I went to the bar after work last night, and found myself doing something I never thought I’d do, not in a million years:
I sat down and watched golf.
Now, golf is not the most gripping sport in the world. It’s somewhere up there with curling or Scrabble in terms of how televisually interesting it is. (Though that hasn’t stopped ESPN from televising Scrabble tournaments. Who’d’a thunk it?)
But I was riveted. And so was everyone I was drinking with. And there was one reason for all this interest: Greg Norman – Greg Norman! – was leading the tournament for the first half of the day. “But he’s old!” I kept arguing. “He hasn’t won a major for fifteen years, he’s too old, I’ll have another gin and tonic.”
But there he was. And I’ll be on the couch tonight, watching him duke it out with KJ Choi and the Colombian kid (my drinking buddies nicknamed him “the drug dealer”; apologies to my Colombian readers for that rampant stereotyping) for the ol’ claret jug. (Side note: the drug dealer is actually pretty good – his spectacular round of 65 amid yesterday’s foul weather was just two strokes outside the course record for Royal Birkdale.)
The interesting thing: if Tiger Woods hadn’t busted his knee, we’d all be yawning about another Woods win, and nobody would watch. As much as Tiger Woods is a great golfer – it’s a more interesting game when he’s not playing, and he should break his knee more often. Where’s Tonya Harding when you need her?