NASCAR - deal with it

There is no hotter sport right now than NASCAR. Seriously. NASCAR is so hot, that you can’t even touch it, unless of course, you’re mega-conglomerate ESPN, which has picked up the sport to add to its dizzying array of sports telecasts, which already include bowling, poker, and spelling bees. And the commercials that ESPN has been using to promote their upcoming coverage of the sport have shown us – the average no-nothing, judgmental idiot – that NASCAR races aren’t just for getting drunk off of Schlitz and watching women flash their boobies, although that’s still pretty cool. NASCAR, in addition, brings families together, and teaches children the values of hard work, commitment, teamwork, the positioning of the lower-right axle, and Schlitz. My own father never brought me to a live NASCAR race, and thus never allowed me the thrill of that first inhalation of exhaust fumes, followed by hours of watching excruciatingly loud cars drive around in circles. Instead he took me to baseball games, where the opportunity to see boobies was drastically reduced. I am working towards healing our relationship with forgiveness, but it is a process.

Not only did NASCAR’s biggest (and only?) race – the Daytona 500 – take place this weekend, but it also featured a dramatic photo finish, whereas one guy’s extended front spoiler proved to be the deciding factor. And yet another example of NASCAR’s hotness is its evolution into the mainstream. “Days of Thunder” is often viewed as the Lewis and Clark of NASCAR exposure, and we are just now – 50 years later – reaping the benefits of that Oscar-winning drama. (Best Sound Editing.) Now, movies like “Talladega Nights” have proved that NASCAR is so successful, it can even poke a little fun at itself, the first true sign that you’ve made it. (Twenty bucks says NASCAR hosts SNL in the next few months.) Drivers like Dale Earnhardt, Jr. have been seen on popular shows like “MTV Cribs” (still on?) and have been featured on confusing Jay-Z Budweiser ads. And Danica Patrick is a woman, which is just freakin’ crazy!

Anyways, everything you just read was the intro to my first-ever NASCAR column! I hope it got you adequately pumped. Now you are reading my transitional sentence, in which I will tell you that for the rest of this column, I will outline major aspects of NASCAR that you are required to know as you embark upon your journey of falling in love with car racing. Because, let’s face it – you don’t want to be “left in the dust” while everyone else is “riding high” on the wings of NASCAR’s glorious ride to short-lived relevancy. Here goes…

Every time cars race, it is not necessarily NASCAR. This is something I learned the hard way, by making jokes about NASCAR that involved drivers who had nothing to do with NASCAR, which I actually thought was even funnier, but whatever. True NASCAR fans are offended by this kind of ignorance, as well they should be. So don’t just go assuming that every track with cars racing on it is a NASCAR event. For example, when you’re watching ESPN 2 at 3:30 in the morning, and they’re showing that race where two weird-looking cars line up next to each other, and then race for like, three seconds until their parachutes open, or until one of the cars sails into the air and bursts into flames, that is not NASCAR, to my knowledge. There are a million different kinds of races, including Indy Car racing, Stock Car racing, the Preakness, and the Tokyo Drift, so don’t you go putting everything under the umbrella of NASCAR! You don’t want to sound like an idiot. Trust me.

Okay, then….but what, exactly, is NASCAR? Excellent question, even though this is not a question-and-answer column. And I don’t know.

Get to know your drivers. I’ll let you know what I can without looking anything up on online. Hopefully these are all NASCAR drivers. Here we go…Dale Earnhardt, Jr. gained extreme popularity after the passing of his legendary father, and even won the Daytona 500. Now he’s kind of like the Williams sisters in tennis – focusing on stupid crap like advertisements for paper clips and runway fashion, thus allowing his performance to suffer. Many in and around NASCAR believe he is the most overrated person ever. Now there is a chance he may leave his father’s company – NASCAR – because he doesn’t get along with his stepmother. Dra-ma! Jeff Gordon used to win pretty much every race, and then he sucked for a while, and now he’s okay again. He’s got a whiny voice, making it comical when he tries to talk smack to other drivers. Divorced. Kevin Harvick just won the Daytona 500, slightly edging out an elderly man named Mark Martin, the Dan Marino of racing (?). Tony Stewart is the people’s champion, but not really mine, which makes me something less of a person. He is really good though, and drinks a lot. He is also considerably shorter than Jared of Subway fame, but they are still friends (although they adamantly disagree on what, exactly, makes Subway subs so delicious). I don’t know any other drivers.

Winning a race is cool and all, but the real winner has the most points. There’s nothing like a season-long accrued points system to get the ol’ juices flowing. Sure, there are big races – the Daytona 500, Nabisco 250, and Daytona 500 – but it’s who has the most points at the end that becomes the real champion. In fact, you don’t even have to win any races to win the whole shebang, as long as you don’t crash and finish at least twelfth every time. You also get bonus points for punching another driver in the face if that driver pulled an illegal maneuver on the track that violated the unwritten code of NASCAR. (First rule of NASCAR? Don’t talk about NASCAR.) Last season’s points winner was…I have no idea. Tony Stewart? Also, I am not sure if anything I mentioned in this paragraph is even remotely accurate.

Celebrities love NASCAR, and so should you! You know something’s cool when celebrities are doing it. Anorexia? Totally cool. Adopting foreign babies? Sign me up. Exposing your private parts in public? Did it yesterday. And guess what? Celebrities have been doing NASCAR for a while now, so you better get on board before it’s too late! Ever hear of David Letterman? He pretty much invented NASCAR. Jay Leno just loves cars in general. And what about celebrities who aren’t nighttime talk show hosts? Well, how about Joe Gibbs? He was somehow involved in car racing before he came back to football to put the final nail in the Redskins coffin. He’s a celebrity, right?

And finally, Brad Daugherty is somehow involved in all of this. Sports fans may remember Brad Daugherty as the dominating UNC center, underachieving Cleveland Cavaliers center, or even as one of ESPN’s 12,445 former-athlete-type talking heads. Well, get this – he also loves NASCAR! I know this because ESPN did a “Let’s introduce our viewers to NASCAR segment,” which included “analysis” from some dude, as well as Brad Daugherty himself. Weird, yes. But totally awesome? Also yes. And what did Brad Daugherty have to say about the upcoming 2007 NASCAR racing season? I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention, half because I was trying to figure out why Brad Daugherty was talking about cars, and half because it involved NASCAR. Whatever.

So there you have it! I hope you have learned everything you need to know about NASCAR. Because like I said, you don’t want to come across as one of those guys who makes vast generalizations, and takes cheap shots at an entire sport simply as a result of his own unfamiliarity with it. That would be ignorant. I hope you enjoyed my concluding paragraph! If you didn’t, here’s more:

Boobies.


