The Hagen 54: A Good Hike Spoiled? Certainly Not!

 “That was so cool.”

Mark, DK, Tony, & Steve 
after 30+ holes

Not exactly the comment I expected to hear after covering 54 holes, 44,000 steps (or 21+ miles) and three British Open courses in 13+ hours. And yet, our foursome (and caddies) had completed the Hagen 54 still speaking to and laughing with one another. But Tony's comment was spot on, and weary smiles abounded at 8:15pm. 

Maybe our pooped loopers managed grins because they: a) were done, b) had been paid, AND c) held cold pints of beer. Us? Our foursome of sixtysomethings was just glad (and proud) to still be standing upright –- Mark was scheduled for knee replacement surgery 10 days later and Steve was dealing with a chronic bad back.

But the idea behind the second edition of the Hagen 54 was to enjoy (and finish.) In the words of Walter Hagen, “We did it for fun.” What began years ago as an inter-club challenge between Royal Cinque Ports, Royal St. George’s, and Prince’s members had evolved into an open event involving 180 golfers from across the world tasked to recreate Mr. Hagen’s linksy golf trek prior to the 1920 Open.

Our group bunked in the Prince’s Hotel, which sits within a bladed wedge off the 6th green of the Shore Course. My room had a fabulous view of RSG’s dastardly 13th green and 14th hole -- site of Dustin Johnson’s OB'd (some say “shanked”) iron that opened the door for Darren Clarke’s 2011 Open victory. 

Oh to be a canine in Sandwich and/or Deal!

On a side note…I witnessed a golfer taking a full-on, frontal pee the day before, totally oblivious to my vantage point (no picture, take my word.) On a lighter note, I also watched RSG members playing alongside their well-behaved dogs — a practice encouraged by all three clubs as long as it is not a competitive round

Alarms were set for 5amish. The hotel provided coffee, sausage rolls, toast, and Advil to fuel our 5:40 am shotgun (54…get it?) At 5:30am, participants began trudging toward their respective tees. We began on the 8th hole of the Prince’s Shore course (hole #21 of the Hagen 54) — a relatively benign par 5 that usually involves a fair amount of wind; but at 5:40am, Mother Nature had slept in and conditions were calm.

Optimism abounds at 5:35am

Didn’t matter. I duck hooked my “fairway finder” hybrid into the left rough. Tony punched his into the right rough (“We’ll find that, right?”) Steve pulled his right as well, and Mark sprayed a well struck drive into the left semi rough. Our opening shots flew over, but strategically avoided the fairway.

Later, in about hour five, my caddie Harry King confided, “After that start, we thought we were in for a very long day.” Truth be told, 13+ hours on a golf course IS a very long day, but the level of golf did improve and ball searching was maintained at a reasonable level. Example? While playing holes 1 thru 27: ”I know it is right around here, near that bush…we’ll find it.” Same shot playing holes 28 thru 54: “We can drop a ball right here, that’s OK...I'm done looking.”

The weather? Fabulous. Last year’s participants in the inaugural event were baptized with nonstop showers over the last 18 holes. Our luck held out all day as we required multiple sunscreen and lip balm applications in 70+ temps. 

All holes were numbered to reflect Walter Hagen’s trek from Deal to Sandwich and back again. Each club provided golfers with generous amounts of water, sodas, beer, snacks, and pork products throughout the day. RSG had a full-on grill on the first hole and RCP took our lunch orders in advance, so we could devour them on its first tee box.

Having played golf for 50+ years, I know that no one really cares what you shot, so I will dispense with any kind of hole-by-hole recap. Months from now, our group is more likely to remember the faux pas. Some of the (low) highlights? While munching on my chicken wrap and catching up with RCP’s future Club Captain on the first tee, I coolly whipped a Titleist off my strategically placed push cart about 165 yards forward in the left rough. The future captain didn't say much, but was duly impressed with my coolness under pressure.

For God's sake, don't hit it right

In my defense, RCP’s first tee (pictured left) is one of the more intimidating tee shots in the rota, as one has a flagpole, road, clubhouse, and member’s parking lot (in that order) to avoid if one is prone to blocking his tee ball to the right. This golfer is.

