St. Andrews. Tonight at 1:00 a.m. on ESPN. Tiger and Phil and Ernie and others. Nearly all the furor over Tiger’s sexual follies has died down to a murmur, mainly because his golf game has died down to a murmur. This Open, played at his favorite site, may well be what makes or breaks his year, maybe even his career. I’d hate to see it end here on this sour note, but he certainly hasn’t looked like the golfer with whom we were once all so fascinated. Some were fascinated negatively, angered that he seemed to get all the tv coverage, hoping he’d fall on his face. Well, he certainly fell. But most, like me, watched him because we wanted to see golf history made, wondering what magical shot he’d pull off, how many majors he’d win. I miss those moments and hope they’ll return. And St. Andrews could well be the returning point. Last time he won here, he hit almost no drivers, only long irons off the tees, leaving him long irons into the greens. But no one in the game is better with long irons than Tiger. I can’t wait for 1:00 tonight.
I've always collected errors in diction, things people mis-hear, like "windshield factor" and "the next store neighbors." Years ago, one of my students wrote an essay in which she described the world as being harsh and cruel, "a doggy-dog world." I've since come to think she may have been more astute and accurate than those who describe it in the usual way. My Stories - Mobridge Memories -
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