Not NASCAR


Not NASCAR


Not NASCAR


Definitely NASCAR

Spreading good cheer, and demanding socks in return

The Christmas season is all about a little give-and-take. “An eye for an eye,” as George Costanza would say. That’s what holiday spirit is all about. In that respect, and in honor of the holiday season, we’re going to do a little not-so-secret Santa thing. The higher ups here in the blogosphere have given me a modest budget to buy gifts for some of our favorite athletes and coaches here at “So, do you like...stuff?” But, in return, they have to get me something that I want, which is the most important part of this little deal. So, after a few phone calls, emails, and blackmailed photos of a compromised Drew Rosenhaus, we managed to set this whole thing up. (By the way, it’s more interesting if you picture all of us wearing Santa hats, sitting around a tree and sipping on some Grey Goose punch, which is exactly how this all went down.)

Chris Henry
His list: One “get out of jail free” card. No, wait…make that two.
Says I: I think I could manage a PBA card for ya’, Chris. But it doesn’t usually work if you’re throwing up on the cop’s shoes as you hand it to him. Just a word of advice.
My wish list from Chris: Your keys. And Odell’s.

Edgerrin James
His list: A time machine that goes back to March of 2005, at which point I can re-sign with the Colts.
Says I: Oooh, geez Edge, I mean, time machines are kind of costly these days. Maybe you could build one with the millions you got from the Cardinals. How ‘bout I get you an offensive line instead? Good? Good.
My wish list from Edge: My fantasy football season back. Save a spot for me in that time machine.

Manny Ramirez
His list: A one-way ticket out of Boston
Says I: Are you serious? Are you pulling my chain? You better not be pulling my chain, or else I’m gonna be pissed. Every year you ask for this, only to change your list on Christmas Eve to something like, the latest edition of “Scarface” on DVD. You’d better not be messing around…
My wish list from Manny: Your one-way ticket out of Boston.

Eli Manning
His list: A new last name.
Says I: No problem! How about, “Eli Testaverde?” No, wait! “Eli Leaf!” Sounds Scandinavian, yes?
My wish list from Eli: Grow a pair of you-know-whats, slap around Burress and Shockey for a good hour and a half, let ‘em know who’s boss, and then go out there and try and complete a freakin’ pass without looking as if your puppy just got run over before the coin toss.

A-Rod
His list: To finally be accepted as a New York Yankee.
Says I: Ughh, A-Rod. Another one of your strangely intangible lists again. Remember back in 2001, when you asked for “peace of mind?” What the hell? You want to be accepted as a Yankee? Try asking for .330/51/142, with a .999 fielding percentage, and a playoff appearance that doesn’t have you looking like a $252 million deer in headlights. And why don’t you stop talking for a while, champ.
My wish list from A-Rod: Socks. I don’t trust you to come through with anything big.

Isiah Thomas
His list: A clue.
Says I: What, you don’t want another shoot-first point guard? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…sigh.
My wish list from Isiah: Besides like, you leaving? How about a home win? Or, better yet, a home game that simply doesn’t end in World War III? Is that too much to ask?

Eddy Curry
His list: Three milkshakes, a super sized No. 3 value meal, a dozen donuts, a regular No. 3 value meal, and a diet Pepsi.
Says I: What’s that, breakfast? You’ll get nothing and like it!
My wish list from Eddy: You don’t need to buy me anything – I know you’re strapped for cash. Wink, wink. Just give me the treadmill that’s gathering dust in your basement. I have a “Spring Lake 5” to train for.

Eric Mangini
His list: I’ll have what Eddy’s having.
Says I: Okay, instead of that, how about an oversized, official NY Jets hooded sweatshirt that will cover up those jello jigglers as you’re roaming the sidelines?
My wish list from Coach Mangini: Call Bill Belichick your bitch. Ya’ know, for fun.

Paul Lo Duca
His list: The over on the Ohio State/Florida game, with $100 action points.
Says I: Uh, do you really need ME for that? Have you ever heard of the Internet, Paul?
My wish list from Paul: Some insider advice on the 2007 Kentucky Derby.

Bode Miller
His list: Another chance, at the 2010 Olympics.
Says I: What the…Bode Miller? How the heck did YOU get in here? Nobody’s heard from you in the past 11 months.
Says Bode: I heard there was gonna be Grey Goose punch.
Says I: Paulie, get this guy outta here, will ya’?

Albert Pujols
His list: My reputation as a good guy back.
Says I: Too late. Your arrogant surliness has rubbed too many people the wrong way. I think you’ve been hanging around LaRussa for too long. But I’ll tell you what – how about some B12? Just kidding! I’m kidding, right? I’ll get you a sweater.
My wish list from Albert: Your birth certificate. Twenty-six my ass.

Andy Pettitte
His list: To be home with my family. Wait, no! Sixteen million dollars.
Says I: Good call. Being home with your family is soooo 2004, am I right? But, you already got your 16 mil. You can’t fool me, Andy Pettitte. I’ll get you a gift certificate for a nice romantic dinner for two at Ruth’s Chris. Just you and Roger.
My wish list from Andy: Put down the ‘roids, get your act together, and try not to blow this.

Tiki Barber
His list: To win the Super Bowl, retire, and then parlay my good looks and intellect into my very own talk show, where I will interview important political people. And also do paternity tests.
Says I: Everything except the Super Bowl is inevitable anyway, so I don’t really have to do anything there. But you should start working on your portfolio, so I’ll get you a dope tie. And some body oil.
My wish list for Tiki: That Super Bowl thing would be real nice, so maybe you could shut up for like two seconds, and stop undermining your coach long enough to make it there. Oh, and winning a game would help, too.

Greg Schiano
His list: An extra 500 g’s annually, and three more scholarships. Then, watch the magic happen.
Says I: Anything for you, Greg! The world is yours! Well, New Jersey is yours, and that’s a start. Who wants Staten Island anyway, am I right?
My wish list for Coach Schiano: A Texas Bowl victory, and more chances to watch great, local college football for years to come. Also, maybe you’d be interested in coaching the basketball team? Hmmm?

Sports Superfriends…Unite!

Professional athletes are just like you and I, except for their extreme athleticism, lifestyle, ridiculously inflated bank accounts, bodies, and overall perception of life itself. But except for that, they’re pretty much just like us. So, like us, athletes need companionship, and not just from groupies. Athletes need companionship from other athletes. Not in a “Nomar Garciaparra and Mia Hamm kind of way” - although that’s cool too, sort of – but in a “Hey, would you like to grab a beer and a burger and talk about the coach behind his back?” kind of way.

