wants to be.”

And if you do happen to be a golfer, if you know a birdie from an eagle, an iron from a wood, “Stick” doesn’t skimp on the sports stuff. It might even inspire you to go out to the garage and excavate that moldering set of clubs. Or not.

“The golfers I’ve shown it to have connected to it and appreciated it at the level of the sport,” Keller said. “And the others who have seen it who are not golfers seem to be responding to it at a purely emotional character level. I think they’re connecting to it. We’ll see if we got it right. I hope we did.”

California became a national pioneer four years ago by passing a law to make ethnic studies a high school graduation requirement. But only months before the policy is to take effect, Gov. Gavin Newsom is withholding state funding — delaying the mandate as the course comes under renewed fire.

The pause has left school districts throughout the state in limbo nearly four years after the launch deadline was set. Beginning this fall, students entering 9th grade would have been the first class required to pass a one-semester class at some point during their high school years.

But under the 2021 law, the mandate to reach 5.8 million students does not take effect unless the state provides more money to pay for the course. The funding would cover the cost of materials and the teacher staffing and training that go along with adding a new field of study.

Newsom’s office, which will issue its May revision of next year’s proposed state budget Wednesday amid a tightening financial outlook, did not respond to questions about why he has not included funding for the ethnic studies requirement that he approved, praising it as an avenue to “teach students about the diverse communities that comprise California.”

A spokesperson for the Department of Finance answered on Newsom’s behalf.

“The budget doesn’t include funding that would trigger the ethnic studies graduation requirement,” said H.D. Palmer. As to the reason why, “the short answer is that the state has limited available ongoing resources.”

At the onset, $50 million in seed money was allocated statewide, but the law stated an additional unspecified amount would be needed in the future. State officials later set that amount at about $276 million. But several years have passed without state officials budgeting the funding.

As California’s more than 1,600 high schools wind down for the year, it is uncertain how many will offer the course in the fall. Some — including Los Angeles Unified, Santa Monica Unified and Alhambra Unified — will go forward with ethnic studies no matter what. Some of these districts, including L.A. Unified, already have their own ethnic studies graduation requirement.

Others — including Chino Valley Unified — will shelve the class until the law forces them to offer it.

Still others, such as Lynwood Unified, in south L.A. County, say they are deeply concerned about any wavering in the state’s commitment to the subject.

State funding would be “critically important for sustainability,” according to a Lynwood district statement. Without it, the school district is going to cancel the course and instead teach units of ethnic studies within other classes.

“We remain committed to the principles and purpose behind ethnic studies — ensuring our students see themselves and others reflected in the curriculum,” Lynwood Supt. Gudiel R. Crosthwaite said. “However, like many school districts across California, we are navigating the dual challenge of declining enrollment and insufficient state funding to support new course mandates.”

Renewed controversy

The current political environment complicates the launch of the ethnic studies requirement.

State officials were moving toward an ethnic studies requirement amid the nation’s racial reckoning after the 2020 murder of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police, the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement, and violent attacks on Asian Americans.

Many ethnic studies supporters believe that anti-racist teachings and exploring the history and perspectives of marginalized groups — Black and Indigenous people, Asians and Latinos — are key to bridging misunderstanding among students, reducing racial and ethnic conflict, and motivating teenagers to pursue social justice causes.

But not everyone sees ethnic studies the same way. Some religious and political conservatives view the state’s guidelines for ethnic studies as the kind of “woke” ideologies in education that President Trump has vowed to eliminate as he seeks to do away with diversity, equity and inclusion programming in schools.

California’s ethnic studies curriculum guide embraces pro-LGBTQ+ content and speaks of connecting students to “contemporary social movements that struggle for social justice and an equitable and democratic society, and conceptualize, imagine, and build new possibilities for a post-racist, post-systemic-racism society.”

With tensions high over how race, religion and ethnicity are taught in schools, state lawmakers recently explored legislation that would have put strict standards on how ethnic studies could be taught. That bill was supported by 31 legislators and its sponsors expressed particular concern about how ethnic studies teachers are presenting Jews and the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict — re-igniting long-simmering concerns about the field of study.

Amid weekend discussions, however, the group shelved the bill — which dealt only with ethnic studies. Instead, lawmakers unveiled a broader piece of school legislation aimed at ending campus antisemitism while providing greater “anti-discrimination protections related to nationality and religion.”

A hearing on the new bill is set for Wednesday.