Tony plays to his loving gallery

Another moment…Tony dribbled his tee shot on RSG’s Par 3 #3; prompting Mark's suggestion, “Hey guys, let’s all watch Tony!” So, that we did.

Mark's Himalaya bunker (far right)

And finally, Mark bogeyed RSG’s famous 4th hole by carefully hooking his 136 yard drive SHORT of the massive bunker (largest in the UK, apparently.) My caddie from the day before told me, “In all my years of caddying, I think I’ve only seen eight players go in that trap.” Well...not this time Mark!

We hit the lottery with our caddies — all four regulars at Royal St. George’s. My guy, Harry, plans to attend law school and had been looping for a dozen years — by his looks, I figured he must have started when he was maybe five years old (pictured below.) Tony had Matt, who runs a bar with his brother in Sandwich (The Pharmacy,) which we visited two nights later. Mark had Tommy Plum, who had won a prestigious tournament at RCP a few months earlier, and has designs on turning pro. Steve’s caddie, Scott, was a frequent RSG golfer.

"And then on #35, I smoked
a 6-iron to 45 feet"

Harry will be carded for
the rest of his life

Matt, Harry, Tommy and Scott...
Still smiling? Yes!

After our 54th hole, we re-trudged to the outdoor patio along with our caddies and fellow hotellers. About an hour later, Mark drove our tired, but hungry, bodies to a post-round feast at Royal Cinque Ports featuring copious amounts of seafood, cheeses, beef, ales, wine, and more pork. We were hungrier than we thought.

The verdict from our group? A good great time was had by all. Would I/we try it again? Ask me in a month. I do believe that the Hagen 54 will has become a true bucket list golfing event. No where else can one have the opportunity to play three Open courses in one walk hike and spend all day with mates playing the maddening and addictive game we love.

The sun sets on Prince's and another Hagen 54

The "Buck & Brutus Show" Comes to a Close, But My, Oh My, What a Run

Brutus: "Why am I in the BACK seat?"
Buck: "Can I eat the bugs flying into my mouth?"

Writing an essay like this offers some measure of therapy, but primarily, it pays tribute to two of the greatest companions that God could have ever bestowed upon one family...

Losing one pet is hard enough, but losing two in a six-week span has been more painful than we could have ever imagined.

Buck contemplating life...
and what's for dinner

This past Monday, Joni and I had to put our beloved Buck to rest after 12 wonderful years of companionship. Buck was a Yellow Labrador who fit every stereotype one could possibly conjure about the breed: he ate every meal with the voracity of a starved shark, he greeted each new guest as if they just might reward him with a 12-ounce T-bone, and he shed his fur as if he was getting paid to do so. He was a happy boy who joyfully wagged and woofed every time one of us returned home as if we had been gone on a round-the-world journey.

Matt Damon gets to meet
Buck & Brutus in person.
"Big dog there," says Matt

Unfortunately, Buck's passing came on the heels of losing the also-much-beloved Brutus. He came to us as an adopted foster puppy with one eye blue, the other brown, and we determined he was part lab, part husky, and part moose. Brutus grew into his name and once tipped the scales at 150 pounds...that is, until we invoked the green bean diet and slimmed him down to a svelte 130. Strangers, neighbors, family members, and even Matt Damon (left) couldn't help but point out the obvious upon meeting Brutus: "That's a big dog!" Yes, yes, he was.

Brutus contemplating life...
and his next caper

Brutus was an investment. He managed to blow out not one, but two knees--each requiring surgery. His stature afforded him the ability to snatch purses, satchels, briefcases, luggage, bagged candy, and just about anything he found interesting under 50 pounds, through his dog door and into the backyard; where he could survey his latest haul.

Brutus was the instigator and Buck just hoped somehow food was involved in the plan, "Brutus, I don't know if I'd be doing that if I was you!" Buck and Brutus filled our house with over 200 lbs. of love, chaos, footing obstacles, and hair. Lots of hair.

