BrokenCowboy: Sports Views with a West Coast Bias

The Greatest

If you felt the earth move a bit at some point around 10:30 Pacific time on Sunday morning, don't be alarmed. It was nothing more than the Earth returning to its axis as Tiger Woods won the British Open, reminding those who might've forgotten that the drunks in the gallery have had it right all along: Tiger is DA MAN.

Aside from the fact that he spent four days distancing himself from the best golfers in the world, Tiger's week at Liverpool lacked the devastating dominance of Augusta in '97 or Pebble Beach in 2000, but his metronomic efficiency was perhaps even more impressive, as he led the tournament over the final fifty-four holes and calmly responded to challenges over the weekend from Sergio García and Chris DiMarco.

Sunday's win gave Tiger his third Claret Jug, his eleventh career major (or fourteenth, depending on how you count), and a giant payday. More than that, it sent the press into a tizzy, seeking adjectives to describe the brilliance as if it were a new development.

It was only a few months ago, afterall, that the mainstream media was busy annointing Phil Mickelson as the next in a long line of rivals, with some even suggesting that Lefty's second green jacket had actually pushed him beyond Tiger. And then came the U.S. Open, when only a recurring character flaw kept Mickelson from winning his third straight major and vaulting himself if not into Tiger's orbit, then at least into his galaxy.

What is truly amazing is how reluctant the press is to admit what should be obvious by now. While this might not exactly be like a young prophet changing water into wine, I think we can probably agree that it compares readily to a portly fellow with spindly legs. Quite simply, we are watching Babe Ruth in his prime.

For a decade now the search has been on for a rival to Woods, someone who will both push him to greater heights as well as provide an interesting story line for fans to follow. David Duval, Ernie Els, Sergio García, Vijay Singh, Reteif Goosen, and Mickelson have all played the role at one time or another, but Tiger's only true competitors within the sport have names like Hogan, Jones, and Nicklaus.

In fact, it's probably time to look beyond the borders of golf to find peers who can begin to compare to Tiger's brilliance and longevity. (Though it might seem odd to discuss longevity in connection with a thirty-year-old athlete, it fits when that athlete burst onto the public stage a decade ago.)

The only contemporary athletes in Tiger's realm are Lance Armstrong, Jerry Rice, Michael Jordan, Roger Clemens, and, perhaps, Alex Rodríguez. Each of those men -- especially Rice and Jordan -- established themselves as the best in their sport and maintained a level of dominance for a prolonged period of time. What's suprizing, though, is that probably only Rice can claim to have been the best of his sport for as long a period as Tiger has.

I've long thought that we won't see the true greatness of Tiger Woods until he eases into his forties and continues winning golf tournaments with diminished physical skills. Every time I see a replay of Jack Nicklaus's improbable win at Augusta at age forty-six I look forward to seeing what type of golfer Tiger will be at that age. I've no doubt that he'll still be one of the best in the world, still buring to win, still focusing on majors, still comparing himself to Jack. (Incidentally, I'm apparently not alone in this -- on Sunday night's post-match coverage, analyst Brian Hewitt predicted that Tiger would win a major after his fiftieth birthday.)

So perhaps now we can put this discussion to rest and agree that Tiger has no peers within the ropes. He is a once-in-a-generation athlete following the legacy of Babe Ruth, Jim Brown, and Muhammad Ali, and it doesn't make sense to evaluate his place in history at a time when his work might only be half done.

A Tiger By His Tail

Has it finally happened? Does Tiger Woods finally have a rival worth talking about? Is there finally someone brave enough to grab the tiger's tail with both hands and hang on long enough to make a difference? Maybe.

When Phil Mickelson coasted to his second Masters win last Sunday, it was as if the Big 5 was suddenly pared down to the Dynamic Duo.

Ernie Els, Vijay Singh, and Ratief Goosen quickly faded into the azaleas, joining the likes of David Duval and Sergio García, all of whom were once supposed to challenge Tiger as he threatened to turn to the PGA Tour into his own personal victory parade. Els has two gimpy knees, Vijay may finally be on the downside of his career, Goosen never really belonged on the list, Duval seems happier snowboarding, and Sergio appears at least a decade away.

Which leaves Phil Mickelson.

Sure, it took about five years for his ego to get out of the way and let his phenomenal talent take over, but now that he gets it, golf fans might finally have what they've been wishing for.

I didn't watch a single stroke of CBS's coverage of the Masters (here's why), but I did see two separate video clips which seemed to tell the whole story.

