Getting What You Wish For
Some knuckleheads just don't get it.
If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result every time, then these guys are the ones standing in front of a brick wall with bloody foreheads, gathering themselves for yet another try (that is, after the big, black spots stop swimming into and out of their vision).
Take Rory Sabbatini, PGA Tour professional.
The mere fact that he is a professional golfer at all speaks volumes to his ability. That he earns his living on the PGA circuit is no small matter; even with inflated prize amounts, not everyone is good enough to completely support himself and his family on his clubs alone.
That being said, there are two types of PGA pros: Tiger Woods, and the field.
Period.
Summing up an obscenely bloated career bio, Woods has won 80 times overall as a professional, 58 times on the PGA Tour, with 12 current Major championships to his credit, and all of this before he turned 32 years old.
On top of all that, it's not like he's some ball-striking robot, routinely demolishing fields of accomplished pros with a metronome-like swing.
Woods is the dictionary definition of a competitor.
If he were a pitcher, he'd be Bob Gibson, ear-holing his former teammate, best friend and best man Curt Flood when the latter came to bat for the first time in an enemy uniform, or telling Tim McCarver to get his ass back behind the plate because the only thing he (McCarver) knew about pitching was that he couldn't hit it.
If he were a football player, he'd be Dick Butkus, who was once asked if he'd ever deliberately injured another player, only to respond "no, not deliberately...unless it was like a league game or something..."; Butkus, whose own teammates avoided him on game day.
If he were a basketball player, he'd be just like his friend Mike, who played a bad game against a cypher named LaBradford Smith, with the latter hanging 37 on Jordan. The problem was that Smith started talking it up, as though guys regularly posterized Jordan. It got back to Mike.
The very next game, Jordan hung 40 on Smith by half-time, hounding the kid mercilessly for 24 relentless minutes, talking the entire time.
The last anyone has seen of Smith, he was curled up in a fetal position in the basement of the United Center, weeping and muttering "there go that man again, Momma..."
Like Jordan, Woods takes stuff personally. Like Jordan, Woods holds grudges for a looooong time. Like Jordan, Woods uses anything to his competitive advantage.
Quoting one of my favorite comic books, when Woods enters a tournament, he looks like a shark trailing prawn.
Enter the aforementioned and lamentable Sabbatini. Apparently, he saw something in Woods' game that no one had seen yet. Apparently, this whole Woods thing was "The Empereror's New Clothes" all over again, that there was nothing to this Woods Mystique, and yes, he was going to pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
Round 1 - Sabbatini calls Woods out, saying that he wants to be in a final group with him. Seems that anyone actually going head-to-head with Tiger develops a worse case of the yips than John Daly after an all-nighter at the casino. Seems that Sabbatini thought that all it took was a little testicular fortitude to stand up to this Woods guy and it would all be over, just like when Buster Douglas forever shattered the mystique of Mike Tyson.
The problem is that Douglas caught up with a washed-up bum who was living on a reputation long since repudiated.
Woods, after a career that already has his face on golf's Mount Rushmore, is only now entering what should be his golfing prime.
In Texas, they say that if you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Which leads us to...
Round 2 - Sabbatini is leading (!!) Tiger by one stroke at Wachovia earlier this season, after having called Woods out. The result: Woods wins the tournament, shooting a 69, while The Mouth That Roared faded to a 74.
Round 3 - Not less than a week later, Sabbatini's mouth writes yet another check that his clubs can't cash, saying that Woods looked as "beatable as ever."
This is somewhat like saying that K-2 looks as climbable as ever, or that the Bates Motel looks as hospitable as ever, or that Seal Island during mating season looks as swimmable as ever...I think you get my point.
What the hell is "beatable as ever?"
Apparently, it's the tug on Woods' Nike-endorsed cape.
Round 4 - Sabbatini finds himself leading Woods again (!!) in the final round of the Bridgestone, only to find himself down by 4 after the first six (!!) holes of the final round and by an insurmountable 5 at the turn.
That five shot lead included this ugly sequence: on a par 5, which Woods normally eats for breakfast, he choked, and absolutely public course hacks a drive to the left, then hits a lady in the arm with his second shot. He takes a drop (!!) for his third, hits over the clown and the windmill to reach the green for his fourth, and calmly taps in for par.
Sabbatini, playing with far fewer obstacles and a lot less talent, goes double bogus and hollers at a paying customer for pointing his collapse out.
And all the guy said was, "Hey, Rory. Still think Tiger's beatable?"
As beatable as ever.