Like anybody who has lost a pet/companion/loyal friend, we will get beyond this period of mourning. No doubt, we'll seriously consider adding a puppy in our future. But damn, there will never again be a duo like Buck & Brutus. As a good friend of mine remarked after spending a few days with them: 

"Buck and Brutus should have their own sitcom."

RIP fellas. We miss you both mightily and loved you unconditionally. Here's hoping there's limitless treats and a heavy duty Dyson in Heaven.

The New Mr. (and Miss) October?

Hasta la vista...baby

"Sr. Octubre": I'll make a pretty strong case that there is a new October hombre in town: Albert Pujols.


Maybe he has just shifted into full salary drive following a good, but not great, 2011 regular season, but one cannot ignore an impressive postseason performance thus far: he's hitting .419 and reaching base half the time he steps to the plate.


This 2011 performance is not an aberration to the positive, as Albert has notched consistently strong postseason numbers. In addition, this will be the third time he has led the Cardinals to the World Series in eight years. Forget all the free agency and monster contract talk you have heard (and will hear); let's look at what Pujols has done thus far in postseason play and compare that to the "original" Mr. October, Reggie Jackson:

• Pujols: 67 games, 15 HRs, 46 RBI, .339 BA & .441 OBP
• Jackson: 77 games, 18 HRs, 48 RBI, .278 BA & .354 OBP

There's Only One Reggie!

That .441 OBP (on base percentage) blows Reggie and other frequent post-season participants away (see below.) Like Pujols, Reggie was pitched to with care (or not at all); however, one could argue that Jackson had a consistently stronger hitting lineup around him. Still, Jackson did play in five World Series (two with Oakland and three with New York) and his teams won four of them (per MLB.com). Reggie certainly had a flair for the dramatic and his home run barrage against the Dodgers in 1977 is that of baseball legend (four home runs off four different pitchers on four consecutive pitches.) Some might argue these figures alone trump anyone else's claim to this title. Maybe so.


Here are two other high profile players (Derrick Jeter and Alex Rodriguez) with a similar frequency of postseason play (amazing...Jeter has almost played an entire year of post season play):

• Jeter: 152 (!) games, 20 HRs, 59 RBI, .307 BA & .374 OBP
• Rodriguez: 68 games, 13 HRs, 41 RBI, .277 BA & .386 OBP

I don't believe one player can carry an entire baseball team, but he can certainly affect his team's run production and disrupt how an opposing team pitches directly (or indirectly) to him and those around him. If you consider that the postseason is the time when you need your best player to step forward and perform at his best, then I know who I want coming to the plate. 


So maybe there is only one "Mr. October"...but Albert Pujols can certainly stake him claim on "Sr. Octubre" status.

...maybe I should take
my act back to South Beach?

Baseball's Lebron James? After yet another post-season flame out, the highest paid player in baseball has certainly become a lightning rod for criticism and blame among Yankee fans. Sports radio and newspaper articles were pulling up some pretty unimpressive stats that Mr. Rodriguez has managed to accumulate in October.


He has managed to make the final out (striking out no less) to end the Yankees' season two years in a row. He was 2 for 18 in this just-completed series; 9 for 50 over the past two post-seasons.


I am no math wizard, but that works out to a batting average of approximately exactly: .180; not the kind of figures that are gonna get his Jheri-curled mug etched onto a Yankee Stadium monument. No sirree.  

Hey A-Rod! You Swing 'Like a Prayer'

Rodriguez seems to have found ways in which to repeatedly fail and disappoint Yankee fans on the biggest stage. After watchng him do this for six out of seven years of postseason play (to be fair, he did hit .369 during the 2009 World Series run,) the Bronx fans let him know how they felt. Watch the end of this video if you don't believe how his act plays: Alex has six years left on his contract. If Reggie was Mr. October and Albert is Sr. Octubre, then A-Rod is Miss October...and no, I don't think he is dating one either.


