WARNING: locker room humor follows…

• Rock Hudson – a putt that looked straight, but wasn’t.
• Saddam Hussein – from one bunker into another.
• Yasser Arafat – butt-ugly and in the sand.
• John Kennedy Jr. – didn’t quite make it over the water.
• Rodney King – over-clubbed.
• O.J. – got away with one.
• Princess Grace – should have used a driver.
• Princess Di – shouldn’t have used a driver.
• Condom – safe, but didn’t feel very good.
• Brazilian – shaved the hole.
• Rush Limbaugh – way to the right and out of bounds.
• Keith Olbermann – see above, but for lefties.
• James Joyce – a putt that’s impossible to read.
• Ted Kennedy – goes in the water and jumps out.
• Pee Wee Herman – too much wrist.
• Sonny Bono – straight into the trees.
• Paris Hilton – a very expensive hole.
• Tiger Woods – wrong hole.
• Dubya – wrong course.

First, witness Phil Mickelson’s birdie putt on the par 5 #2 during the final round of the 2010 Masters:

Surely somewhere up on a gilded cloud a group of deities in plaid slacks was sharing a belly laugh!

And, just to show that these golf gods giveth as well as taketh away: eleven holes later…

Surely divine hands (with golfing gloves on the right) had to be involved, no?

What say you?

But there’s a limit.

I cheered for Tiger when he made great shots during this past Masters. I groaned in sympathy when his shots went awry, and said words of encouragement that I knew meant nothing but which made me feel like a proper fanboi. When the wheels seemed to be coming off his metaphorical wagon I felt badly for him and wanted him to pull it together and carry one of his famous last-ditch charges.

Then came the final round 14th. I can’t actually fault him for missing what should have been for him an easy birde putt: stuff happens. It’s what happened after that spoke volumes to me. Instead of pausing, re-grouping, gathering that famed steel focus and tapping in for par, he sulkily slapped the ball towards the hole with barely a pause, and turned in a bogey for a critical hole. On the final day. Of the Masters. When he was still theoretically in contention.

The kind of consummate professional whose performance can help me overlook his personal foibles does not put on little sulky tantrums on a national stage, nor discredit the prestige of a venue like the Masters with such a display. The CBS coverage all but ignored him after that, and good for them: why give Tiger more of a stage for such behavior?

Then on the 18th, with people who normally could be expected to jeer or just sit in stony silence instead offering him ovations, he achieved one of golf’s nicest feelings: a solid, well-played birdie on the big stage. Did he celebrate it, and what was (given his struggles) actually a damned good round? No, he just waved dismissively at the hole, like “so what?”

The “icing on the cake” for me was the mercifully brief post-round interview. Rather than gratitude for his reception after such damning revelations of his sordid behavior, rather than some Buddha-like acceptance of the fact that only someone with his gifts could turn in a top five performance at a major after five months away from the game, rather than owning up to the fact that his outbursts on the course (while certainly cleaner language-wise than in the past) shows his claimed spiritual centering needs work, he instead opted to whine that he didn’t win. Now he’s going to take his marbles and go home to sulk and decide when he’ll compete again.

I’m done.

Good on Phil for a virtuoso workshop in precision approach (if not outright trick) shooting, a hearty salute to “Westy” for hanging tough to the very end even when it seemed Mickelson could do no wrong, massive kudos to Choi for playing like a well-designed machine, and crazy props to Kim for showing the world that he’s growing up and into his promise as one of golf’s future greats. More kudos to others who covered themselves in glory this past week: Couples, Watson, Poulter, Barnes, and too many others to mention. It was a truly great event.

And that’s what I’m going to remember about this year’s Masters. Tiger who?

The Golf Digest Hot List is a Joke (And We’re Not Laughing) at Addicted2Golf

Step right up!

By Its Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
I’ve Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.

My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.

It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cry,
I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.

To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
And Does Exactly As It Chooses.

It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim,
To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.

With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
If Only It Would Find The Hole.

It’s Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows … I’ll Be Back Tomorrow.

– author unknown

Playing a 9-hole course yesterday, one of the Turning Stone offerings. For the first seven holes I’m playing very well for me, bogeys except for a double on a long par 5 (the bogey putt lipped out), and after #7 I’m at 36, eight over. Definitely one of my best rounds thus far.

Next hole, #8: a par 3 about 170 yards long. There’s a thick wall of trees tight right all the way to and around the green, and a tall tree about 30 degrees off the left. This is 3 wood territory for me off the tee, almost into driver range. I tee up and jack a very clean hit–dead pull left into the tree. It hits with a resounding smack, so fast we didn’t see it fly off. After a bit of searching I find it, around 100 yards left of the tee box and a little closer to the pin. Now it’s a 120 shot, and nearly all of it is carry over a pond that’s now in play. My worst nightmare: a carry over water. At 120 yards this is 6/7 iron territory for me off the deck, and to be safe I pick 6. Two perfect practice swings, and then I take it for real and chunk it right into the pond. Sigh. I drop, and my fourth shot has the distance but I slice it into the trees off the right of the green. Now it’s sitting on a steep slope and a little down in the crud. Afraid of blading it off the other side of the green with this lie I’m too timid with the next shot and it only makes it halfway to the fringe. Shot number six is a delicate tap onto the green (which has a pretty good slope) and I two-putt it for a snowman. The only good shot of the hole was that first putt, a good long lag that left me a gimme to finish.