If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result every time, then these guys are the ones standing in front of a brick wall with bloody foreheads, gathering themselves for yet another try (that is, after the big, black spots stop swimming into and out of their vision).
Take Rory Sabbatini, PGA Tour professional.
The mere fact that he is a professional golfer at all speaks volumes to his ability. That he earns his living on the PGA circuit is no small matter; even with inflated prize amounts, not everyone is good enough to completely support himself and his family on his clubs alone.
That being said, there are two types of PGA pros: Tiger Woods, and the field.
Period.
Summing up an obscenely bloated career bio, Woods has won 80 times overall as a professional, 58 times on the PGA Tour, with 12 current Major championships to his credit, and all of this before he turned 32 years old.
On top of all that, it's not like he's some ball-striking robot, routinely demolishing fields of accomplished pros with a metronome-like swing.
Woods is the dictionary definition of a competitor.
If he were a pitcher, he'd be Bob Gibson, ear-holing his former teammate, best friend and best man Curt Flood when the latter came to bat for the first time in an enemy uniform, or telling Tim McCarver to get his ass back behind the plate because the only thing he (McCarver) knew about pitching was that he couldn't hit it.
If he were a football player, he'd be Dick Butkus, who was once asked if he'd ever deliberately injured another player, only to respond "no, not deliberately...unless it was like a league game or something..."; Butkus, whose own teammates avoided him on game day.
If he were a basketball player, he'd be just like his friend Mike, who played a bad game against a cypher named LaBradford Smith, with the latter hanging 37 on Jordan. The problem was that Smith started talking it up, as though guys regularly posterized Jordan. It got back to Mike.
The very next game, Jordan hung 40 on Smith by half-time, hounding the kid mercilessly for 24 relentless minutes, talking the entire time.
The last anyone has seen of Smith, he was curled up in a fetal position in the basement of the United Center, weeping and muttering "there go that man again, Momma..."
Like Jordan, Woods takes stuff personally. Like Jordan, Woods holds grudges for a looooong time. Like Jordan, Woods uses anything to his competitive advantage.
Quoting one of my favorite comic books, when Woods enters a tournament, he looks like a shark trailing prawn.
Enter the aforementioned and lamentable Sabbatini. Apparently, he saw something in Woods' game that no one had seen yet. Apparently, this whole Woods thing was "The Empereror's New Clothes" all over again, that there was nothing to this Woods Mystique, and yes, he was going to pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
Round 1 - Sabbatini calls Woods out, saying that he wants to be in a final group with him. Seems that anyone actually going head-to-head with Tiger develops a worse case of the yips than John Daly after an all-nighter at the casino. Seems that Sabbatini thought that all it took was a little testicular fortitude to stand up to this Woods guy and it would all be over, just like when Buster Douglas forever shattered the mystique of Mike Tyson.
The problem is that Douglas caught up with a washed-up bum who was living on a reputation long since repudiated.
Woods, after a career that already has his face on golf's Mount Rushmore, is only now entering what should be his golfing prime.
In Texas, they say that if you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Which leads us to...
Round 2 - Sabbatini is leading (!!) Tiger by one stroke at Wachovia earlier this season, after having called Woods out. The result: Woods wins the tournament, shooting a 69, while The Mouth That Roared faded to a 74.
Round 3 - Not less than a week later, Sabbatini's mouth writes yet another check that his clubs can't cash, saying that Woods looked as "beatable as ever."
This is somewhat like saying that K-2 looks as climbable as ever, or that the Bates Motel looks as hospitable as ever, or that Seal Island during mating season looks as swimmable as ever...I think you get my point.
What the hell is "beatable as ever?"
Apparently, it's the tug on Woods' Nike-endorsed cape.
Round 4 - Sabbatini finds himself leading Woods again (!!) in the final round of the Bridgestone, only to find himself down by 4 after the first six (!!) holes of the final round and by an insurmountable 5 at the turn.
That five shot lead included this ugly sequence: on a par 5, which Woods normally eats for breakfast, he choked, and absolutely public course hacks a drive to the left, then hits a lady in the arm with his second shot. He takes a drop (!!) for his third, hits over the clown and the windmill to reach the green for his fourth, and calmly taps in for par.
Sabbatini, playing with far fewer obstacles and a lot less talent, goes double bogus and hollers at a paying customer for pointing his collapse out.
And all the guy said was, "Hey, Rory. Still think Tiger's beatable?"
As beatable as ever.
Labels: Bridgestone Invitational, PGA, Rory Sabbatini, Tiger Woods
posted by van walker | 12:03 AM
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