Teacher Amber Palma talks with student Angel Alvarez during an ethnic studies class at Firebaugh High School in Lynwood.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

Although the bill’s provisions are still being crafted, it would apply to any course or schooling activity — and include a mechanism for stronger oversight of K-12 ethnic studies, which remains central to the concerns of the bill’s primary sponsors, including Assemblymember Dawn Addis (D-Morro Bay).

“Jewish families and children have been made, in many instances, to feel unwelcome or made the targets of hate and discrimination in school — where they’re supposed to feel safe and supported,” Addis said. “We want to get all the things in place to get back to what schools are supposed to be doing.”

Troy Flint, chief communications officer for the California School Boards Assn. said the ethnic studies requirement “has been fraught since its inception, and there have been starts, stumbles and restarts to try and develop a piece of legislation that’s amenable to all the different interest groups. … And I don’t know that we’ve reached that point yet.”

“School districts are in a bind,” both in terms of their costs and their academic program, he added, “because there’s a possibility a mandate could be implemented, but it’s uncertain.”

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

What’s happened since the law was approved?

Newsom signed the ethnic studies graduation requirement into law in 2021, giving districts four years to develop one or more ethnic studies classes, using a menu of materials and topics from the nearly 700-page state model curriculum guide, approved by the State Board of Education.

That curriculum guide had been a source of controversy — leading Newsom to veto an earlier bill for an ethnic studies requirement. After substantial revisions, the final version eliminated course materials that likened the Palestinian cause, in its conflict with Israel, to the struggles of marginalized groups in America — because critics said it lacked balance or nuance.

The revision also toned down what critics characterized as obscure academic jargon and bias against capitalism. More groups were added as potential study topics, including Jewish Americans, Sikhs and Armenians.

Under current law, the state’s model curriculum serves as a guide — not a required set of lessons. School districts are responsible for developing their courses and are free to teach units that reflect their enrollment. Students in Glendale, with its large Armenian American population, for example, could study the Armenian immigrant experience.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

This flexibility has allowed academic experts in the field to prepare prepackaged courses and lessons that vary widely to help schools prepare. Some are free to download. Independent Institute, for example, has posted one free curriculum that consciously aims to be less controversial in terms of current political disputes.

The group with perhaps the most long-standing ties to the field of ethnic studies in California has created a curriculum called Liberated Ethnic Studies. This curriculum also is free to download, although some of its creators and supporters have worked as school district consultants.

A portion of the Liberated content guide has worried a coalition of Jewish groups who contend portions of the curriculum veer toward antisemitism. Their concerns have fueled ongoing debate in Sacramento about the need for stricter course standards.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

Creators of the Liberated materials had been involved in writing the first version of the state’s model curriculum — which also was criticized by Jewish groups and legislators. State officials ultimately removed the Liberated academics from involvement in the state’s curriculum guide. And the academics, in turn, disowned the state curriculum guide and created their own materials.

A leader of the Liberated curriculum effort, Cal State Northridge professor of Chicano and Chicana studies Theresa Montaño, said she does not know how may school districts are using their lessons because they can be downloaded for free. She estimated that 70% of the Liberated content is virtually identical to the state’s revised model curriculum.

She said concerns about politicized content are overwrought.

“Ethnic studies was born out of a movement to begin to make certain that communities of color have the rightful location in the curriculum,” Montaño said.

She added that the scholars who put together the Liberated contents are recognized leading experts in an academically rigorous field that has developed over the last 60 years.

Students take part in an activity during an ethnic studies class at Firebaugh High School in Lynwood.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

What’s happening in the classroom?

Ethnic studies teacher Amber Palma teaches at Firebaugh High School in Lynwood and virtually all of her students are Latino with immigrant backgrounds — and some degree of current political context is unavoidable.

“If the class is about your identity and your place in this American society — and that is a real social political issue that you are facing in context as we speak — you can’t say we’re going to not talk about what’s happening,” Palma said. “You have to address concerns, as you would with any class, with any kids.”

“Given our climate and the challenges that our students and their families and their communities are facing, I think we really do need to push the sense of empowerment, a sense of agency,” said Palma, whose district developed its own curriculum.

Students listen as teacher Amber Palma leads a discussion during an ethnic studies class at Firebaugh High School in Lynwood.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

“If done right, ethnic studies is a good thing for all students,” said David Bocarsly, executive director of Jewish Public Affairs Committee of California, a lobbying group whose positions include supporting Israel’s right to exist. “Unfortunately … we have seen far too many instances of factually inaccurate and antisemitic content entering classrooms,” he said.

