Separate names with a comma.
Discussion in 'The Mainboard' started by gus_chiggins, Mar 25, 2019.
Schlabach may never recover.
Imagine letting coverage my mark schlabach or some guy no ones ever heard of ruin your masters experience
KVV is close with those guys and he even guest hosts on occasion. They are just sticking up for him
He's not wrong about Schlabach's piece though.
This is how a story from Augusta should be written.
Tiger and Time
Posted on April 14, 2019 by Joe Posnanski
People still look past me. It baffles me that still happens after all these years. Yes, I know I am petite and pretty and, if you will allow a modicum of immodestly, I ooze with Southern charm. If I was in Hollywood, I am sure I would be Doris Day. I apologize if that’s an old reference. I am old. I fear that I have not kept up with the times.
People sense my friendliness. That is good. I am friendly. I welcome everyone. My bridge is always open. I optimistically set the table for 2 every time.
But I am not to be underestimated.
My name is Golden Bell. I am the 12th hole at Augusta National.
I am 155 yards long, and I am surrounded by azaleas and sand and water and trees. I am less a golf hole and more a vacation spot. My likeness hangs in offices and living rooms around the world. I look as innocuous and dreamy as a postcard from Hawaii.
But I am to be taken seriously. The winds swirl unpredictably around me. They say I was built on an Indian burial ground. I do not talk about my past. But I can tell you that I have broken many hearts.
I broke Arnold Palmer’s heart. That was in ’59, I guess. I revered Arnie, and over time he came to revere me, but he was still young then, full of spirit and too much certainty. He led when he arrived at my door. He then hit his ball into the water and made triple bogey and lost the tournament. I felt heartsick for him. But I am not easy.
Time after time in the years since then, they have come to me with a sparkle of glory and a touch of arrogance reflecting in their eyes, and they have looked beyond me, to opportunities that await, to a dream they have had had since they were children, to a jacket that they long to wear. And they have left my green broken. I have crushed so many hopes. Seve Ballesteros. Gary Player. Greg Norman. Jordan Spieth. I cannot remember them all.
It happens every year.
On this Sunday, the hopers and dreamers began arriving much earlier in the day than I expected. They don’t usually show up until late afternoon, as the sun falls behind the Magnolia and Juniper trees, but on this Sunday they started marching up in groups of three in the morning. I believe the weather brought them out early.
The names change. The faces don’t. In the early afternoon, a powerful man named Brooks Koepka showed up. There is no doubt in my mind that Brooks has the strength to hit a golf ball miles over me. But I watched instead as he hit the ball without assurance. I could tell instantly that his shot would land short and roll back into the water. I tried to stop it. I always try to stop it. But there is not much I can do … once, I recall, I was able to stop the golf ball for a friendly sort named Fred Couples. But ever since then the groundskeepers have kept my grass shorter.
There was nothing I could do to save Brooks Koepka’s ball.
The same was true for Ian Poulter’s golf ball. Poulter is English, from what I can tell, and he also hit a high, equivocal shot that bounced well short and rolled back into Rae’s Creek. Later, the same thing happened to a tall fellow named Tony Finau. Each time the ball dropped into Rae’s Creek, I heard those familiar groans that have always tormented me.
I am haunted by waters.
Then the next group, the last group, came up. A man with a beautiful name, Francesco Molinari, walked to the tee. What a name. I have grown to love beautiful names — Ian Baker-Finch and Seve Ballesteros and Gary Player and Jose Maria Olazabal and Jimmy Demaret
And standing next to him, there was an older golfer wearing red, he had a familiar face, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
* * *
There are only a few who have ever turned this place inside out. Arnie was one of those; he was so captivating and fetching and affable. The fans at Augusta loved him so dearly, so fervently, that they called themselves “Arnie’s Army.” I often thought of myself as a member of Arnie’s Army.
Then there was Jack Nicklaus. I will not lie, he was my favorite. I don’t know if the fans loved Jack with quite the same zeal and warmth that they loved Arnie, but I know they admired him. He was so admirable. He kept his head. He never beat himself. He played the right shot again and again.
And Jack always made me feel seen. I’ve heard that he called me the toughest little hole in the world. That is the most meaningful thing anyone has ever said about me. I have been called beautiful so often that it has lost its meaning. But tough! Yes! It’s true. Jack used to say that he always aimed for the same spot — to that safe space of land between my front and back bunkers — even if it meant aiming away from the flag.
I loved him for that. Jack respected me.
There were others too who inspired ear-shattering roars, Sam and Tom and Seve and Phil and so on.
But Tiger Woods is different from all of them.
