Last week while biking out the Greenbelt to Barber Park I realized that The Lawn truly is worshipped above all else now. Huge vistas of golf courses and soon-to-be crackerbox ringed parks are everywhere on the afluent east Boise side; it’s a reminder of the new form of religious cathedral that the leisure class are privy to enjoy. Oh sure, the working stiff is certainly allowed the use of, say, the Municipal Golf Course, but the rental fees for the carts, etc. are set above many pocketbooks. That’s when it all clicked in my mind: The Lawn is the symbol of an exclusive club. And, just like churches of old with the same motley cadre of overlords stepping from their coaches, here they enter their private temple to pray they hit something with a golf club. When God couldn’t care less.