Many people think the miniature golf industry is beyond saving. They say, “they did this to themselves, they deserve to suffer.” The American people have always been uneasy with the whole concept of miniature golf. It's the smallness. They can't understand how there'd be interest in anything not large or on the way to enlarging. It's regarded as something for dull children, just a stinking half-assed playground built too close to the highway that charges too much for flavorless ice cream with visible freezer burn and features an all-cousin staff. A lot of folks are waiting for a bank auction where they can get a life-sized cement elephant for cheap.
And they're all probably right. All you ever hear about miniature golf is the state ordering the courses closed due to inextinguishable fires and vampire bat colonies ruining property values. The days of a fun Saturday evening putting yellow balls into a ceramic frog's belly are gone. Look at the miniature golf shelf at your library. Smaller, barren, dwindling. Not like the Computers and Underwater Computers shelves.
No, soon we won't even talk about miniature golf anymore. We'll just giggle and furtively share iPhone photos of the kid with the tumor and that's fine.