Baseball's Night to Remember I have bashed on baseball in previous columns regarding the length of season, games, etc. and how it losing the young viewers and we can assume, fans and future players. Want more proof? Darren Rovell of CNBC reported that the median age of LCS Game #5 audience for FOX has risen accordingly over the past five years: 1996 (46 years), 2001 (49 years), 2006 (51 years), 2011 (55 years). Thank goodness I watched and could bring that cumulative age down.


Still, it is a great sport when played well. When games really matter, and you get nights like Wednesday, September 28th, it is downright magical (or exceedingly painful, depending upon your perspective.) Those of you who stayed up late witnessed two playoff winners and losers determined within minutes of one another's games (Cards, Rays, Braves, and Red Sox.) If you want to relive the anguish from the perspective of a die-hard Boston Fan, here is Bill Simmons' recap from his Grantland website: "A Running Diary of Game 162."


I have to say that it was as great an evening of Fall Madness that I can ever remember. Perhaps it helped that I am a St. Louis Cardinal fan and could just sit back and watch the others win and/or lose after the Cards eeked out an 8-0 win, but to have bottom-of-the-ninth heroics and collapses and extra inning dramatics all happen simultaneously...a viewing treat.


Baseball could use more nights like these. For the dozen or so of us who will be watching the World Series, let's hope we get a few more.

$2 on MLB to "Show" Please...

This past Monday night should have been one big day and night for Major League Baseball.

Anyone outside of NY catching this?

Mariano Rivera had recorded his record breaking 602nd save earlier in the day, the Wild Card races were getting wilder and closer by the minute with back-from-the-dead charges by the Rays, Cardinals, and Giants and/or horrible swoons by the Red Sox and Braves...depending on your perspective.

Is that ol' horsehide I hear?

But, unless you live in one of these cities, bought the Direct TV package, get the MLB network in your cable package, or listened to Sirius radio in your big rig, you probably had no idea...it was Monday Night Football night by God, with the very average New York Giants pitted against the woeful St. Louis Rams. And this, my friends, was capturing the attention of the average sports fan.

Is it me or has football not only passed, but essentially LAPPED baseball in the national consciousness? Football (NFL and NCAA) is Secretariat 1 & 1A, while Major League Baseball is the fade, fade, fading away also-ran Sham ("Hey, we finished second!")

Hey! Remember me? I used to
be America's Sweetheart!

Right now, the sport of baseball appears to be managed and marketed with the same creativity and inventiveness of the US Postal Service..."Hey, it's worked for the past 100+ years dammit, why the hell would we want to mess with it now. What is this 'Fed Ex' you speak of?" 

You'll watch me, I know you will.
But you know what? I could give a sh*t.

MLB is the unkempt, awkward, somewhat desperate to bear a child, let-herself-go Jennifer Aniston...the NFL is the super tight, getting-better-with-age Angelina Jolie carrying on an I'm-hot-you're-not attitude. And, to add irony to this incredibly insightful analogy, you've got Brad Pitt playing the guilt-ridden dumper doing his darndest to resurrect the sport by starring in a baseball movie.

Do I get to take my
shirt off in this movie?

Good luck with that. The NFL has become so firmly imbedded in the sports fan's consciousness because of the following...

• Each regular season game actually means something: especially when compared to baseball

• The media covers it like a four-month OJ Simpson trial: even if you do not get the NFL Network, me thinks that available programming on your local channels, plus Fox, Versus, ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN3, and ESPN News will keep you informed. You might also have access to sports radio, newspapers, magazines, and, oh yeah, the internet.

• The casual fan is much more likely to watch an average or meaningless football game than a good or meaningful baseball game: just look at the ratings for exhibition football compared to regular season baseball

• Fantasy Football has created unprecedented interest: I may be the only person not participating in fantasy football, but it is so pervasive, I firmly believe it is a perfectly legal and socially acceptable way of betting on the sport. As a result, it makes the game more interesting to watch. Oh, and it was baseball that created the whole "fantasy" concept, by the way.

• Many people like to gamble on NFL games: although it is illegal to bet cash money on football in the US of A, I am told that there are websites in which one can do so. I am also told that there are enterprising entrepreneurs out there who will accept wagers despite the illegality of such activity. Hmmm...