I remember when he first came to Augusta. He was only an amateur then, a teenager, but full of unimaginable promise and talent and skill (I heard Jack predicted Tiger would win as many green jackets and he and Arnie had won combined). I’m told that when they asked Tiger what he hoped to accomplish his first time around at the hallowed Masters he said, without hesitation: “Win.”
It was a brazen and presumptuous thing for a young man to say — the correct answer apparently being something to the effect of “I’m just happy to be here” — and I am sure some of the older men harrumphed and grumbled. But modesty didn’t fit Tiger or his talents. He came to conquier and when he was 21, he did. He thundered through this golf course like no one ever had before. When he was done, records were shattered, imaginations detonated, and I overheard people say that they would need to change Augusta National just to accommodate Tiger’s prodigious abilities.
They did change Augusta National considerably, lengthening some holes, adding contours and rises in various places, reworking various parts of the course. But they did not change me — if you will allow me to speak immodestly again, I am timeless — and they did not prevent Tiger Woods from winning again and again. He had won four times before he turned 30.
And the roars for him were unlike those even for Arnie and Jack. I think that’s because Tiger wasn’t adored like Arnie, and he wasn’t lionized like Jack. No there was something else about him, something more aspirational. I am not sure I can describe it — I am no poet, I am the subject of poetry — but as I understand it, Tiger offered to take the crowd to a place where golf had never gone. He was an astronaut. He hit shots no one had ever hit. He saw possibilities where others saw tree branches and double bogeys. He brought order to a disorderly game.
Anyway, that’s how I have heard it described.
Then, one day, something with Tiger Woods changed. One hears things, but I am not one to partake in rumors. But I could see that Tiger no longer commanded the game the way he had. The crowds still shouted for him, but their cheers were less confident and more nervous. He grew older. He seemed to have a different swing every time I saw him. And then, some years, he did not show up at all.
I did not expect to see Tiger Woods compete again.
The cycle doesn’t often go in that direction.
* * *
When the last group of Sunday approached, I glanced at the little walking leaderboard and saw that the Italian with the beautiful name, Francesco Molinari, had 13 red. And Tiger Woods had 11 red. The Masters was in the balance.
And I waited with hope.
Molinari hit first. He reached back with his club, and I offered a silent prayer for him, like I do for every golfer. But as soon as he hit the ball, I could see that he had made the mistake that has wrecked so many. He aimed toward the flag. And he had lacked conviction. The ball fluttered in the wind, and landed short, rolled back into the creek and those agonizing groans came. I saw the crestfallen look on Molinari’s face. I have seen that look so many times. I never get used to it.
Then Tiger Woods stepped to the tee.
I looked at him closely. Was this really Tiger Woods, the bold and impertinent kid who believed that nothing was beyond his powers? I could not tell. I began to say my silent prayer for him … but then I stopped because I noticed something. He was not that Tiger Woods. He moved more gingerly. His face was wider. His weather-worn face suggested that he had seen things.
And as he began his swing, I caught something in Woods’ glance, something unusual, something I had not seen in, well, in a long time.
He aimed his shot away from the flag.
He hit it to that space between my front and back bunker. The ball landed and settled 40 feet from the hole but dry and safe. It was the shot that young golfers feel too proud and too strong to hit. It was Jack Nicklaus’ shot. And now, it was Tiger Woods’ shot.
And I knew right then that Tiger would go on to win the Masters.
I could tell from the roars that he did go on to win. I settled in and just listened for those roars like I do ever Masters Sunday. And they were louder than any I have heard in more than 30 years. I have since heard that as he walked off the last hole, Tiger was seen hugging his children, who were not born when he won here the first time. And I heard he took a look up to the sky to think about his father, Earl, who passed away a dozen years ago.
I am not capable of tears. Or at least I didn’t think I was capable for tears.
If there’s one thing I have learned as a most famous golf hole, it is that time, like Rae’s Creek, rushes in one direction. You cannot expect it to stop for anything or anyone. And yet, I’ve been around Augusta long enough to know that every now and again, on special days, time does stop, or at least it pauses. On Sunday, it stopped for Tiger. I think that means time stopped for all of us too.
I got a 2019 hat on Wednesday. Now the shirt I bought is worth every penny I overpaid for it.
Hey Grandpa where were you when Tiger won his 5th green jacket?
Me: (tears up) Watching at my apartment and posting on the-mainboard.com with Juicy Locke
Those motherfuckers at Augusta don’t have anything on those of us who participated in this thread.
Tiger up to #6 in the World Golf Rankings after today’s win
What was he coming in to Augusta? 9?
Net body of career results in majors (wins+2nd Place, top 3 and top 10 finishes), it’s not even close, but Tiger may have another five productive years ahead.