The first was an interview with an angry Woods as he walked off the course. He reflected on a day in which he hit the ball from tee to green as well as he ever has, then gnashed his teeth while talking about his shoddy putting. (For his part, caddie Stevie Williams blamed the putter, discarding it with instructions to "break the fucking thing.")

The second moment came during Mickelson's victory ceremony when Tiger's status as defending champion obligated him to drape the green jacket over Phil's shoulders, just as Lefty had done for him a year earlier. Tiger offered congratulations and grinned for the camera, but the smile was forced as he was clearly thinking of missed putts which easily could have erased his three-stroke deficit.

I've never been one to think that Tiger needed anyone to push him. Tiger has always seemed to understand that his only real competition is Jack Nicklaus, and that his legacy will not be defined by this week's Buick Open or that week's Greater Hartford Classic, but by his performance in the major championships. Ten times out of thirty-seven tries as a professional, he has risen to the occasion. This frequency is absurd, and yet it doesn't stop him from boiling over when an opportunity to win passes him by as it did this weekend in Augusta.

But if Tiger doesn't need a rivalry to keep him interested, the rest of the golf world does. Much has been made of the fact that Mickelson, long the best player never to win a major, has now won three of the past nine. What's more significant, though, is that he and Woods between them have won four of the past five: Tiger the '05 Masters and British Open, Lefty last year's PGA and last week's Masters.

As a result, both men will likely head towards June's U.S. Open shoulder to shoulder as co-favorites, each looking make a major statement. If Phil were to win, his fourth major championship would separate him from peers like Els, Price, and Singh and put him one major short of duplicating the Tiger Slam.

If Tiger were to win, he'd move a step closer towards Nicklaus and remind us of what even Mickelson understands: there is Tiger, and there is everyone else.

Regardless of what happens in this summer's U.S. Open, one thing is clear. Tiger and Phil are thirty and thirty-five years old, respectively, and we should see dozens of confrontations between the two over the next five or ten years. Tiger may be racing towards immortality, but Phil's got him by the tail and he's holding on for dear life. It should be quite a ride.

Good Tiger, Bad Tiger

In the wake of Tiger Woods' recent win at the British Open, there have been a few different opinions voiced about the man and his manner. Two media heavyweights -- Michael Wilbon and John Feinstein -- recently agreed to disagree in the Washington Post, and there's a nice synopsis up over at NewMexiKen. You can also see my lighter weight take over there as well, which isn't too different from what I said here on Monday morning.

Mr. Happy

The problem with mainstream sports reporting is that a collective consciousness develops in which scribes from all corners of the country begin to think and write with one brain. When you can pick up a paper in any city in the nation and read the same opinions, "conventional wisdom" becomes an oxymoron along the lines of "deafening silence" and "jumbo shrimp."

Only six months ago, there was an idea about Tiger Woods that was picking up some steam. He had come back to the pack -- or the pack had caught up to him -- and he was no longer the same golfer who eliminated ninety percent of the field when he walked into the locker room on Thursday morning.

The reasons were varied. Analysts claimed that his success had motivated some of his rivals to work harder on their bodies and their game, making fields deeper and more competitive than ever. Columnists suggested that his marriage had diluted his focus. Golf pros were certain that his swing changes were misguided. Phil Mickelson claimed Tiger was playing with inferior equipment.

All wrong.

It's my guess that the last four days have reminded the doubters of what I've been saying for years. When we watch Tiger Woods tee it up on a Sunday afternoon, we're watching history. It's Babe Ruth swatting a ball into the right field bleachers, Ernest Hemingway banging away at a typewriter, Miles Davis blowing his way through Kind of Blue. Quite simply, genius on display.

As is often the case with the great ones, Tiger's dominance on Sunday could only be truly appreciated by focusing on his rivals. Tiger's game seemed solid if not spectacular as he finished a modest two strokes under par for his round. But as he was notching par after par with metronomic efficiency, his competition was falling away like flies. Much has been made of the 90 second sequence during which José Maria Olazábal bogeyed at twelve, Colin Montgomerie bogeyed at thirteen, and Tiger birdied at twelve to stretch his lead from two strokes to four, but was there really anyone on the planet who doubted the outcome at any point on Sunday?

For me, though, the most telling moment of the round came two holes earlier when Tiger missed a ten-foot par putt at the tenth, cutting his lead to two. His putt looked perfect the entire way until it seemed to resist the break just enough to skate the left edge of the hole. The old Tiger would've stalked the green, angry enough to chew glass, but the new and improved model simply smiled in disbelief, and even managed to mock himself with a knock-kneed stance as he tapped in for bogey.

