Normally, I would only watch a golf tournament, any golf tournament — including a major — if Tiger Woods or Phil Mickelson were on the prowl.
Quite honestly, at this point — even that usually isn’t enough to get my eyes to the tube.
Such was the case all weekend. I could not bring myself to even watch one hole of the most prestigious tournament of them all (or so they say) on CBS at the Masters.
I was locked in too a ton of baseball — with intriguing match ups across the board and some NHL. Even though there is 162 games in a baseball regular season, there is something about the first week that holds my interest completely captive.
This trend continued Sunday until roughly about 6:30 when I figured “What the hell, why don’t I check out who is going to win the Masters.” So I flipped it on right in time for the final holes and for the sudden death overtime.
I missed Tiger. I missed Phil. I didn’t care. I was rooting for Kenny Perry. I don’t know Kenny Perry well. I’ve only talked to him once. I have never even interviewed him in person.
I’ve always liked him though, from afar. The 48-year old was so close to winning his first major title, and becoming the oldest player ever to win a major tournament title.
DARN! Perry ran out of gas, and Angel Cabrera — apparently chewing on Nicorette gum because he wanted to smoke Marlboro’s, outlasted Perry and Chad Campbell as part of a three-way playoff.
What a shame. My support of his run to glory was so loyal and fierce, I thought for sure that he would be able to stave off the competition and slip on the Green Jacket.
Like a true champion however — Perry was very humble in defeat– instead of being bitter and angry. I wish I could be more like Perry, instead of what I tend to be way too often –and that is so competitive that I get caught up emotionally and I don’t want to tip my cap to someone who may have been better then me.
Hopefully, Perry’s grace will give me a good lesson as I move forward in a unfair industry.
Some other masterful Monday thoughts, includes a quick thought of condolences for the masterful longtime voice of the World Champion, Philadelphia Phillies. Harry Kalas passed away earlier on Monday at Nationals Park, and while I did not know him well — we only said “hi, how are you doing” to each other many times at the ballpark, one knew what kind of greatness you were dealing with when rubbing elbows with Kalas.
The one saving grace, Kalas — of course was able to call and see the Phillies win a championship last October. I remember his call of Brad Lidge’s perfect season just like it was yesterday.
Harry — you will be missed forever.
Good job out of the Orioles this weekend, taking two of three from the American League Champion Tampa Bay Rays. Sunday was a disaster, but you can’t ask for much more then a 4-2 homestand while entertaining the Yankees and Rays.
Now — they have to follow it up by not getting swept at the very minimum in Texas. The Rangers have a terrific lineup — but very little pitching and they won’t be facing Kevin Millwood.
One final note, it’s nice to see that Daniel Cabrera is still Daniel Cabrera, and that the Nationals are well, still the Nationals. They are putrid.