It’s hard to believe sometimes, but athletes are often friends with each other. Except for Barry Bonds, who never really had many friends, except for the close group of “yes-men” who are currently selling him out to avoid jail time. Not good times for him. But in general, athletes are buddies. In that respect, let’s take a closer look at the bestest friends in all of sports. Because that’s what we like to do here on this blog – bring people together. Or, more accurately, discuss in detail people who have already been brought together by forces outside of our control. Whatever.

No. 5: Melky Cabrera & Robinson Cano. By far, the most talented “Melky and Robinson” connection going in sports today. Maybe ever, unless you count Cliff Robinson’s reported affection for a stripper named “Melky Smooth” back in the early 90’s. (Of course, I’m kidding. Cliff Robinson and a stripper? C’mon…) These two were brought together by the fact that they were the only two guys in the Yankee farm system not traded over the past three years for crappier, more expensive players. They are always sitting in the dugout together, and laughing it up, most likely in Spanish, causing Chein-Ming Wang to wonder if they are making fun of him. And if that’s not enough, every Yankee announcer (all 23 of them) consistently beats us over the head with stories of what great friends they are. My favorite: after a game in which he hit a grand slam, Melky was seen laying on a couch in the clubhouse talking on his cell phone to Cano, who was in Tampa Bay at the time rehabbing an injury. That’s the same exact manner in which I used to have conversations with girls when I was in sixth grade, except the phone had a curly cord attached to it. Said Robinson, “Grand slam, huh? Cool. But do you LIKE her, like her?”

No. 4. Shaquille O’Neal & Dwyane Wade. You would think that a pair of guys who just collaborated to win the NBA title would be higher on this list, but I’m still not completely sold on them being soul mates. Shaq has too much of a history of becoming disenchanted with his talented guard-like teammates. Nevertheless, if we’re basing this friendship on their mutual (media-fueled) admiration for each other, then this is the best sports friendship of all time.

Wade: Shaq is simply the best player in the NBA. I’m just happy to be his teammate.
Shaq: I told him, I said, “D-Wade – you’re the best player in the league. I’m just here to ride your coattails.”
Wade: No way, Shaq – you’re the best player in the league.
Shaq: No, you are!
Wade: No, YOU are!
Shaq: No way, D-Wade. You’re Batman, and I’m Robin.
Wade: No, YOU’RE Batman!
Shaq: Come here, gimme a hug little guy.

No. 3: Derek Jeter & Jorge Posada. This friendship manages to fly slightly under the radar in the realm of sports friendships, but it’s a solid one. Like Melky and Robinson, Jeter and Posada are always next to each other in the Yankee dugout, whether it be on the bench, leaning against the railing, or at the water cooler. (One time in 1999, Jeff Nelson tried to weasel his way in between them on the bench, with horrific results. He was never the same after that. Also, I made that up. I mean, Nelson really hasn’t been the same pitcher since 1999, but I don’t think it’s because of that. I think it’s karma for his flat-top/mustache combination.) During all the Yankee batting practices I’ve seen over the past decade, Jeter and Posada are always the ones playing long toss, warming each other up. Always. But unlike Melky and Robinson, their friendship is a more mature one, not based on giggles and horsing around. It’s more of an unspoken bond. A simple head nod will do, as if to say, “I got you, dog.” Honestly, this friendship always fascinated me, because catchers tend to be close to the pitchers, not the middle infielders. Plus, Posada is a family man, and Jeter is a notorious man about town who has yet to settle down. I wonder if Jeter has ever had to crash on Jorge’s couch after one too many Long Island Iced Teas. He would probably wake up all wrapped in a nice blanket, with a bucket next to him, just in case. I got you, dog.

No. 2: Roger Clemens & Andy Pettitte. Let me first acknowledge that six out of our 10 total friends became close within the Yankee organization. I don’t know if that means that the Yankee clubhouse tends to be clique-ish, or if Joe Torre has enacted the “buddy system” as a means of players getting to know one another during spring training. Either way, it’s kind of weird. And it doesn’t get much weirder than Pettitte and Clemens, probably the most public, yet one-sided friendship on the list. I think it all started with a simple question: “Wanna work out?” From there, fate took over. Apparently, Pettitte became an active part of Clemens’ “legendary” offseason workout regimen, which included weights, running up stadium bleachers, resistance training, and definitely not steroids. From there, the two became bestest friends. After all, they had more in common than just a love for the medicine ball. Both were from Texas, and both were pitchers, and both only shaved twice a week. When Clemens came out of retirement the first time, he went to the Astros not only because Houston was close to home, but because his good buddy Pettitte was there. And also for the millions and millions of dollars. Of course, Pettitte sort of plays the little brother role in this relationship. After a very poor first half of ’06, many expected Pettitte to start pitching better when Clemens came out of retirement (again) to rejoin Houston, which kind of doesn’t make any sense. If Andy Pettitte cannot focus without Roger Clemens around, then I say this friendship has gone too far. Nevertheless, at least Clemens will always have a friend, because he doesn’t have too many fans.

No. 1: Steve Francis & Cuttino Mobley. By leaps and bounds, the best sports friendship going. And by “best” I’m definitely not referring to talent. It just means that these two really, really, really like each other. The two guards originally hit it off as members of the Houston Rockets. They would bond through a mutual hatred of Jeff Van Gundy, who seemed to despise their game plan of throwing ally-oops to each other for 48 minutes, especially when there was a 9-foot tall Chinese guy in the middle of the paint, waiting to touch the ball. But although these two remain bestest friends, this story is bittersweet, as the two men are the only members of our list who are no longer teammates. Francis was traded to Orlando, eventually leading to this famous quote from “Stevie Franchise” in an ESPN feature on their friendship:

“I can’t put it into words,” he said. “Playing with a guy, living with a guy, just knowing that every day when I wake up that’s something I can count on, that I’m going to be in practice or in a game with Cuttino.
“Him not being here is going to be tough for me. I don’t know what I’m going to wake up for.”

Let the record show that I did not make that quote up. Seriously. These guys are just that bestest of friends. By the way, I could probably think of a few things off the top of my head that would force me to get out of bed in the morning if I had the good fortune of an NBA salary. For starters, a silk bathrobe. I always wanted one of those. But that’s just me. Besides, this friendship has the potential of having a happy ending. Maybe the Knicks will sign Cuttino Mobley. After all, they do need another guard.



Word.

A love story starring Tiger Woods

Thursday
Announcer No. 1: Hello everyone, and welcome to the 2006 British Open here on TNT! I’m your host, Tigerlover43, and next to me here is my partner, Woodsrules89. We’re using our AOL names for these next two days because names like “John” and “Bob” are just plain boring, and do little to represent our affection for the best golfer to ever to walk the face of the earth ever. And without further ado, let’s get down to business here. Woodsrules, you saw Tiger yesterday during his practice round. How did he look?