In order to "fix" the problem/situation, one must recognize the challenges and identify the issues. If I were King of Baseball, here is what I would do...

• Cut out at least 20% of the season. I had one of my interns run the numbers and by our calculations, we discovered that one NFL football game is essentially as important as nine MLB games.  No wonder NFL games are so expensive to attend. But seriously, if you could eliminate about 32 games, each team would still play 130 times. Put it this way, if there was no such thing as professional baseball and someone were to start a league from scratch, do you think there is any way in hell that they could sell the public, the networks, etc. on anything north of 100 games? If you had 32 less games, you could start the season when it was actually warm and end the season when it was actually warm. You might even be able to capture more attention by playing a few more meaningful games in August and September before fans start drooling over the prospect of their upcoming fantasy football draft.

• Expand and/or enforce the strike zone. This will only speed up the game and anything, I repeat anything done to speed up the game is a good thing.

• Create some kind of salary cap. Maybe the Royals will contend next year with their young, talented roster and maybe the Pirates won't fade like they did this year, but face it, these are just a few of the teams going into each season with ABSOLUTELY no chance to make the playoffs. At least in the NFL, the non-contending teams do vary from year to year.

• Leave the playoff system alone. Baseball has this right. Regular season titles mean something. One team gets a mulligan if it has a great season but happens to be in the wrong division. The right amount of teams make the playoffs. 

• Eliminate at least two teams. Too many teams, too few fans...

• Play a few games in smaller, regional markets. If MLB doesn't eliminate some teams, then it should play meaningful mid-season games in markets like Nashville, Indianapolis, Charlotte, Sacramento, Salt Lake City, etc. This will only create more national interest.

"You know that more people watched our games than
watched the Pirates?"
"Really? What sport do the Pirates play?"

• Get more involved in youth baseball. You know that the ratings and attention around the Little League World Series exceeded that of MLB. Why? The kids played with passion, they were talented, and the games meant something. MLB needs to make sure that the game is perceived positively by kids; it is a fun game to play and well worth the time investment. The sport has competition from sports like lacrosse and spring football that didn't exist years ago.

Don't get me wrong, I am not writing an all-out bash on the sport. I love the game. The talent is incredible and it has never been played better and, for the most part, it is drug free. When the games mean something and it is played well, it is the best sport out there. I believe this.

Remember?

I just hate to see it become less and less popular because it seems so resistant to change.

Setting a New Standard of Bad: "Dunn Bad"

Almost!

For those of you casually watching baseball this summer, or only following front runners like the Phillies, Yankees, and/or Red Sox, you may be missing the astoundingly awful performance of Adam Dunn.

As of this writing, Dunn is hitting .161 with 146 strikeouts in 341 at bats through 117 games. The White Sox signed him as a free agent over the winter to be their Designated Hitter...pause for effect. Somehow, his team is still in the Central Division pennant race.

Adam Dunn's 2011 campaign is setting a new standard of ineptness. (Detroit Tiger fans may painfully recall Rob Deer's '91 campaign when he hit .179, but managed to hit 25 HR's.) Dunn is on track to register 16 dingers and should rack up over 200 strikeouts. This is some serious not hitting for someone designated to hit.

Dunn's 2011 season may become so significantly awful that his name becomes one of those commonly used sports term that we all immediately understand:

• "He's pulling a 'Koufax'." Won't play ball on Saturday because of his Jewish faith
• "That was a 'Reggie-like' performance." Turned in a memorable post-season effort
• "He's got the 'Steve Blass' syndrome." A pitcher who cannot find the strike zone
• "He's gone 'Sax' on us."  An infielder who cannot find the first baseman
• "He's 'Dunn.'" A batter who can barely make contact, much less hit

Imagine a couple of coaches hanging around a batting cage a few years from now...

"What happened to Smith? That guy could really stroke it."
"Oh, Smith...yeah, he's 'Dunn.'"
"Sorry to hear that."

Dunn's performance is so impressively and historically woeful, it may transcend sport and become part of our future accepted vernacular....