Bocarsly said members of his coalition of Jewish groups estimate there are real or potential problems in several dozen school districts among the 1,000 in California, based on issues that have emerged. The extent to which the Liberated curriculum is used in these districts has not been determined.

Assemblymember Addis is concerned that there could be inappropriate elements of Liberated’s alleged bias affecting “hundreds and hundreds” of school districts up and down the state.

In April, the California Department of Education concluded that two Bay Area ethnic studies teachers in the Campbell Union High School District violated California law when they included content related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that was allegedly biased and discriminated against Jewish students.

How are school districts responding?

A winter clash in the Palo Alto, Calif., school district underscores the kinds of debates that have unfolded about the course.

In a district with 40% Asian enrollment, some complained the course defined power and privilege in a way that discounted the hard work that resulted in prosperity for many immigrants. Critics also accused district officials of a lack of transparency and of not allowing for meaningful input into course content. Some were concerned that topics would be divisive.

“As feared, rancor has ensued,” said Lauren Janov, a critic of the Liberated curriculum and co-founder of Palo Alto Parent Alliance. “From the start, the state lost control of ethnic studies.”

In January, the Palo Alto board approved its own ethnic studies requirement by a 3-2 vote.

In February, Santa Ana Unified shelved three ethnic studies classes as part of a legal settlement reached with a coalition of Jewish groups. The groups had filed a lawsuit alleging that secrecy and antisemitism defined the district’s ethnic studies rollout.

The district still offers various other ethnic studies courses and has no plans to reverse policy, regardless of state funding, a district spokesperson said.

Student Arianne Moreno distributes an assignment during an ethnic studies class at Firebaugh High School in Lynwood.

(Hon Wing Chiu / For The Times)

In San Bernardino County, the Chino Valley Unified school board president also raises cost as an issue but sees the mandate pause as an opportunity to step back from ethnic studies.

“We made it clear that the course will not be implemented unless the state mandate goes into effect,” said Sonja Shaw, a pro-Trump Republican who is running for state superintendent of public instruction.

“Much of the ethnic studies already being pushed reflects divisive, politically driven ideology that doesn’t unite students; it separates them. …While kids are falling behind in reading, writing and math, the state continues to push its political agendas onto children,” Shaw said.

In Los Angeles Unified, the state’s largest school system, 11 courses can satisfy the district’s requirement, including a broad survey course and more specialized classes, such as African American Literature, American Indian Studies and Exploring Visual Arts through Ethnic Studies.

There are very few recorded interviews with Dame Agatha Christie, the world’s bestselling novelist and generally acknowledged doyenne of crime, for one simple reason: She hated speaking in public.

She often described herself as cripplingly shy — she agonized for days when a celebration for the 10th anniversary of her play “The Mousetrap” required her to give a speech — and she remained morbidly press-adverse after the media swarm that followed her famous 11-day disappearance. (Though in defense of the press, what could one expect when a notable crime writer goes missing for almost two weeks in the midst of a shattering divorce and then, when found, refuses to explain what had happened?)

In her autobiography, and through her literary avatar Ariadne Oliver, Christie often described taking great pains to avoid speaking in front of people and she (and Mrs. Oliver) particularly hated being asked questions about her writing. “I never know what to say,” Mrs. Oliver would wail, echoing sentiments expressed by Christie herself.

So when BBC Maestro announced, at the end of April, that it was launching a digital class in which an AI-resurrected Christie would offer lessons in writing, it was difficult not to be outraged. Never mind the whole “I see dead people”-ness of it all; here was a woman who was on record, multiple times and often at great length, about how much she loathed having to talk about how she did what she did in front of a bunch of people.

The creators of the series clearly anticipated such outrage. The prologue to the course features BBC Maestro Chief Executive Michael Levine and Christie’s great-grandson James Prichard, chairman and CEO of Agatha Christie Ltd., explaining the care put into the series. The script, we are assured, is rigorously based on Christie’s own words; the actor (Vivien Keene) was chosen after a year-and-a-half search; and the set (a library that houses a model of Christie’s own typewriter), the costume (a tweed suit accented by pearls, a brooch and duplicates of Christie’s engagement and wedding rings) and the hair are models of authenticity.

More important, the course has the family’s full support. “At the heart of this project was my father who knew Agatha Christie better than any person living,” Prichard says. “At times he was astounded by how similar to his grandmother this version was. And my view,” he adds with a mildly challenging air, “is that if he can enjoy this project, we can all enjoy it.”