Just looking at placings without putting them into context is silly. Jack's competition was trash.
If anything, it provides credence to the argument that Jack's records are a product of his era more than his talent. I'd argue Tiger's early successes are also a product of such limited competition, but that's certainly not the case now. If he wins another major or two, there should be little doubt who the GOAT is (might already be there after yesterday).
Jack had to overcome walking out on the course hated by the fans because Arnie. But I agree, nothing to the level of Tiger. Physical, emotional, self inflicted, etc.
I haven’t had time to post with watching on tape delay, driving for work, etc. A few things stood out to me. Tiger played like shit at times and won easy. He won it at amen corner. He was back in the zone. It was a different zone though. In the past it was a me against the world zone. He’s humbled now. It was a me for the world, his kids, himself zone.
His reaction as he walked after winning was disbelief and pure joy. He embraced everyone exalting for him. I think because he knew they got to see his faults and never gave up on him as he never gave up on himself. His kids seeing that will be something he will never forget. The 360 from Reed to Tiger is storybook. The cocky draw shot out of the woods around one tree and away from another was old Tiger. The humble middle of the green Jack shot was a nod to the golf gods. It had everything.
That was the round of our lifetimes and for my generation, that’s saying something. Thanks Tiger for not taking the easy way out and giving up. I never gave up on you.
What is really impressive is that this was the first time he's come from behind to win in the final round. Takes away that criticism of him in the biggest moment.
fuck i am still so happy. can't believe he did it
He’s unquestionably been the GOAT for a long time
What a week for you two, first your adopted school UVa wins the National Championship and now Tiger wins The Masters. Truly a week of redemption
Please don’t forget we also took the weekend series against #Texas Tech Red Raiders
best week of my life
I don’t think you understand golf. Run along
I love Tiger, but having watched both Jack’s was much more of a shocker
I will now sit down and shut up so you can Explain this context. I clearly did not understand that there was only one or two other capable pro golfers as Jack racked up 18 majors, 19 second place, and 73 top tens.
I love Tiger as a golfer, but ur just being argumentative because you argue every post I make.
of course old man indeed is hyping up jack compared to tiger
i am shocked
I’m a fan of both, and both have incredible bodies of work. Trashing Jack because he’s a old timer and has evolved into an Asshole is dumb.
some say John Legend and Common wrote this song just for this moment #Tiger Woods
After watching 4 contenders (and leader) put it in the drink on Sunday, Spieth probably woke up feeling a little vindicated this morning.
Having breakfast at Maple Street this morning. They ask you a silly question when you order and they call out your answer when your food is ready. Today's question was "Other than a dog or a cat, what pet would you like to have?" My answer was "A Tiger... Tiger Tiger Woods Y'all." Got a "hell yes" from the old man eating his breakfast.
The shortest hole on the course continues to be the best
I wonder when the last time the champ put a ball in the water on 12 in the final round.
Didn’t Immelman do it in 2008?
Freddie should have done it in 1992. Only reason he didn’t beat a chasing Raymond Floyd is because it wasn’t cut as low and stayed up.
Firethorn checking in
The fact that Nicklaus winning in '86 was such a shock speaks to why Tiger is better. Will anyone doubt Tiger can do anything going forward? The sportsbooks won't.
Not enough room for disaster these days, unless you completely and totally fuck it up like Molinari did.
I imagine the volatility in scores for 12 was much more widespread than it was for 15 this week.
Correction, I think Immelman dropped it in the water on 16 for his final round.
I agree. 15 is just my favorite
It’s a lot more fun when it’s not as soft and going long brings the pond on 16 in play. I don’t remember a single person going long into the water this week.
Still one of my top 4 holes on the property though.
I understand it’s a Thing here to shit on Jack. But he hadn’t done anything for almost two years, and he shot a 65 on Sunday at age 46. Tiger win the Player’s late last year, and was competitive in the last two majors. There were blaring signals that Tiger was back and poised to win another major. Jack’s was shocking because it was largely unexpected. The guy also finished 6th at age 58. I mean, cmon give the guy some credit.
What’s incredible about Tiger is the return from the depths of his own personal rock bottom and physical issues that he’s overcome. I doubt Jack would have been able to respond to that many surgeries and extreme personal issues like Tiger did.
But his Master’s win is a not a total shock, based on results and momentum from last year.
Jack’s win in 86 was incredible because he came out of nowhere. I watched that broadcast on YouTube recently and the announcers are going insane but he was an afterthought at the beginning of the broadcast.
Yesterday, Tiger was in the final group and there was more anticipation he might do it. Both amazing and hard to say which was better.
On Live at the Masters, one of them mentioned Tiger only missed seven of his last 54 greens. Insanity.