Almost famous

I'm not a big golf guy. I admit it. Golf is a thinking man's game, and I appreciate that as long as there's a good bit of action. But not when it's something like golf, which seems to have a ready-set-walk mentality.

Golf, however, is my Dad's game of choice, and while I was home for Father's Day this past weekend, Dad and I spent some quality time watching the U.S. Open together. He knows a lot about the game, knowledge he passes on to me so if nothing else, I can sound links-savvy in front of my friends.

For reasons alluded to by FLS in another post, the U.S. Open is my favorite major because of its steadfast commitment to barfing on the players' blouses. I take great pleasure in watching the world's most prolific golfers struggle to make ridiculous 10-over cuts. Torrey Pines may not have the rap sheet of, say, Bethpage Black, but it's a difficult course nonetheless.

And yet, the 2008 U.S. Open was about more than watching golf on a lazy weekend, more than making rich athletes look silly, more than helping me sound like I know I'm talking about. With one exciting Sunday finish and one exhilarating Monday playoff, it became a showcase for the two best breeds of athlete.

Tiger Woods is a transcendent talent who's won major after major in an effort to choke the parity out of golf for good. Eldrick is a tireless perfectionist, a cold-blooded killer who could look at the color of your tennis shoes and, if they were different from his, use it as motivation to beat the living hell out of you. People looking for the "next Michael Jordan" have been looking in the wrong sport. In terms of clutch play, work ethic and sheer will to dominate all opponents, the next Michael Jordan is currently playing golf.

Rocco Mediate is none of that. He's never won a major. He's never signed a $40 million endorsement deal. He's not particularly athletic (at least in a physical sense). No, Rocco's the guy trading friendly barbs with tournament galleries, the guy who could talk you to death at the bar while paying for most of the rounds. He plays for love of the game, and while accusing Tiger of not "loving" golf would be absolutely ludicrous, they certainly love it in different ways.

Rocco's got nothing to lose, and he played like it all weekend. Tiger's never lost a 54-hole lead at a major tournament, but that stat was on life support for much of the back nine Sunday and the entire playoff Monday. Like great clutch players do, Tiger shrugged off a knee injury and a one-stroke deficit on the 18th hole both days to come out on top, but watching someone as carefree as Rocco Mediate go toe-to-toe with someone as careful as Tiger Woods is something that can hook even a lukewarm golf viewer.

I wish I could have watched the final round with my Dad, because not only is he the reason I watch golf, he also instilled some of those Rocco and Tiger qualities in me. I'm not sure if that's what this post is ultimately about, but as Rocco and Tiger showed us, sometimes it's nice to not be so sure of the ending.

Rocco Mediate as Jack Fleck

Just remember, Fleck won.

People would have you believe Rocco's got no chance, but I say otherwise.

Go Rocco--do it for Greensburg.

Handicapping (HAHA, GET IT???) The U.S. Open

The U.S. Open is my favorite golf tournament. Last year, I gladly sat in hot, humid, generally miserable conditions for hours on end, then stood on my tiptoes around the 18th green for about 20 minutes, all in the interest of saying that I saw Tiger miss his last putt to tie Angel Cabrera. And I'd do it again in less than a heartbeat.

I love the U.S. Open because it perfectly represents all things that golf is to the common man: Unfathomably frustrating, challenging, daunting, and if one is equal parts lucky and good, rewarding. I love the U.S. Open for the same reason that I despise the Masters--tradition. Whereas the Masters leaves all viewers covered in green spooge from start to finish, what with Jim Nantz and crew whispering in hushed tones about how amazing the aura is at Augusta National, all the while ignoring the exclusive (very) white elephant in the room, the U.S. Open's only tradition is beating the shit out of people who are quite used to doing the same thing to most golf courses. Admit it, it's nice to see professional golfers, people that would very likely shoot scores in the mid 50s at your home track get torn to shreds and reduced to whining incessantly about the unfairness of the setup. I know I find myself sympathizing with a bunch of millionaires that get paid to do something most people over the age of 20 would kill to do one day a week.

Contrast this with the "Old Boys Club" atmosphere of the Masters and it shouldn't be difficult to see why our national championship is the one golf event worth watching and glorifying to a ridiculous extent. It takes no prisoners, gives no quarter, and asks for none in return. It isn't sympathetic, sentimental, forgiving, or traditional. It isn't played on the same ultra-exclusive club each year, and in fact is being played on a muni for the second time in five years. If that isn't the final piece of evidence needed to convince the unwashed masses that this is THE golf tournament to watch, I don't know what is.

All of this brings me to Rick Reilly. Reilly is a man that embodies everything the Open doesn't. He's sentimental*, sympathetic*, forgiving*, etc. especially if expressing these emotions consistently enough will earn him a new fat contract that'd make any hockey player blush. He also loves to champion the underdog, as he did in his Open preview, where he espoused the virtues of rooting for Phil Mickelson. Yes, Phil Mickelson, the plucky underdog, winner of 3 Majors (Including 2 Masters victories--fucker), possessor of a number 2 world ranking, husband to an extremely hot wife, maker of more money than you or I (well, okay, maybe just you) will ever see, and all around excellent golfer.

*Unless your name is Barry Bonds

Yeah, lot of sympathy for him

Reilly wants us to believe that since Phil hits the ball all over the yard and makes great escapes for par, he is somehow more worthy of your rooting interest than Tiger. No and no. Most polls show that people don't give two shits about the PGA Tour when Tiger isn't playing (trust me, it's a really high number, but I'm not going to look it up, I'm too lazy), and reallly, I don't find it fun to root for a guy who can get up and down "from an ice cream cart" as Reilly states. You know what I call a guy that gets up and down from everywhere on the course, dropping 30-footers and making impossible shots? Fucking lucky. And annoying. There's nothing prettier to me than watching Woods blast the ball off the tee (even though it might land forty yards left or right of the fairway), get the fucker on the green, and either sink a birdie or make an easy two-putt. It's simple, effective golf, and it's fucking awesome because he's the only one that can do it and he makes it look so easy. That's why his 2000 Open victory was so fucking impressive. If you're 15 shots clear of the field, you are a man I can root for.

Mickelson and Reilly embody all the qualities of lesser tournaments--they're sappy, seemingly nice (okay, maybe not), and have an "aw shucks" attitude about them. Fuck that. Woods is a destroyer, an unholy conqueror of worlds, a force of fucking nature. Rooting for Woods is like rooting for the tornado against trailer park, the Great White shark against the sea lion, the crocodile against the unsuspecting tourist. He's also exactly the person you should be rooting for this week. He is all of the things that a U.S. Open should be; equal parts vicious, unrelenting, intimidating, and daunting. The U.S. Open doesn't reward the guy that can make par from the ice cream cart--Phil already learned that at Winged Foot.

I implore you, readers, take my advice. Don't root for the lovable loser, the perpetual best man, never the groom (at least here), root for the fucking stone cold killer, the guy that would gladly play you at your local club for 20 bucks and rip your heart out without moving a facial muscle. Root for the guy coming off knee surgery, because a grizzly bear with a bad knee can still kill a bunch of idiot campers. If you can get yourself to do this, you'll be rooting for the winner.

Tiger by 8, in a "Fuck you" victory.