Announcer No. 2: Vintage Tiger, Tigerlover. He looked so calm out there. I lost count after the first few holes, but I’m pretty sure he had eight holes-in-one. That’s gotta be like, a record or something. The competition better watch out!

Announcer No. 1: No doubt about that. Speaking of Tiger, here he is on the first tee. He nails his driver…Wow!…That shot must have been 400 yards! What power! It’s a little to the left…into the gallery actually…and it appears as though someone’s been hit in the head. Yeah, somebody has definitely been hit. Lot of blood…the ambulance has arrived. My guess is that Tiger probably meant to do that. I’m sure he never liked that guy.

Announcer No. 2: He might be a relative of one of Tiger’s competitors. I think Tiger Woods just sent out a message to the rest of the guys here at the Open, and that message was: I’m Tiger Woods, and I’m here to win this thing, and I WILL crush whoever gets in the way of my balls. I mean, I feel bad for the guy, but he should have known better than to mess with Tiger Woods.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Friday
Announcer No. 1: Okay, we’re back here at the 2006 British Open on the thirteenth hole. Tiger is now seven shots back of the leader, some guy. Here he is on his approach shot…a beautiful shot…it’s in the water. Tiger does not look happy. Horrible job by Tiger’s caddie, who’s just standing there like an idiot. Tiger is cursing him out – as well he should be. Hey – remember when Tiger won this thing last year, Woodsrules?

Announcer No. 2: How can I forget? What a thing of beauty. As far as I’m concerned, Tiger wins this tournament every year.

Announcer No. 1: He sure does. Now let’s go down to the 18th, where our colleague is following the action as Sergio Garcia putts for birdie.

Announcer No. 2: Wait, wait! Ya’ know what, let’s just stay here. Sergio’s not winning this thing – I think we all know that. Hey Jim – can we stay here? Yeah? Alright, we’re staying put.

Announcer No. 1: Nice call, Woodsrules. Nobody really wants to watch other golfers anyway, am I right? Of course I’m right. Here’s Tiger for par…ohhhh…his putt misses left, sitting him now eight shots back of the lead. The greens are just NOT fair today.

Announcer No. 2: They’re not, Tigerlover. All this “tigerproofing” of courses is really causing Woods to miss putts that he usually makes with his eyes closed. I hope these other golfers can sleep at night knowing that the PGA is basically trying to hand them tour victories. On the bright side, Tiger is only eight shots back, leaving him in prime position to win this thing on Sunday, if he makes the cut. If I’m a golfer on that leader board right now, I do NOT want to look behind me. I might get eaten by a Tiger.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday
Mike Tirico: Good morning everyone, and welcome to Royal Liverpool, site of the 2006 British Open, where Tiger Woods sits just 10 shots back of the lead. Curtis, I’ll ask you what everybody in the world is asking themselves this morning – what does Tiger have to do to win this thing?

Curtis Strange: Just keep doing what he’s doing, Mike. Eventually, the other golfers will fold under the pressure of Tiger Woods, leaving the door open for his 11th major victory.

Tirico: That is excellent analysis. Let’s check in on Tiger now, as he tees off today on his quest for an 11th major. He’s got the driver…it’s a gorgeous tee shot…and it lands right smack in the middle of the fairway. Just an unbelievable shot by Tiger right there.

Strange: There aren’t too many golfers on tour that can hit the fairway like that right off the tee.

Tirico: I should also mention that Tiger looks spectacular today in his hunter green Nike vest, and white collared Nike shirt. Of course, he won’t be wearing his famous red ensemble until tomorrow, Sunday, when he’ll undoubtedly be hoisting up another huge trophy, as his wife looks on. His wife is hot, Curtis.

Strange: Totally hot.

Tirico: He’s a lucky guy. Actually, I should say, she’s a lucky girl. I mean, no one would know who the heck she was if it weren’t for Tiger, ya’ know? I mean yeah, she’s good-looking and all, but I could walk down the street and find a good-looking girl. He’s Tiger freakin’ Woods!

Strange: You’re right, Mike. I mean, who is she? She’s got as many majors as Sergio Garcia.

Tirico: Wow, wow, wow, Curtis. Wow! That was a zinger. High five. No seriously, high five.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sunday
Tirico: Welcome all to this rather sad day here at the British Open, where the top story is, “Tiger Woods: Probably not gonna win this thing.” Tiger is already about to finish up his last round of the Open, and if he can make this par putt, he will enter the clubhouse at +4, a full 12 strokes off the lead. It seems incomprehensible that Tiger Woods will not win the British Open. Is it even possible? Curtis, I turn to you…

Strange: Ya’ know Mike, I’m not going to count out Tiger just yet. The leader of this tournament, that Vijay guy, is infamous for playing inconsistent and oftentimes “wacky” golf come Sunday. If he and the other 29 golfers ahead of Woods on the leader board double-bogey every hole, then Tiger still has a shot at this thing.

(Three hours later)

Tirico: And with that 20-foot putt, Vijay Singh wins the 2006 British Open, defeating Ernie Els by a single stroke. A scintillating finish made mundane by the obvious absence of Tiger Woods, who could only watch the action from his Buick Skylark. Let’s go down to the eighteenth green now, where Lisa Salter is with our new champion. Lisa?…

Salter: Thanks, Mike. I’m here with Vijay Singh, 2006 British Open champ. Vijay, does the fact that Tiger Woods could not really get it going during this tournament cheapen your victory at all?

Vijay: Ummm, no. Not really. I mean, I just won the British Open. I just barely defeated a fabulous golfer in Ernie Els to capture my fourth major. If anything, that question just cheapened my victory.

Salter: What do you think Tiger was doing wrong this weekend? Was it his swing, or more mental?

Vijay: I don’t really care what Tiger was doing wrong. I just won the freakin’ British Open! Do you have any questions about me? Do you see this trophy? It has MY name it! Right he…hey, wait a second…this trophy is engraved with Tiger Woods’ name! What the heck is going on here?!

Salter: A spectacular day at Royal Liverpool after all, Mike. Back to you…

Tirico: Thanks Lisa. That does it for us. For continuing coverage of Tiger Woods’ amazing weekend, tune into the Golf Channel, where they’ll have expert, shot-by-shot analysis of Tiger’s courageous effort. For all of us here at ABC, we thank you for watching. We leave you with some footage of Tiger Woods’ British Open victory last year, when all was right with the world. I'm Mike Tirico. Holla.

Trade me now…or else

I’m just going to go ahead and put this out there – I want to be traded.

I know, I know. I don’t actually operate within a field that can cater to such requests. And, I really like where I’m at anyway, to be honest. But still – I want to be traded.