Last hole, #9. Number 1 handicap hole. It’s a par 5 just over 500 yards, dogleg right and for the final 2/3 the whole right side is water, which you’ll have to carry for your approach shot. The green is also a bit elevated with an aggressive slope back-to-front that will quickly drain you a good 20 yards off the front if you go off the front edge. Decent drive, about 170-180 yards and a bit left of center, but on the fairway. I allowed for more slice than I actually generated. Not a bad thing, lots of room for my fairway woods to slice and stay dry. Second shot, hit it way fat and it went maybe 50 yards. Third shot, still using 3 wood, and I clock it, well over 170 yards with only a bit of fade and it lands in a great approach position. Now I’m just inside 70 yards, angling back to the green (I went a bit past it but it’s tucked well right so not a bad thing) and only some of the carry is over water. So of course I manage to duff my gap wedge and plop it right into the drink. Drop, and now I’m roughly 60 yards out. Too far for sand wedge, too close for full gap wedge. I try to guesstimate how much to give the gap wedge and over-do it, sending the ball past the green, lying five. Now I have to chip onto the high side of that aggressive green. Of course I over-do it, the ball lands near the edge but still rolls and drops off the front and rolls some more. Ouch. I chip back up onto the green, a decent one, and manage to drain the putt. Another snowman.

Final tally: 54. That’s actually my goal for nine holes, double bogey average, but after the euphoria of the first seven holes going so well that craptacular finish was quite a let-down.

Okay, again, maybe it’s just me.

That being said, today I’m all about how that’s really a crock. A crock, I say! Thunderous drives, killer fairway shots, they’re all very satisfying and impressive to watch, but I’m here to say how they don’t mean squat if you don’t have the short game to back them up. Witness, if you will, how quickly the wheels can come off the wagon:

It’s a short par 4, reachable in 2 even for my short distance game. I hit one of the best drives of the day, a soaring shot with only a bit of fade that I cleverly allowed for in my aim point. Rolls to well within the 150 marker–yeah baby! Next shot is, for once, too close for a hybrid. I select an iron that might be too much club, might not be, depending on how well I hit at that precise instant (juxtaposed against the alignment of the stars). I clip it clean and it flies, O how it flies. Onto the front third of the green and–oops, all the way to the back quarter. Still, it’s a Green In Regulation! Don’t get many of those.

Time for the flat stick. Ooh, this is a tricksy one, My Precious. The green mostly slopes back to front, but there’s a ridge across it so the first part of this putt is actually going to be uphill to the crest, then down into doom. Hmm. I take a pretty decent line, but my first effort is too short: I feared the drop past the crest and didn’t quite make it there. Sigh. I’ve still got a ways to the hole and it’s all downhill. I take a stab at it and, as feared, I give it just that much too much and it scoots off almost to the front of the green. Take three. This one aaaaaaaalmost makes it back, but stops just at tap-in range. Argh. The glow of a GIR is replaced with the anguish of a four-putt and a double bogey for the hole. And it started out so promising!

Want another tale of woe? A medium-length par 4, mostly uphill with a bit of a dogleg right. I knock down a pretty decent drive, maybe a bit left of where I wanted to be but I’d allowed for more fade than actually appeared. What I get for daring to hit it straight, eh? My next shot is near 200 yards and all uphill, so I take out my 3 wood and hope to knock it close, at least. What I get is a weak slice that ends up maybe 80 yards short of the hole and, joy of joys, near the only damned tree in the area. I survey the damage: I have a clear shot at the green angles-wise, but the tree cover means any wedge I use would get snagged. Time for a punch shot. I pull out my 7 iron, play the ball off my rear toe, and slap it towards the hole. Man, does it go. Makes the green and scoots well on by, ending up maybe 10 yards off the back of the green. Holy sheep dip, did I really send it that far?

Here’s where a nice bit of wedge work would be great, save a bogey and call the hole a success. Nope: remember that hill? Yep, pretty severe slope back to front. I set up my sand wedge (my shortest club), open the face, and go for it. Too far. It hops up nicely and drops, but catches the hill too far away and ends up rolling well off the front of the green. Argh! Feeling like I’m trying to find the green by binary search, I pop it back up the hill but, thanks to being spooked, leave it too short for an easy putt. A two-putt later and I’m carding a triple bogey. I was within 80 yards in two! I might give myself a pass on the punch shot, who really has a place to practice those, but the two short little wedge shots? Murder.

How about an example where what started out looking bad ended up well? Short par 3, maybe 130 yards. That’s right on the money for an easy pop with my shortest hybrid (yeah, I avoid irons whenever possible), and I hit it exactly the right distance–but pull it left into trees. They grab and gobble and toss the ball back and forth and eventually spit it back out well short of the hole (but thankfully clear of obstructions). There’s sand in play, and I can’t afford to go much left else risk another round of tree fun. Same drill as before: sand wedge, open the face a bit, short easy stroke. This time it clicks, the ball drops on the front quarter of the green and rolls nicely to within two feet. Almost a tap-in for par, and that after a really botched tee shot–all because of one good chip shot.

So, obviously, I’m having to re-think my game. Sure, it’s all well and good to boom a nice drive, and a clean fairway shot soaring towards the green is a lovely sight to behold, but once I get within 100 yards the real work starts–and where most of my strokes live. Dave Pelz might be on to something after all, eh?