Agatha Christie autographing French editions of her books, circa 1950.

(Hulton Archive / Getty Images)

Challenge accepted.

Keeping in mind Christie’s fascination with disguise and advanced technology, as well as a passage in her autobiography in which she wishes a friend with more confidence could step in as a substitute during author interviews, I put my fears aside and ponied up $89 for the two-and-a-half-hour class.

Which is so respectful I found myself, at more than a few points in the 12 sections, wanting to scream.

We meet Keene’s Christie behind a desk, and there she stays, smiling and nodding as she walks us through her thoughts on her craft (including, in the introduction, her aversion to offering them).

Christie’s autobiography is a doorstop. Thoughts about writing, her characters and her career run through it, but they rarely take up more than two consecutive pages. Christie historian Mark Aldridge has done a remarkable job of mining it, as well as other writings, to create a genuine tutorial with an admirable script.

Yes, Christie offers the typical anodyne advice — write what you know and the type of book you enjoy reading — but she also gets very granular. A murder mystery is best at 50,000 words, the murderer and important clues must be introduced very early on, settings should be described thoroughly but economically (“sometimes a map works best”) and one must never give into an editor who spells cocoa as “coco.”

In portions that include “characters,” “plots,” “settings” and “clues,” Christie assesses some of her work. She came to think that her first book, “The Mysterious Affair at Styles,” was over-stuffed with plot, but remained irritated by those who claimed that the twist in “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” was a cheat. She wished she had introduced Hercule Poirot as a younger man, and was very happy to ditch Hastings for a while.

She discusses the importance of observation in everyday life, describing, among other things, how an encounter in front of a shop window led to one of her Parker Pyne stories, as well as the usefulness of isolated settings (“snow can also weigh down telephone wires”) and second (or third) murders.

In the opening minutes, it’s kind of neat to see what looks very much like a midlife Christie, smiling and talking in her very British way (the voice is not precise but close enough).

Still, there is no getting away from the fact that this is a two-and-a-half-hour lecture, delivered by a woman sitting behind a desk who, with the exception of a very few hand gestures, never moves. The camera moves, shooting her from this angle and that, and occasionally roving over various covers of Christie’s books. But Christie’s body remains as still as the late Queen Elizabeth II delivering her Christmas address.

I began to feel quite concerned for Keene — just how long were these takes? She delivers a vocally expressive performance and gives the digitally recreated face the necessary intelligence, wit and kindliness. The face itself looked fine — a bit glowy at times and immobile around the eyes — but its novelty quickly wore off. I would have happily traded what is essentially a parlor trick for a Christie who would get up and walk around a bit. Have a cup of tea, flip through a notebook.

Actor Vivien Keene’s voice and face were altered to create Agatha Christie’s likeness.

(BBC Maestro)

I realize that it is a course, and one I did not have to go through in one sitting. But as the first hour slid into the second, I found myself longing for someone, Aldridge perhaps, to mine Christie’s exquisite autobiography more broadly and create an entire one-woman play. An evening with Agatha, free of AI, in which Christie could reminisce about her extraordinary life, from her glorious Victorian childhood to her later years as an archaeologist.

Though known as the creator of the manor-house murder story, Christie was, as her books indicate, a voracious world traveler, learning how to surf before surfing was a thing, and dealing with adventures and misadventures (including a 14-hour honeymoon trek by camel and a hideous case of bed bugs on the Orient Express) that would give even the most intrepid travel influencer pause.

She lived through two world wars, experienced wildly unexpected success and deep personal loss. She endured a heartbreaking divorce and a nervous breakdown, while raising a daughter and writing books, only to rally again and find love again in the most unexpected place.

She wasn’t a saint — her work occasionally includes the racist, antisemitic and classist tropes of its time — but she avowed fascism as often as her more political contemporaries and believed, as she says in the course, that she lived in contract with her readers for whom she had the utmost respect.

She was a celebrity who never behaved as a celebrity, an artist who never admitted to art (and wrote her books on any steady surface, including orange crates and washstands), a novelist like no other who also wrote the longest-running play in history and whose work continues to sell while being adapted in film and television. Her contribution to the culture is literally incalculable.

So surely she deserves more than a course that makes news mainly because of its use of dreaded AI. She’s Agatha-freaking-Christie. Give her a movie, a miniseries, a play. Give her an actor who worries less about the face and more about the words, and the life that inspired them.