Thoughts From A Hockey-Centric Mind

 

Hockey-centric, because “boob-centric” isn’t generally considered class “a” journalism.

I’ve decided to spare you my weekend golf tale of woe, because you have zero reason to care about my double bogey on the par 5 18th to shoot a +1 (73) after making seven birdies as a six handicap.  Oops, so you got the Coles Notes version.  I’m still rattled.

Hockey’s gettin’ good, and here’s what’s on my mind….

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Yesterday, I had a friend of the blog send me a gambling tip – as in, he’d found an extremely fair line to bet.  I misunderstood the bet at first, but now I’m wondering….

Gamblers of the world, unite!  Have you seen any great odds for the playoffs or rest of the regular season?  Let’s track ‘em down for each other.  I haven’t bet online since last season, but I’ve followed way too closely this year to not put a couple down before playoffs.

And if you haven’t seen good odds…. confident in your team?  Care to make a bet?  I’m sure it’s illegal, so we won’t bet money (wink), but chuck it out there and see if someone else’s team wants to take the other side of the bet.  For example, I bet the Islanders don’t lose a single game in playoffs this year.  Any takers?

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Mouthguards, you may know, are spit-out-able.  To be sure you always have one amongst all the travelling, misplacing and chewing on them, when you go get a custom mouthguard in professional hockey, they make you up a couple.  In the NHL, I’m sure they have stacks of them on backup.  And when they do come out of your mouth, you can pick them up.

So why was Sidney Crosby jawing at Jimmy Howard after the whistle with that stupid clumsy thing in?  Afraid he was gonna get suckered?  Or just prone to really awkward looking confrontations? 

You guessed it.  Angry-Faced Sid (AFS from here forth) is awkwaaaard (but not super awkward, like it must be every time Tiger’s phone vibrates for a text, and he and Elin look at it, then at each other, then back at it…. and he grabs it).

 

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Is it just me, or is “hockey is for everyone” the most obscure slogan ever coming from a sport played predominantly by upper-middle class largely white kids from cold-weather climates?

I like “history will be made” a lot though, because, frankly, (hockey) history will be (Max Talbot!).  Legends are built, as demonstrated by how nobody scoffs when you imply Ruslan Fedetenko is an effective player – because of all his game winners in playoffs with the Lightning (jokes, jokes, he’s a great person and good depth guy).

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I still think overtime should go to three-on-three before the shootout.  In that 3 on 3, penalties are penalty shots, it’s 2-on-1 after 2-on-1, and wins come by a more hockey-like and awesome fashion.  Haters be damned, if they saw it in action, they’d pee their old wooden Montreal Forum seats they bought off eBay and sit in to watch road games on their old bunny-eared no-def TV’s.

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I’d like to see a stat on which team has played the most back-up goalies in the league this year.  Gotta be Toronto or Edmonton, right?

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 In defense for some bad looking hits: it’s really hard, if you’re forechecking a defenseman going back on the puck with intent to finish your check like your coach wants (and get the puck), to pull up or recognize he’s put himself in an unsafe spot.  It just is.  Just ask my no-longer intact sternum & clavicle, sometimes you’re just gonna. get. hit. hard. in hockey.

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Recently added to the list of things I never knew existed but I now co-own by the rules of common-law living:  “Sconces.”

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Happy Tuesday – it’s pouring here, a perfect day for writing.  Expect a flood of articles in the near future.

The Front Nine (Sports Thoughts)

 

Before we begin, a video: The very second Tracy Porter makes the interception and runs it back for a touchdown, everyone knows the game is over.  Take a couple second gander at how this bar in New Orleans felt about that:

Um, they were excited.

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Alrighty – my TBAF (To Blog About Files) are stuffed full.  It’s time to play 18 holes – nine today, nine tomorrow.  Let’s tee off:

#1) 

Charging is defined as taking more than three strides (or maybe it’s two, whatever) before hitting a guy.  The problem with that definition is, IT’S HOCKEY.  You’re taking strides to get everywhere.  When a hit becomes available, you’ve been taking strides, so the question becomes… How long do you have to coast to nullify a charge?  If you’re hustling on the backcheck, and some guy starts to cut to the middle, how are you supposed to skate to legally be able to separate the man from the puck?  I think we need to make charging more about intent than about a physical description of the play.

#2) 

For the first time this season, I checked out some ECHL stats yesterday, and was pleasantly surprised.  Turns out my boy Ryan Kinasewich is leading the league in points, which is awesome.  It’s the guys sixth ECHL year, and he’s got a million ECHL points, but I guess AHL teams are like… Nope, he just scores too consistently, it’s really annoying.  He wasn’t drafted.  He doesn’t fit our mold of ”big and young.”  I just checked – he’s played 264 ECHL games over six seasons, with 362 points (156 goals, 32 so far this year).  He’s still only 26.

#3)

I haven’t gotten around to doing the research yet, but I think it’s a fair question to discuss:  I haven’t seen Ilya Kovalchuk play much (like the rest of you), but everyone loves to spout that he’s a defensive liability.  I’ve looked for it in the past few games, and haven’t seen it. 