I don’t care where either. Send me somewhere where I can write captions for brochures advertising toaster ovens. Send me where the weather is warmer, so I can write outside. Send me where the weather is colder, so I can buy those popular furry boots. Send me somewhere that I can be reunited with a former editor, with whom I had a great working relationship in some past life. Send me closer to home, because this particular part of New Jersey scares me. Send me where we can win…NOW. Win what, you ask? I don’t know. Just trade me. And if you refuse to trade me, I will continue to churn out mediocre columns in my sleep, like the one you are currently reading.

Now, if this were, say, professional sports, this request would immediately be followed by agents, general managers, coaches, teammates, equipment managers, and the like, scrambling around in an attempt to appease my wishes. Why? Because I said so. Duh.

Now, listen. I know it’s a tired song and dance to compare the professional sporting world to, ya’ know, real life. I’m well aware that it’s an entirely different atmosphere, and I’ve never been envious of the type of fame and scrutiny that comes with it. I don’t care about how much money athletes make (unless they suck). I can deal with the arrogance and I can even deal with the annual “labor agreement” that threatens to halt play of whatever sport’s turn it is to be involved in a such a mess. Whatever. But this “trade-me-now-or-else” trend is just plain ridiculous.

Who hasn’t thrown their hat in the ring during the current “I want to be traded” fiasco? It’s a seasonal thing for Boston’s Manny Ramirez, and he never even has a concrete reason as to why. Miguel Tejada wants out of Baltimore because he doesn’t like the way things are going there. Terrell Owens wanted out of San Fran, and when he was traded to Baltimore, he got his way out of there too. Ron Artest wanted to be traded from the team that stuck with him after he went into the stands to beat up some fans. And he got his wish. (But just barely, because that situation was T.O.-esque: “Trade me now! Wait – not to THAT team!”) Last year, Vince Carter wanted out of Toronto so bad that, when he wasn’t purposely missing games with fake injuries, he was launching shots 10 feet behind the 3-point line, and then miraculously not getting back on defense. Basically, he blackmailed the Raptors. But hey – whatever. All is fair in love, war, and when you’re tired of playing for your current team, regardless of what your contract may state.

What drives me nuts is not even the fact that athletes are demanding trades left and right. What is inconceivable to me is that franchises around the country are acting on these disgruntled whims, as if they were orders sent from some kind of higher power. The Red Sox front office tried in vain to trade Ramirez, a guy who consistently drives in 140 runs, never gets in trouble, and helped the team win their first World Series in 86 years. The 49ers were so ecstatic to rid themselves of Owens that they traded him for…umm, I have no idea what they got for him. Yes – I have no idea what the 49ers received in return for arguably the best wide receiver in football. Who did the Nets give up to get Carter, who currently averages about 60 points per game? I don’t remember. But, at least Carter is happy, because that’s all that matters.

And at least Herm Edwards is happy, the coach who clamored his way out of New York because the grass was greener in Kansas City. Yep – the Jets traded their COACH for a draft pick because he wanted to go somewhere else. This “me first” trend has gotten so bad that even coaches aren’t immune to it. And there’s even a bonus in it for them (the coaches), since it’s “politically incorrect” for someone in a position of authority to express their displeasure – they get to lie about it.

The inmates really are running the asylum. When does it stop?

What is most troubling about the current atmosphere of professional sports is this: the minute an athlete, or now a coach, has to face some adversity, they want out. If the team isn’t winning, they want out. If they don’t get along with their teammates (Shaq doesn’t even get a pass here), they want out. If they don’t like the coach, or the manager, or the general manager, or the owner, they want out. Worst of all, if they feel that they’re not making enough money under their current CONTRACT, they want out.

What is a contract, anyway?

And speaking of contracts, mine is about to expire shortly. And by “shortly” I mean in two years. I’d like to renegotiate. I signed it under extreme duress, and at the time, I wasn’t aware of how much money other writers were making. Do you have any IDEA how much John Grisham is worth?! But, if you don’t want to pay me, at least trade me to someone who will. That’s the least you can do. And I suggest that you do it, because you don’t want to be around me when I’m not happy. Let’s just say that I lose my motivation.

In fact, now that I think about it, I feel some carpel tunnel coming on.

Third annual ‘Big Time Sports’ awards

Welcome to the Third Annual “Big Time Sports” end-of-year awards! I’m glad you could make it. As always, these awards are completely random, and were voted on by a one-man committee of sports experts. Also, these awards, like the baseball trade deadline, are intangible; so if you’re a winner, please don’t contact me in hopes of picking something up for your trophy case. We don’t have that kind of budget here. So without further ado, on with the show!

Strangest Moment of the Year Award

Terrell Owens doing half-naked sit-ups in his driveway. What was that all about? Owens hosted an impromptu press conference at his house in August, which ended with him doing shirtless crunches on his asphalt driveway for no apparent reason. I wonder if Terrell Owens’ neighbors are going to miss him. I can just picture T.O. walking out of his house in the morning to get the newspaper, wearing only boxers and a camouflage bathrobe, and waving to his neighbors as they peaked through the blinds. He needs a reality show. And don’t act like you wouldn’t watch.

Runner up: Anything that involved R. Kelly.

Worst Year Ever Award

Sidney Ponson. The best part of former Baltimore Orioles’ pitcher Sidney Ponson’s year was his ERA, which was 6.21. Ponson began 2005 in jail, because on Christmas Day of 2004, he punched out a judge in his native Aruba. Then he got a DUI. Then he lost 11 games for the woeful Orioles. Then he got another DUI. Then he got released from the woeful Orioles. Two weeks ago he was sentenced to five days in jail for his most recent DUI. All in all, Ponson began and ended 2005 in jail, and in between that, was one of baseball’s worst pitchers. Things can only get better at this point for Ponson. Let’s hope.

Runner up: Colorado football coach Gary Barnett

Most Inevitable Coaching Change That Ended Very Weirdly Award

Pat Riley replaces Stan Van Gundy in Miami. Riley, the president of the Miami Heat, was this close to relieving Van Gundy of his duties before the season even started, but ultimately decided to keep the guy who led the Heat to the Eastern Conference Finals in the spring. But after an 11-10 start, Van Gundy abruptly “stepped down,” citing “family time” as the reason. Apparently, Van Gundy suddenly realized that he had a family at the same exact time Shaquille O’Neal returned from injury. Also, Riley tried desperately to convince Van Gundy to stay, probably saying things like, “You’re sure about this decision, Stan?” while several armed men wearing black sunglasses formed a circle around Van Gundy’s desk.

Runner up: Mike Martz, embattled coach of the St. Louis Rams, goes on medical leave for a heart condition, tries to call in plays from his hospital bed, but Rams’ management refuses his calls. Meanwhile, some guy named “Vitt” coaches the team, and by “coaches,” I mean, “was on the sideline during the games.”

