It was so, so tempting to churn out this recap of the Open Championship prematurely, on Saturday night, leaving blank spaces where necessary to plug in Adam Scott's winning score for his first major victory, the one everyone had been expecting from him since he was about 19 years old. Why sit around and wait for final-round drama to not materialize, once again?
In the past two years, Sunday finales on the old sod had crescendoed not into gripping finishes so much as yawning culminations of a midsummer lawn party, with the unchallenged leader strolling casually to the 18th green for a polite toast and gentle tonguing of the ancient "jug."
Adam Scott had a four-shot lead going into Sunday's final round. He did not bear the disposition of a man willing to refuse Royal Lytham & St. Anne's his offering of fairways and greens in regulation, either. And if Scott wasn't even going to be paired with Tiger Woods, the man who signed caddie Steve Williams's checks for 13 years, well, why not just sleep in and rejoin the sunning patrons, in spirit, for a post-game ale on the patio later on. It was over.
In case you were out living a life of leisure, here's what you missed in sports over the weekend.
Adam Scott bogeyed the last four holes in an epic major collapse, and Ernie Els sunk a birdie putt on 18 to win the British Open by a single stroke. "Looks like I've got a new friend," said a smiling Jean Van de Velde, who then struggled furiously to get out of the straitjacket he's been wearing for over a decade, screaming "friend!" in a terrifying, high-pitched voice, as orderlies rushed in to shut off the television.
It's cold up in Lancashire. Bring a sweater. Oh! I see you already did, golf pros. As de facto ruler of this blog, I say Tiger wins, because I'm into the off-white vibe with a flash of pink. But putting aside personal and sartorial preferences, I thought I should bring some experts into the fold here — David Cho and Robert Mays — to discuss the sweater game of the golfers at the British Open.
1. Toshinori Muto
Chris Ryan: This guy is wilding out with this Le Coq Sportif thing. He's got the little badges on it.
In case you were out living a life of leisure, here's what you missed in sports on Thursday.
Australian Adam Scott tied a Royal Lytham course record with a 6-under 64 to take the first-round lead at the British Open, while Tiger Woods lurks just three shots back at -3. "I'm lurrrrrking, Adammmmm!" whispered Tiger, waking Scott from a dead sleep. The Australian golfer gave a surprised yelp as he thrashed under the covers. "What the hell, Tiger! How did you get in here?" Woods laughed. "Lots of experience getting into hotel rooms, my man. Credit card, 50-cent piece, crowbar. Boom. Easy. Three tools, one result. Listen, I'm honestly pretty lonely these days. I brought some Buds, a cool sixer, thought we could hang. Buds and bros, bros and buds, talkin' hoes, sippin' suds." Scott wiped his eyes. "What the f--- time is it, dude?" Woods looked at the clock. "5 a.m. The witching hour. The Bud-ing hour. Don't know what time it is in Australia. Oy, didgeree-loo, crocodile-doo!" Scott sat up and sighed. "Yeah, okay. Let's pop a Bud. But this is the last time, Tiger! Anyway, you should have seen this hoe on the 17th yesterday … "
In case you were out living a life of leisure, here's what you missed in sports on Wednesday.
Clayton Kershaw and Cliff Lee each pitched eight strong innings, but Matt Kemp's walk-off home run in the 12th gave the Dodgers a 5-3 win over the Phillies. "If I had any less support, I'd be a well-endowed woman without a bra," said a downcast Cliff Lee, making this the eighth straight press conference where he's managed to compare his own pitching to a well-endowed woman. Luckily, his dejected mood made this instance far less graphic than usual.
If you believe in destiny, aura, bad luck, momentum, or even the curse of the missed opportunity, you've probably written off the Texas Rangers. After last night's excruciating loss, when the franchise's first World Series was a single, tantalizing strike away on two separate occasions, they seem doomed to falter tonight. Think back to Bill Buckner, and the most famous Game Six in history. There was no way the Red Sox were coming back to win Game Seven, right? The universe had marked them with the black thumb, and the final act of their particular tragedy was written the moment the ball trickled through Buckner's legs.