So how is it that a man can respond to a situation like this, a turn of events that might lead others to snap a putter, by smiling and laughing? My guess is that it comes from more than just a confidence in his ability. This new Tiger, who talks openly about the sadness of his father's failing health and the happiness of his married life, suddenly seems to be measuring his life in more ways than just the number of trophies on his mantel.

After winning his tenth major championship (thirteenth if you count his U.S. Amateur wins), Tiger was asked what it was like to be living the life he had dreamed about as a child. His response: "I didn't know I would be this happy."

The marriage that was supposed to derail his pursuit of Jack Nicklaus instead has rejuvenated his career, and we're right back where we were before everyone fell in love with Vijay Singh. There's Tiger, and then there's everyone else.

Tiger Cut

For the first time in seven years, Tiger Woods missed the cut in a PGA Tour event. What I like about this is that for the first time in a while, Tiger and I had something in common. Our work week ended on Friday and we ordered pizza for dinner. On Saturday, he got up early to work on his short irons, and I got up early to make waffles for my three-year-old son, but I'm sure we both took naps in the afternoon. And on Sunday, neither one of us watched the final round of the Byron Nelson because, well, why would we? Click here for more witty insight like this at OBM.

Master of My Domain

On Thursday morning the golfing world will be abuzz with excitement over the year's first major tournament, and the writers covering the event will have dozens of storylines to pursue. Consider:

• Ernie Els, Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, and Tiger Woods (the Big Four) will be teeing it up in the same tournament for only the second time this season.
• Tiger will be aiming for his fourth green jacket, but more importantly he'll be looking to remind us that he's still the best player we've ever seen.
• Meanwhile, the best player we didn't see in his prime, Jack Nicklaus, will be playing in what could be his final Masters.

And those are just the obvious stories. While I might choose to write from one or more of those angles later on, one thing I will not do is watch a single minute of the televised coverage, which follows a promise I made two years ago.

It's quite simple. I won't watch a single moment of the Masters until the hosting club, August National, admits a female member. To my way of thinking, if a club chooses to exclude members based on gender, it's really no different from excluding members based on race. While most people would probably agree that all-white clubs should go the way of segregated lunch counters, gender discrimination -- especially in the male-dominated sporting world -- is accepted. Martha Burk, for example, is portrayed as an extremist instead of an activist.

I realize that our nation's Constitution rightly gives clubs the right to fill their membership in any way they see fit, but that doesn't mean that the PGA needs to condone what's going at Augusta. They could strike a big blow for women's rights if they simply asked Augusta National to begin accepting female members, but I don't expect that will ever happen.

The other thing that could happen, of course, would be for one of the top players to boycott the event. The name most often mentioned in this scenario is Tiger Woods. The logic goes like this: Tiger is a minority, he has spoken out on minority issues a few times in the past, so he should take a stand here as well.

This is a load of crap. If there's a problem here, if we can agree that the PGA of AMERICA should not be playing one of its most important tournaments on a course which essentially excludes half of America, shouldn't everybody be saying something? Shouldn't Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els and Rocco Mediate and Paul Goydos all be equally obligated to take a stand?

And so while millions of golf fans are watching the best golfers in the world make their way around a course with trucked-in azaleas, piped-in bird chirping, artificially colored lakes, and manufactured tradition, I'll be looking forward to the U.S. Open. Won't you join me?

Fearful Symmetry

It's hard to imagine that it was only a few years ago that people worried that Tiger Woods was bad for golf. He was simply too good for everyone else, or so the story went. The press searched for a rival, but any challengers seemed hopelessly lacking.

But look what's going on now. Just nine weeks into the year, we appear to be well into the most competitive golf year in recent memory as Tiger, Vijay Singh, Ernie Els, and Phil Mickelson all appear to be on the top of their games.

Tiger lost his deathgrip on the number one ranking towards the end of last season (he even briefly fell to third) behind Vijay Singh, but the once and future king woke up on Sunday morning with a chance to regain the throne with a win at the Ford Tour Championship at Doral.

Sure, he was two strokes down to Phil Mickelson, the hottest golfer in the world, but it's my guess that when Phil calls Tiger's cell phone, the caller ID says "Whipping Boy." So it shouldn't have been a surprize when Tiger topped him by a single stroke to win the tourney and return to his customary position atop the world golf rankings.