Third place: Larry Brown leaving Detroit for a Knicks’ job he started interviewing for while his Pistons were still in the playoffs. Gotta love Larry Brown. Or hate him. Either one.

Best Facial Hair Improvement Award

Jake Plummer’s mustache. In 2004, sans mustache: 20 interceptions. In 2005, with mustache (and then beard): six interceptions. Enough said.

Runner up: Pau Gasol’s beard. Instantly transforms Memphis Grizzlies’ player from a soft European weakling, to a blue collar, wood-chopping workhorse.

Quote of the Year Award

“It can be very therapeutic.”
- Alex Rodriguez, on therapy.

Thanks for that nugget of knowledge, A-Rod. He would go on to say that his childhood dream was to become a podiatrist, until he realized how much podiatry was involved.

Runner up: “Jim Haslet should be considered for ‘Coach of the Year,’”
- ESPN’s Joe Thiesman, during a “Sunday Night Football” telecast, referring to the coach of the then 2-8 Saints.

Play of the Year Award

Derek Jeter’s diving catch over Robinson Cano. Sometimes I’m not so sure if everything Jeter does is THAT amazing, or if, as a society in general, we are so enthralled with the entity that is Derek Jeter, that maybe – just maybe – his accolades are sometimes overblown. But then I watch this catch, and I’m reminded that he really is that great.

Runner up: Each time Reggie Bush touched the ball against Fresno State and UCLA.

Game of the Year Award

USC beats Notre Dame. Any game that features a) a million points, b) a huge late fourth-down conversion to keep the game alive, c) Reggie Bush, d) a 32-game winning streak on the line, e) a national title at stake, f) a revitalized, legendary college football program with an excellent coach, g) a game-winning, fourth-down touchdown play that ended with last year’s Heisman trophy winner being literally pushed into the endzone by this year’s Heisman trophy winner, and h) a confused and delirious Pete Carroll running around giving man-hugs, will ALWAYS get my vote for game of the year. Always.

Runner up: Kentucky versus Michigan State, NCAA Tournament.

Third Place: Game Five, NLCS (Albert Pujols’ home run).

Worst SportsCenter Gimmick That Further Serves to Replace Actual Highlights and Drive Me Crazy Award

Fake baseball press conferences. Yes, fake baseball press conferences. In November, ESPN started this thing where baseball commentator (and former Mets’ GM) Steve Phillips pretended like he was the general manager of a baseball team – say, the Houston Astros – and then held an actual fake press conference, where the “members of the press” were simply other ESPN anchors, who would ask him questions about the Astros that he had no business answering. A few things here. First, if you’re flipping through the channels and you come across this, you think it’s breaking news. So if you’re an Astros’ fan, you immediately think that your team just signed Manny Ramirez or something. But in reality, nothing happened, because it’s fake. Secondly, why? What is the point of this? I don’t even like watching real press conferences – why would I watch a fake one? Thirdly, if I wanted fake news, I’d watch CBS (bum-dum, ching!) And fourthly, how ‘bout some freakin’ HIGHLIGHTS?!

Runner up: (Tie) Pedro Gomez’s, season-long, live updates on the progress of Barry Bonds’ knee, and…inexplicably ending “Pardon the Interruption” during “SportsCenter” rather than at the end of “Pardon the Interruption.”

The Most Success With Somebody Else’s Players Award

Roy Williams, North Carolina. Williams’ won his very first NCAA title with the Tar Heels, which finally proved what a great coach he is, except for the fact that he won the title with former NC coach Matt Dougherty’s recruits. And now, with his own players coming into the fold, Williams and the Tar Heels began the 2005-06 season unranked. Whatever. A title is a title, right Roy?

Runner up: Charlie Weiss, Notre Dame.

The “That Doesn’t Sound Right – Are You Sure?” Award

The Rutgers football team goes to a bowl game.

Runner up: The Chicago White Sox win the World Series.

Third Place: The Cincinnati Bengals win the AFC North.

Nickname of the Year Award

A-Vlad. This one is an interchangeable nickname for both Alex Rodriguez and Vladimir Guerrero that originated out of the fact that both of these guys had absolutely brutal postseasons. It was almost as if they were competing with each other to see who could play worse. I’m not sure who coined this one (possibly my favorite writer, Bill Simmons, or one of his readers), but it’s one of my all-time favorites. It’s unique in that it only captures a specific time period, unless of course, these two are able to simultaneously achieve such a degree of ineptitude again. I sure hope not.

Runner up: The Cooler. Amazingly enough, also for Alex Rodriguez. Used by his former Texas Rangers’ teammates to describe how A-Rod tends to cool off any team he goes to. Ouch.

The Best Athlete Who Is Currently in a Venezuelan Jail Facing Attempted Murder Charges, And Also Whose Mother Was Kidnapped, But Then Rescued Award

Ugueth Urbina. This was a tough one, so congrats, Ugueth. Not sure if we have a runner up for this.

The good, bad, and ugly of sports TV

I’m convinced that there’s actually more people out there TELLING us about sports than there are people actually playing sports. I mean, if you think about it, at least half of all retired professional athletes enter some kind of media field (the other half go to jail, or own an Arena Football team), and if you add that to the “journalists” and other “media folk” who went “to school” to get a job, then that’s a lot of people. And in case you’re wondering, I don’t count myself among these media moguls, because I don’t get paid for this, and nobody knows who I am, and I’m also not on TV, because apparently, I’m not “TV material,” or, as one person put it, “smart.” Whatever. Anyway, with such a surplus of sports media personalities, there’s bound to be some good ones, and some bad ones, and some really bad ones. So, because I have nothing better to do, I’m going to tell YOU who’s good and who’s not at telling US about sports. But because there are so many, I’m limiting myself to ESPN, the Worldwide Leader in Talking Heads.

The Good

Peter Gammons. Probably THE best baseball media personality today. Gammons does it all - he writes, reports, investigates, and is a regular on ESPN’s “Baseball Tonight.” Nobody uncovers more inside information than Gammons, and to boot, he comes across as a really down to earth guy, who would talk baseball at a bar with someone like me the same way he would with a real, “smart,” media celebrity, like Connie Chung, or someone who likes baseball. The one knock on Gammons is his bias in coverage towards the Red Sox (he used to report for them) and because of that, the Yankees. But hey, I have no problem with that. A lot of things that happen in baseball revolve around the Red Sox and Yankees, and nobody reports it all better than Gammons, which is why he was just recently inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Ron Jaworski. Does anybody so obviously love what they do as much as Jaws? You can’t wipe the smile off this guy’s face, which says a lot, considering he played in Philadelphia for all of those years, where egos go to die. Nobody – and I mean NOBODY – can break a football game down like Jaworski. He can tell you where the waterboy was standing during the crucial third-and-long of the Colts-Chiefs game, and how it affected the outcome. If anything, he likes his job a little TOO much.