"You know, that Ryan Reynolds was a pretty good actor, but his recent movie choices 'Dunned' beyond belief."
"I thought that Katy Perry was going to be the biggest thing since Madonna, but she has 'Dunned' her last few albums, hasn't she?"
"Obama really 'Dunned' this economy"

Let's put Adam Dunn's year-to-date statistics into perspective:

Will you still love me tomorrow?

• He trails the next worst hitter in the major leagues, Vernon Wells, by .047 points. For you stat buffs out there, he is 22% worse than the next worst hitter in the majors. Wells ought to buy Dunn a car for taking attention off his .208 performance.
• He will need to hit .351 for the rest of the season in order to reach the "Mendoza Line" of .215. That means he will have to hit at more than double his current average
• In over 20 games, he has struck out 3x or more times; Joe DiMaggio struck out 3x or more in one game once in his career (Source: Chicago AM 1000 Thursday afternoon)
• He is currently hitting .100 points less than what he hit last year. His lifetime average is .245...not exactly Ruthian (another athletic term we understand), but not horrible
• He could go 0-4, 1-4, 1-4, 1-5, and 1-6 over the next five games and raise his average
• He is hitting .038 against left handed pitching (this is not a typo)
• The Sox gave him a contract for $12 million dollars. At his current rate, he will be paid $160,000 per hit

We don't usually see hitters suddenly lose the ability to hit unless they have been beaned, drugged, maimed, or mauled. Most hitters seem to deteriorate slowly, over time. As far as I could tell, Dunn suffered no off-season setback other than that one lunch he missed in January.

Hey...kid, yeah you!
Catch this one.

Dramatic baseball drop offs seem to occur when players forget how to throw; for example, pitchers can no longer find the strike zone and infielders can no longer find the closest first basemen. We watched and shuddered when grounders were hit to guys like the Dodger's Steve Sax and the Yankee's Chuck Knoblauch as they rifled throw after throw in the general vicinity of the first base dugout.

We watched in anguish the anguish of pitchers like Steve Blass, Mark Wohlers, and Rick Ankiel, who went from successful and effective pitchers one season to mysterious wild men the next. In Ankiel's case, his wildness somehow occurred in the middle of a playoff game. And yet, Ankiel was such a good athlete, he resurrected his career as an outfielder. A pretty inspirational story. Blass and Wohlers never made it back.

Dunn was brought in solely as a DH, so one doubts that there is a latent 92 mph fastball lurking within that rather large (dare I say "pudgy?") body of his. If his manager, Ozzie Guillen, continues to  trot him out to not hit, then just sit back, enjoy (assuming you are not a White Sox fan) and and watch history unfold. Stephen Colbert of "The Daily Show" said it best, "I haven't seen someone with that much trouble getting to first base since me."

Stephen Colbert Discusses Adam Dunn

Where Have All the Superstars Gone?

I am kinda bored with sports right now.

"So, wait..you watched how
many weeks of this?"

Perhaps my perspective is too limited, but from where I sit here in rain-soaked, lightening-battered, and sauna-engulfed Chicago the general sports scene has been about as exciting to watch as an episode of "The Killing" (thank you, Bill Simmons.)

While the local weather has certainly contributed to my general sports malaise (golf course closed the entire weekend), I have tried to figure out what is missing in my sports viewing life. Why do I carry around such indifference?

They don't pay me to catch
(or hit, apparently)

Could my sports funk be attributed to the fact that the Cubs are playing like an overpriced AAA team or that the under achieving White Sox play with the energy of a drunken Gordon Lightfoot? Or maybe it is because the other prominent Chicago sports are locked up in labor disputes? Naaahhh, I'm a Cardinals fan and I don't start getting worked up over football until I can start betting on it.

My discomfort goes deeper and I think I have pinpointed the reason. There is not one athlete out there right now worthy of "appointment viewing." No one is capable of the kind of athletic dominance that causes me to stop whatever I am doing to watch what they might do next.