What was a bit odd, however, was the way the whole thing played out. The two golfers stayed close to each other for much of the day on Sunday, but things looked to be over when Tiger unleashed a ridiculous approach to the par five twelfth and eventually holed a 27-foot eagle putt which was punctuated by a running fist pump, copyright 2000.

Down two with six to play, the old Phil would've started working on his concession speech right then and there, but the new and improved Mickelson responded with consecutive birdies on thirteen and fourteen to draw even again with only four holes to play.

Suddenly, though, Phil saw his shadow again. With an opportunity to take a lead at sixteen, Lefty followed Tiger's bogey by missing a four-foot par putt. Tiger proceeded to birdie seventeen, and we were back to the script.

After missing a final chance to force a playoff when his birdie chip somehow danced around the edge of the cup without falling, Mickelson was clearly devastated. While Tiger basked in the joy of the competition and the glory of his win, Phil refused a greenside interview request and stalked away to the clubhouse. He'd later explain that he had never been more angry about a loss.

Mickelson was criticized for skipping the NBC interview, but here's why I think it's a sign of good things to come. I never liked it when Mickelson would cough up a Sunday lead and then skip into the press tent to tell everyone how well he had played. He talked incessantly about how badly he wanted to beat Tiger and win majors, but everyone else about him seemed to be saying exactly the opposite. Until now.

Phil came into this weekend as the hottest golfer in the world. This recent success, combined with last year's breakthrough at Augusta, was supposed to give him the confidence he'd need to finally stare down the Tiger, but it didn't work out that way. He came in on a hot streak, shot twenty-three strokes under par, and he still wasn't able to beat Tiger.

I'm guessing that as he stood on the eighteenth green on Sunday afternoon he probably heard a small voice wondering if he'd ever be able to beat Tiger when it counted, and that question just pissed the hell out of him. So instead of smiling nicely for the camera and pretending to be happy with second place, he took a pass.

Maybe it's finally important to him to beat Tiger. Maybe he understands that his career can only be measured against the best player of his era, Mr. Woods. And maybe, just maybe, Mickelson is ready for the challenge.

Ryders on the Storm

The Ryder Cup matches get underway this week, and even though I'd consider myself a golf fan (actually, I'm really just a Tiger Woods fan), I can't quite seem to get worked up over this thing.

It's just a bit hard for me to completely understand the rivalry. It's the United States against an entire continent? Didn't we pretty much take care of Europe sixty years ago, kicking ass on one half while saving the other? I'm not sure why we have to play three days of golf to remind them of their spot in the food chain; we could probably just FedEx an 8th grade history book and save everyone a lot of time and trouble...

But since we don't, here's what we can expect today:

• Tiger and Phil Mickelson, paired in Friday morning's opening four-ball match, will crush their competition. I don't know who they're playing, and I don't need to know who they're playing. They will crush them. 5 and 4...

• And yet somehow, the U.S. team will find a way to fumble a couple of the later matches, and the scrappy Euros will likely bag a tie somewhere, giving them another Friday lead. This, of course, will lead to...

• American Hand-Wringing. I won't watch any of Friday's matches, but I can't wait for the press conferences, especially Captain Volcano, Hal Sutton. I guarantee you he'll say at least a few of these things: "We've got the best players in the world over here!" or "Those guys are madder than wet hens, and they'll come out firin' on Saturday!" or "It started rainin' like tea poured out of a boot onto a flat rock!" (Actually, I can't imagine that he'll say that last one, but a guy said it on Survivor last night, and I liked the sound of it. I can't wait until we get some rain so I can use it in context.)

I think the biggest strike against the Ryder Cup is that it seems a bit too manufactured for my taste. Golf is such an individual sport that it just doesn't feel right presented as a team competition. When tennis players compete in the Davis Cup (another debacle) it's not quite as bad, because at least we're used to seeing them show a bit of emotion, but when guys like Davis Love III and Jim Furyk are fist pumping and high-fiving, it looks about as natural and spontaneous as a root canal.

They'll all say the right things and talk about what an honor it is to play for their country. They'll try to convince us that the team bonding has been amazing. Sources will tell us that every man stood and gave an emotional speech at Thursday night's team dinner; we'll probably even hear that some of the players were moved to tears.

That's all very nice, but remember that these are the same guys who would through each other under the train for a shot at winning the Greater Milwaukee Buick Classic. Quite simply, I don't really believe that they care all that much about the Ryder Cup, otherwise they'd win it easily every year. Only Tiger has been honest about this, saying that winning majors is more important to him than winning the Ryder Cup, and it's my guess that he's not alone in this belief.