Greg Anthony. Calm, cool, and collected, Anthony is by far ESPN’s most engaging and knowledgeable NBA analyst. He’s so good that it’s easy to forget the bad boy reputation he had as a player.

Suzy Kolber. The only woman on earth who can talk about football without wearing a bikini, and have guys listen. And of course, she handled Joe Namath’s public advances on her with grace and professionalism, which is more than I can say for myself, because I had to slap him.

The Bad

Stuart Scott. Few people conduct a more awkward interview than Scott, who tries waaaaay too hard to connect to the youth and sacrifices his credibility in the process. Asking John Madden whether or not Priest Holmes is going to be “off the hizzle tonight” doesn’t necessarily earn him the respect of his viewers. When he hosts a studio show, things always get out of control. There’s yelling, laughing, and everyone is talking at the same time because Scott gets wrapped up in it all, instead of diffusing it like a good host should.

Larry Bowa. I don’t know how Bowa got a job on “Baseball Tonight,” but I’ve noticed that ESPN only features him on the show like twice a month, and that’s probably because he’s so awful. It seems as though he’s trying to escape his managerial reputation as intense and fiery by being as laid back as possible. I think they have to poke him with a stick when they go on the air. “Hey Larry – wake up! We’re rolling! No, over here…the camera is over here!”

John Clayton: Not because he’s a bad journalist or anything, just because he looks exactly like Mr. Mackey from “South Park.” I’m always waiting for something along the lines of, “And that’s why head coach Marvin Lewis may move him to cornerback…Mmmkaay.” One of these days, his head is just going to float off into the atmosphere somewhere. Plus, he’s always sitting in front of some fake background that’s supposed to represent the city that he’s reporting from, when he’s probably just sitting in his mother’s basement without any pants on.

The Ugly

Stephen A. Smith. About three weekends ago, I woke up on a Saturday morning, turned on the television (which was already on ESPN) and dropped the remote on the couch. The second the TV actually came on, I had to lunge onto the couch, grab the remote, and quickly turn down the volume. If I hadn’t, everyone within three square miles of our house would have had their windows crashed in from the sound. The reason? Stephen A. Smith was on the tube, SCREAMING, as is his custom, at the top of his lungs. Apparently, this guy is under the impression that the only way he can get his point across is by yelling as loudly as possible, while looking very angry. That’s how we are supposed to know how serious he is. If Ron Jaworski beams joyously on TV, then Smith is his polar opposite, appearing as if he really wants to hurt the person who dares to disagree with what he is screaming about. Really though – sometimes I think he’s mad at ME. When I’m watching ESPN, I usually prefer to just sit in front of the TV and eat my Apple Jacks in peace, but when Stephen A. Smith is on, I have to wear my earplugs, and I eventually end up hiding under the sofa. That’s NOT the kind of sports analysis I’m necessarily looking for.

Woody Paige. Paige is all that is wrong with sports journalism today. He can be found on “Around the Horn” and “Cold Pizza” daily, saying something completely outlandish just for the sake of saying something completely outlandish. Before the NFC Championship Game this past season, Paige’s “analysis” consisted of him telling the world to expect Falcons’ southpaw quarterback Michael Vick to throw the ball RIGHT HANDED to confuse the Eagles’ defense. I mean, are you kidding me?! Who says something like that? He’ll say anything just to bring attention his way, and it’s gotten to the point where you’re not even sure if he’s being serious or not. If he has something on Stephen A., it’s an endearing nature. If Stephen A. has something on him, it’s credibility. But I could do without either of them.

And that’s my analysis of those who provide analysis. Obviously, I am a very bitter person who could only wish to make as much money as these people, all the while being able to mingle with the world’s greatest athletes. Sigh. Maybe I need to yell more. Or maybe I should have been nicer to Mr. Namath. He did say that he “knows people.”

Golden Bear takes a seat, attacks writer

With the 2005 British Open getting underway on Thursday, it's time to say goodbye to Jack Nicklaus, who, a couple of months ago, announced that this would be his last tournament, except for maybe some other tournaments that he will play in, whatever that means. Needless to say, Nicklaus has been in high demand these days, which is why I wasn't that surprised when he never answered my e-mail requesting an interview, especially considering that the subject title of my e-mail to him was "Yo, Jack — holla back." Bad choice on my part. Nevertheless, Jack's "people" have given me permission to print what I think he would say with regards to several important topics. And by "Jack's people" I mean no one in particular. No matter. Let's get started.

Me: Hey Jack! Good to see you. You look much slimmer in person.

Jack: What's that supposed to mean?

Me: Nothing. Anyway, according to my notes, you used to be pretty good at golf. Is that true?

Jack: Well, I don't want to brag, but I DID win 18 major tournaments.

Me: Wow — that's a lot. But what do you consider to be a "major" tournament? Would it be one with like, free hot dogs at the end?

Jack: Ummm, actually, it's nothing I personally consider to be "major." The PGA has defined the four "major" tournaments as The Masters, The British Open, The U.S. Open, and the PGA Championship. I'm glad to see you've done your research for this interview.

Me: Was that a zinger? I think it was. I'm glad we can joke around like that, Jack. Actually, you and I have a lot in common. For example, we both have two first names. Isn't that weird?

Jack: Uhhh, yeah. I guess.

Me: Okay, let's get down to business. Why have you chosen the British Open as your final tournament? Don't you think it's unfair to give only British people the pleasure of seeing you play one last time? What about us Americans, who supported you for all these years by clapping ever so softly after a nice chip shot?

Jack: Well, I certainly didn't mean to slight anybody. I chose the British Open because the St. Andrews course holds a special place in my heart. I've had much success here in the past — I won here in '70 and '78 — and it just feels like the perfect place to leave it all behind.

Me: Would you say that St. Andrew is the patron saint of courses you like to play on?

Jack: Uh, I don't think I'd put it that way, but I do like playing here.

Me: When you say "here" do you mean St. Andrews, or my basement, which is where we actually are right now?

Jack: St. Andrews. Your basement actually smells like a litter box.

Me: Listen — I had an idea that I wanted to run by you. When you're walking the 18th hole for the last time, why don't you carry a torch that says "World's Greatest Golfer" instead of your putter, and meet up with Tiger Woods on the green, and pass it to him as a symbolic gesture that you are passing the torch to him, but instead of "symbolically," the announcers can say "literally." And then you can hug each other, but make sure that you don't catch on fire, because that would ruin the whole thing. What do you think?

Jack: That's probably the worst idea I've ever heard. For one, I'm in no position to name Tiger Woods the "greatest golfer in the world." It would be a slap in the face to all of the other great golfers on tour. And this isn't the freakin' Olympics — torches aren't normally allowed on golf courses. Plus, I don't want to make a spectacle of myself like that. It's just a bad idea all around.

