Hart Surgery: Last Tiger Column You’ll Ever Need
Tiger Woods won the British Open on Sunday, the third time he has done so and his 11th professional major overall. In other news, the sky is blue, water is wet, and there is instability in the Middle East.Don’t get me wrong, I love Tiger. He excels at golf in a way few people have ever excelled at anything. His single-minded determination is nearly unsurpassed in sports. And, this weekend, we even got to see a human side of him, as he was overcome with emotion on the 18th green in winning his first tournament since the death of his father.
Yes, I enjoy watching Tiger Woods. What I am sick of, however, is reading about him. Every time Tiger lifts a trophy, sportswriters try to place some context around it, attempting in vain to make the latest conquest seem somehow different than all those that came before it. Tiger’s wins are routine, typically unfolding along the same lines, with a tiny twist here and there for variety. He is like the Law & Order franchise of golf.
Tiger ain’t gonna stop winning anytime soon folks, so in the interest of saving everyone time and effort for the future, I’d like to present the Last Tiger Woods Column You’ll Ever Need:
PEBBLE BEACH/ST. ANDREW’S/AUGUSTA - Tiger Woods has done it again. Resplendent in his traditional Sunday red, Woods breezed to his 15th/21st/45th professional major with a -5 under 67 on Sunday, leaving his supposed rivals in the dust once again.
Though Woods started the day only one shot ahead of Ernie Els/Tin Cup/the Golfbot 3000, all challenges fell short down the stretch thanks to poor putting/errant tee shots/spontaneous combustion.
The win was sweet vindication for Tiger, as many critics questioned his ability to win this week given the recent overhaul of his swing/loss of his right arm/discovery that soylent green is made of people.
“It was an emotional win for me,” said Woods. “I felt like if I could come out here, hit some good golf shots, and get a good putting stroke going, I could post a couple low numbers. Thanks to my caddie/a couple decent breaks/Scientology, everything worked out in the end.”
Things didn’t look as good for Woods on Saturday, as he allowed several players in the field back into contention by missing several short putts/by repeatedly driving out of bounds/just for sh*ts and giggles.
But he recovered nicely, punctuating his round with a back-to-back birdies on 17 and 18/a thunderous belch on camera with Roger Maltbie/an embarrassingly awkward high-five with caddie Steve Williams.
Sunday he came out smoking, leaving no doubt about his intentions with birdies on two of his first three holes. One by one his challengers fell by the wayside/buckled under the pressure/hoisted themselves on their own petards, all while Tiger continued playing mistake-free golf.
Phil Mickelson looked as if he might challenge after going out in 33, but his bid fell short after starting the back nine with three straight bogeys/dropping two balls in the water/a seven-foot hoagie.
After reaffirming his abilities with the win, Tiger’s rivals conceded he is back on his game/a threat to win the Grand Slam/worthy of a knee-capping by Tonya Harding’s guy.
“He is just an incredible talent,” chirped Rocco Mediate. “Even when you think he is down and might be out of it, he makes a miraculous recovery/holes a long putt/spews profanity at a spectator with a camera phone. I just feel lucky to play with him/smell his musk/not be working construction with a first name like Rocco.”
“I was surprised to see him win,” admitted Sports Illustrated’s Rick Reilly. “Lately, his putting stroke has been shakier than Bush’s approval rating/Britney and K-Fed’s marriage/the plausibility of Rocky 6.”
Again a winner, we are left to ponder what Tiger has left to accomplish. Can he get to 50 majors/win 200 tournaments/repopulate the Earth with a super-race of Cablinasian progeny? Only time will tell.
For now, order has been restored in golf, as Woods flies back to his house in Windemere/estate in Scotland/mermaid-laden bubble-city under the sea with trophy in hand. Let us never doubt him again, at least as long as he maintains his focus/resists indulging his thoughts of a music career/breathes oxygen.
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