But they'll play this weekend anyway, and millions will watch, waving their flags from the living room couch. As for me? I'll be watching the Yanks and Sox. Now that's a rivalry.

Glory's Last Shot

Whenever I think of the PGA Championship, the bastard child of golf's Grand Slam family, I hear a breathless announcer (probably Jim Nantz) proclaiming the event to be "Glory's Last Shot!" Phrases like this always bother me, like a pebble in my golf shoe. I guess they figured something like, "Everyone's last shot at glory!" was a bit too unwieldy, but "Glory's Last Shot!" seems to have the whole thing backwards, like it's the glory that's doing the work.

Anyway, the PGA Championship tees off this morning at Whistling Straits, a course Tiger Woods fears could be the hardest track he's ever played, which should make for some drama. With his performance two weeks ago at the Buick, Woods has re-emerged as the favorite to win his third PGA title, but Ernie Els and Phil Mickelson will likely contend as well. Really, nothing could be better than to have Tiger, Lefty, and the Big Easy all in contention on the back nine on Sunday.

For more coverage on the championship, check out The Golf Blog and The Legend of Blogger Vance, two sites run by bloggers who already have a lot to say, including some excellent previews of the course and the players. Enjoy.

Underdog to the Rescue

There have been very few times in my life when I've rooted for an underdog. In fact, most of the time it's quite the opposite. Aside from the teams to which I've pledged life-long allegiance, I usually end up rooting for winners. Some might view this as a character flaw, but my reasoning is sound.

It isn't that I enjoy rooting for winners. Quite simply, I'm impressed by those teams and individuals who are able to win games and matches that they're supposed to win, overcoming the desperation of underdogs reaching for their one shot at glory.

I rooted against Michael Jordan early in his career, but towards the end, when his greatness became undeniable, I watched the Bulls in the NBA finals each year and urged them to victory. Jordan's dominance had extended beyond a single season, the drama stretching across the better part of a decade as challengers to his team's title came in waves -- Pistons, Knicks, Lakers, Suns, Sonics, Jazz, and all the rest. In rooting for the Bulls, I wasn't cheering for a favorite team, I was rooting for an extension of perfection.

But there are more examples. If Tiger Woods were to win the next eight majors, I'd be riveted to the television screen, cheering hard for number nine. The first thing I do every morning nowadays is flick on OLN to watch the best dynasty going, Lance Armstrong. Remember in the Syndey Olympics when American Rulon Gardner beat Alexander Karelin, stopping the Russian's thirteen-year undefeated string? I was rooting for the Russian.

Even as a child, I suffered from this addiction. Remember the epic match between Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe in the 1980 Wimbledon finals? As a ten-year-old boy I sat quietly with my best friend's family as we watched the action unfold. I was the only one rooting for Borg.

But alas, all of this went out the window as I was watching Todd Hamilton at the British Open on Sunday morning. As he battled Phil Mickelson and Ernie Els, two of the three best players in the world today (sorry, Tiger -- you're not the third), I somehow found it impossible not to root for him. Here I was, after a lifetime of championing the champions, and I was pulling for the underdog.

And really, how couldn't you cheer for this guy? After spending twelve years in Japan, a spin of the Earth from his home in Dallas, he stood with one foot on the eighteenth tee, the other in every golfer's dream. The oldest and most revered sporting championship in the world was his for the taking, if only he could come home in par.

My heart dropped when he missed the fairway. It bled when he came up with another clunker on his second shot, then broke when Els dropped his approach into birdie range. For that brief moment, as ABC's cameras were dancing back and forth between Mr. Hamilton's peril and Mrs. Hamilton's anguish, I felt for them both. With the Open surely lost in the space of two swings, all three of us realized that this was more than just the end of Hamilton's day. He'd likely make bogey, while Els would certainly make bird, and he'd disappear forever, another Jean Van de Velde, having lost his singular shot at glory.

And then something strange happened. Hamilton bogeyed as expected, but Els missed his putt, sending them both to a four-hole playoff, the winner to be declared this year's champion golfer. Thirty minutes later, Hamilton's life had changed forever. No more foreign tours, no more trips to the PGA's qualifying school, no more nervous checks of the top 125 money list.

He might not be a legend, but his name's on the Claret Jug along with those who are, but that's probably good enough for an underdog turned champion.