Me: Are you shooting down my idea because you hate Tiger Woods, and because you're worried that he will break your precious record of 18 majors?

Jack: No, I shot down your idea because it stinks. And I don't hate Tiger Woods. Records are made to be broken, and if he does ever break my record of 18 majors, I'll be right there to congratulate him.

Me: With a torch?

Jack: No — with a handshake. Forget about the torch already.

Me: Is it true that another reason you are retiring is because you are sick and tired of people confusing you with Jack Nicholson?

Jack: People don't actually confuse me with Jack Nicholson — they just mix up the names sometimes. It's not like people are stopping me on the street and saying, "I loved you in 'Batman.'"

Me: Yeah, me too. Jack — you won The Masters in 1986 at the old age of...however old you were then. But you're much, much older now. Do you think you can actually win the British Open this year, and quiet all of the critics who have complained that you haven't won a major in almost 20 years?

Jack: Well, I think that my critics realize that I'm well past my prime now, and nobody feasibly expects me to win the Open this year, including myself. I'll be happy just to make the cut. Although it would be nice to go out on top! (laughs)

Me: Like Jay-Z, right?

Jack: Who?

Me: Nevermind. Anyway, it's obvious that you've had a brilliant career, and it's hard to believe that this very weekend, we'll be witnessing your final tournament on the PGA tour. I think I speak for the entire golf-loving community when I say that we're going to miss you, Jack Nicholson.

Jack: That's "Nicklaus."

Me: Hey — you have two first names!

Golf — The sport of kings…and guys like us

There are certain things that you start to do as you get older. For example, you inadvertently become much less hesitant to waltz around the gym locker room naked, which often leads to sports-related conversations with other naked people. You start waking up earlier on the weekends to do weird things like “build a birdhouse,” and you begin watching “the news” at 6 o’clock instead of reruns of “Charles in Charge.” This is all normal, so I’m told. But one of the great parts about getting older is the inherent and ever-increasing appreciation for the game of golf, which, like random back spasms, only comes with age.

Now, I don’t consider myself a veteran of the aging process (I’m just 26), but as a kid, I was all about the big three — baseball, basketball, and football. And I still am, for the most part. But I married into a golf-playing family (my wife and mother-in-law being the only non-golfers), and after initially shunning their love for such a pointless activity, I slowly began to appreciate the game. Of course, this was mostly the result of marrying into an Italian golf-playing family, which left me no option other than adaptation, or I would, as they put it, “never eat again.” Nevertheless, the sport of golf is growing on me, and I can’t get it off.

I, like many young people, was steadfast in my opposition to golf. It’s too uppity — only attracting white, wealthy suburbanites with nothing better to do. It’s too expensive to play, too boring to watch. The announcers whisper. Mostly, it violated rule No. 1 of my own criteria for what should qualify as a sport, which is, “If you can smoke while you play it, then it’s not a sport.” But I suppose that golf-research analysts (if they exist) would quantify me as a “Tiger Woods baby-boomer,” as I only began to become mildly interested in the sport at around the same time that Woods was obliterating the Masters field in 1997.

The influence that Tiger Woods has had on the game of golf is truly remarkable in that, while many people originally tuned in to watch one man — who wasn’t even white — dominate the sport, they were inadvertently introduced to other participants of the PGA Tour. The same guys who were treated, by the increasing masses, as nothing more than doormats en route to another Woods’ PGA victory, are now even more popular than Woods himself. Win enough times and people yearn to see you lose, although we’re even past that point now, as Tiger has recovered from mediocre play to reclaim his superiority within the game, except that his perch is now occupied by three others.

They’re a kind of “Super Friends” who don’t necessarily get along, but golf’s “Big Four” — Woods, Phil Mickelson, Vijay Singh, and Ernie Els — adequately represent the progression of the sport. Most apparent are their ethnic backgrounds — Woods is a mix of Asian and African-American, Singh is from Fiji, Els is South African, and Mickelson just plain old American. More importantly, all four are men with distinct personalities and games — Woods the unofficial ambassador of the game that people love to hate (or love to love), Singh the proven winner who doesn’t hesitate to speak his mind, Els the soft-spoken one with the sweetest swing this side of Ken Griffey Jr., and Mickelson the risk-taking fan favorite who, up until last year’s Masters, made his living as the beloved underdog. Throw in the fact that all four are currently on top of their games, and golf is at its peak.

Or is it? What I can’t seem to figure out is if I’m late to the party, or if I’m just in time. Were my former misconceptions of golf just that, or has golf caught up to me? If getting into the sport of golf is simply part of the aging process, then how do you explain all the young people playing it? Or is that the manifested influence of Tiger Woods? I guess it doesn’t really matter, because I’m here now.

Of course, even with the “Big Four” headlining tournaments, it’s impossible to have a true appreciation for golf without actually playing it. (And yes — like you, I’m horrible.) But while golf is a notorious assault on your confidence and mental capacity, I also realized that I underestimated the athleticism of it (walking 18 holes really ISN’T a walk in the park), the machismo of it (my drive is longer than your drive), and the preciseness of it (why can’t I make a freakin’ three-foot putt?). In fact, I always thought that having a ground ball roll through your legs was the most humiliating moment in sports, however, whiffing on your drive off the first tee because you picked your head up too early, with the starter and a foursome behind you watching, is never fun. Do it twice in a row and you might as well go home. Golf is tougher than I thought, and that knowledge makes watching professional play all the more enjoyable. (Or frustrating, depending on how you look at it.) After all, the sports heroes of our youth were the guys who could best do what we wished we could do. In turn, those who we marvel at as adults are guys who can consistently birdie a Par 5.

It seems as though I was mistaken as a youth. Golf isn’t just for well-to-do, upper class whites. Just look at the most popular players in the game. And it’s not boring to watch, once you understand that a five-foot putt can mean $500,000. The announcers whisper out of respect, and although it remains a fairly expensive hobby, more often than not, it’s worth it. Plus, you can smoke while you play, if you choose to, which is nice, I suppose.

We’re currently riding the wave of last weekend’s Masters tournament — the first of four Majors to be played in the upcoming months — in which Tiger Woods rather officially took back his rightful place as golf’s greatest player, by defeating Chris DiMarco in a scintillating final round, and subsequent playoff. My interest in the sport is evolving, and it appears as though the same can be said for the rest of the country as a whole. We’re all getting older, I guess. And wiser, as maybe it takes time to mold an appreciation for a sport of such beauty, and hidden difficulty. It’s golf — it’s at its peak, and it’s what all the naked guys in the gym locker room are talking about.

Trust me.