Fans didn't come to see Reggie bunt

I need a superstar. No, I don't have to root for the guy. I might just root against him, in fact. But I need someone to rise above his peers; someone who can do something remarkable.

Quick...who leads the major leagues in HR's? Batting average? What pitcher has the most wins? Who is the leading money leader on the PGA tour right now? Who is the world's top-ranked golfer?

And away we go!

If you answered: Jose Bautista, Jose Reyes, CC Sabathia, Nick Whatney, and Luke Donald...you, my friend, need to spend less time on your fantasy teams.

Each one of these men are great athletes, no doubt, but do any of them cause you to put down your iPad, soduku book, or Thighmaster to turn up the volume when they bat, throw, or tee off? Do they  carry a cool, calm, and confident swagger about them? I doubt it...

• Bautista has played for five different teams and has a lifetime average of .254 
• Reyes is a phenom and seems destined for continued greatness, but he was a common name amidst trade deadline discussions
• CC has been one of the top five pitchers in MLB for the past five years; but the guy has a Ralph Kramden body and exudes the excitement of Milwaukee night life
• Nick Whatney has four career tour wins. Four. I bet if you asked the casual golf fan which Ryder Cup team Nick played on, maybe 40 percent would guess "Europe" because of his Brit-sounding name
• Luke Donald has a golf swing to die for; he'll win several tournaments a year in dominant fashion, and the lad can paint his ass off; and yet, his best finish in a major is a tie for 4th in the Masters

Gratuitous Minka
Kelly shot

Maybe Albert Pujols will jump into serious salary overdrive and turn his (and the Cardinals') season around; maybe Justin Verlander or Roy Halladay will go on dueling scoreless inning streaks or maybe Derek Jeter will propose to Minka Kelly. Any of them worthy of superstar status right now? Nope (although a younger Jeter certainly deserved past consideration and Miss Kelly deserves our current admiration.)

That leaves me with one, and only one, candidate: Tiger Woods. I need Tiger to come back big and soon.

I know, I know...he's a convicted "sex addict"; his divorce will cost him millions, his knee and achilles are shredded; he's on his third or fourth swing coach; most of his sponsors have dropped him like an infected lab rat; he's severed all ties with IMG; his name is linked with a performance enhancin', drug dispensin' "physician;" he fired his long-time confidant, motivational coach, and caddy, Steve Williams, who is sure to command millions for a tell-all-behind-the-scenes book; and, to make matters worse, he has grown a PBS beard...

Inspiration?

Perhaps!

Remember the feeling?

And yet, I still want the big cat back. I miss seeing the red on Sunday, the fist pumps, and the "don't 'f' with me" stare. I want that back.

Imagine what was going on within the confines of the Woods' mancave as he rehabbed his knee and watched Rory McIlroy's Sherman-like march over and through Congressional Golf Club or Darren Clarke's gutty (pun intended) ball striking around Royal St. George through the wind, rain, sleet, fog, and Guinness.

What do you think he muttered to his entourage as Phil was making his almost-epic front nine charge: "Do you think that shirt has a built-in manssier?" Or, as Phil started his all-too-predictable retreat on the back nine with a missed two-footer: "Geez...Mick! Elin could have made that putt with the 7 iron she wrapped around my skull!"

There are plenty of theories as to why he cannot catch Jack Nicklaus' majors total (18) or that he will never attain the same level of dominance when he returns:

a) He can't intimidate his opponent(s) anymore
b) His swing is a mess
c) He isn't putting like he used to and that has nothing to do with his swing
d) Tiger has lost that fire, he's too distracted and not hungry anymore; he's too soft
e) His body cannot hold up any longer

I don't know. I sure wouldn't bet against him. I believe that Tiger is one of those rare athletes with more competitive desire and will than his contemporaries. I think he can reclaim the top ranking. Maybe he won't dominate, but I believe he is more than capable of winning and winning majors.

But, then again, I am looking for a superstar...or at least someone to act like one. 

Why Social Media is Like Spandex

Since the sports world is pretty darn slow this time of year, I have opted to venture from my normal ramblings to share some thoughts on social media, especially as it relates to fellow baby boomers.

I believe that those of us north of 50 fall into one of the following four categories when it comes to exploring this new frontier:

1. The techno rebels who have not and will not ever "friend," "tweet," or "like" anyone or anything. And, by God, they are proud of it.
2. The digital incompetents who desperately want to become part of this nifty social phenomenon, but are woefully inept at grasping the nuances, the etiquette, and the entire concept and yet, they believe that they need to participate.
3. The prudent posters; they will compose, then edit, then ask their best friend what they think about a comment before posting or tweeting ANYTHING, they don't "friend" or "link" with just any Tom, Dick or Mary, and they hand out their "likes" as if they were a precious currency. After posting, they will anxiously check to see if anyone has bothered to read and/or comment. 
4. The overeager tweeters; they are convinced that Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter all represent long-awaited forums in which they can now (finally!) share their insightful thoughts, witty observations, clever quotes, fabulous photos, and special links with their new-found world of loyal admirers. They have "friended" everyone from their first grade girlfriend to the guy who sacks their groceries to that weird guy who lives in that van by the river. They post something, anything everyday. Every. Freakin'. Day. 

The impact of social media changes as quickly as someone comes up with new ways of using it. We are now entertained by one another...our friends and distant contacts become the amateur writers and photographers that inform and enlighten us and the best part of about it, we can control the amount we choose to consume.  Tired of someone? De-friend 'em! Don't care to suffer through another paragraph of nonesensical, mindless blather of your cousin's never ending philosophy of life? Don't read it! And, while you're at it, de-friend her tired ass too!

Still, these digital incompetents can impact our lives, despite our calculated attempts to ignore them. 

"I'll just hit this button and
let's see what happens--..."

For example, one such hack I know decided it was time for him to jump into the Linkedin pool in a big way. The result? "Hey Dave, I got a 'link' request from this guy, 'William Ratcher (name changed to protect this nimrod),' I don't think I have ever met him, but I believe he is a friend of yours." According to his wife, "Bill" has also extended proposed "links" with his son's ex-girlfriend and some lawyer in South Carolina who she once worked with. "Bill" confided to a friend, "The only decision I made that was worse than joining Linkedin was to join Facebook." Or vice versa.

"Oh...sh--"

I cannot chastise ol' "William" too much because all of us, no matter how techno savvy we claim to be, have sent something we wish we hadn't, either by pushing the "send" button too quickly, replying to "all" inadvertently, or forwarding something that the sender had not intended for other eyes to see.

"What happens in White Castle, stays in
White Castle. Right guys? Right?"

If you have yet to experience this "pit-in-the-stomach/cold-sweat" feeling that comes when you have mistakenly launched some unguided, reckless scud missile into cyberspace for all to read, see, or hear, the sensation is similar to the one you get when you realize that the whispered comment you made at 2 am in White Castle to a few buddies about your Dad's co-worker who had left his wife for a stripper and is sitting just a few booths over was actually overheard by the co-worker's stripper girlfriend because you apparently used your Budweiser-induced-louder-than-a-whisper voice and said stripper decides to confront you. It sorta feels like that.

Granted, the whole social network system would fall apart without such deep social participation. Linkedin doesn't do me much good if the only people I can connect with are a bunch of my friends' sons' ex-girlfriends and Facebook isn't much of an attraction when the only people posting are the ones who choose to share with me that they are in the midst of yet another "fantastic day!"

So, on behalf of all digital crumudgeons, I have two requests: 

• First, figure out what the hell you are doing before you do it; use that "help" link or for God's sake, just ask somebody. If you can answer the following question, "I have a good idea what will happen when I click this button," then go right ahead and click that button.
• Second, before posting something, anything, ask yourself this, "Would anyone other than my Mother (let's assume that you are on good terms with her for this example) give a rat's ass about the comment I about to post?"

In summary, my philosophy about social networking is similar to my opinion on fashion, captured so eloquently (and succinctly) on a bumper sticker spotted a few years ago: 

"Spandex is a privilege, not a right."

Sure, why not? 

Nope