He’s a career -84 or so, but has played on mostly bad Atlanta teams, playing the other teams top line or top shutdown line.  From personal experience, I can tell you the team and line you’re on makes all the difference in that category, and it’s only fair to judge a player’s +/- against those teammates.  What was Atlanta’s even strength goal differential while he was there, -400?  No way someone that big and talented can be as bad as I keep hearing on D.  I’m just not buying it.

#4)

No league does a championship trophy like the NHL.  Are you shitting me, Stanley Cup?  How perfect are you?  All tall like that, with a nice weighty feel (I’m told).  It’s a substantial prize worth hoisting over your head.  And with all the mystique around touching it, and the keeper of the cup in white gloves, it just makes a guy think: the NFL should be ashamed of itself.  This is America.  Bigger is better, right EntireCountry?  That’s your damn sport.  Now go build a better goddamn trophy and do the name Lombardi some justice!

#5)

Brooks Orpik (Pittsburgh) and Andrew Macdonald (New York Islanders) look so much alike it’s bizarre.  I will continue hammering this point home until I get an amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fine, maybe these pics don’t do it perfect justice, but just wait til A-Mac lets it get stubbly.  It’s boggling.  The only reason I’m not making “twin” claims is that A-Mac doesn’t do that prolonged, distant stare that Orpik favors.  Thankfully.

 #6)

For forwards, playing well without getting points sucks.  Your point total from a given game rarely tell the story of how you played, so it sucks when you make all the right decisions and don’t get rewarded.  Stastny finally got a couple points last night, but he’s been playing better than his production.

 #7)

A few nights back, I was watching a Red Wings game in which Bertuzzi snapped his head back to fake getting high-sticked (a move I didn’t think people actually did without some level of contact).  He successfully drew the penalty (even “checked” for blood!), putting the Wings dangerous powerplay unit on the ice.  A day later, I saw Alexander Semin to something similar. 

So my question is:  if we suspend players when they do something we don’t want in the game (cheap hits), why shouldn’t we suspend players for that play, in obvious circumstances?  They’re cheating, and we want that out of the game, right?  I’m not talking embellishments.  I mean, “dude, that stick never got above your logo”.  I’m talking about sitting beside Bertuzzi and watching the play with him and going, “Look – you intentionally tried to fuck over the refs and the legitimacy of the game there.  We don’t need 10 year olds in the NHL.  Go sit in the corner for a few nights and think about what you’ve done.”

#8)

Bob Gainey stepped down.  As DownGoesBrown tweeted “Gainey “voluntarily” stepped down the way I “voluntarily” leave the bar after the bouncer tells me he’s kicking me out”.  Thought that was the best analogy EVER.

#9)

I want a golfer to write a tell-all book. And nothing to do with Tiger.  I just imagine it’s such an interesting lifestyle.  Do some guys fly private planes, and some fly coach?  There must be such a discrepancy between the quality of life for the top and bottom golfers.  Who “makes it rain”, who’s a cheap prick (Ben Crane right?  Has to be Ben Crane), who are the A-holes (Phil?  Really?  FIGJAM!), who’s a drunk (Anthony Kim, eh?), all that stuff.  I need to know!

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So there you have it!  The front nine ended on a golf topic.  Chime in on what you know about, want to know about, or just type some words into the comment box.  We’re a big happy sports (okay, largely hockey) discussion site.  Dive in.

An Ode to Clean Ice

 

It took one blog to prove that everyone everywhere ever loves goalies, and I feel dirty for cashing in on the obvious.  That damn blog had like, 20+ comments in it’s first 20+ hours. 

Imagine if I was a goalie?  This blog would be worldwide, bitches (©Ms. Conduct).

So let’s switch it up, before I starting feeling too “pop culture” for writing blogs like that (that’s what goalies are by the way – the pop culture part of hockey.  The same way that bands like Fallout Boy and Panic! at the Disco claim to be sort of emo, dark and brooding, yet their songs are consistently radio-friendly hits - goalies play the same role.  “Ohhh, we’re so mysterious… enjoy my bobblehead”!  Ahhh, forget it, I’m doing it again). 

Wait, I blacked out… what was I talking about?

Oh yeah, switching it up. 

I have to admit, I somewhat cater to my audience with all the hockey stuff.  I like hockey, but it’s probably not at the core of my being (while freezies, golf, NFL football and stuffed animals probably are.  *Authors note: Justin is still into chicks – albeit just one of them -, so ignore that last item on the list).

But, in breaking into this highly profitable world of writing (as I snack on “Thin Wheats”, because I can’t afford the extra 30 cents to buy non-dyslexic crackers), I’ve had to understand that it’s the topic I’ve got the most credibility on.

So, without further ado, I’m switching styles today, not subject matter.  I bring to you a poem that’s a roundabout attempt at scorning players who don’t let the ice freeze before skating on it.

An Ode to (those who sully) Clean Ice:

 

( With Shakesperian accent)

Why, eager players, must you skate unto fresh, just-bathed rink,

With no regard for your comrades – doth thou not think?

The smooth brilliance, earned by that patient crew,

Can be shattered, will be shattered – by a mindless few.

The puck, she can slide over slick and slippery smooths,

But your skates, too soon, cause those sloshy deep grooves.

The puck will bounce, and scoring, she suffers,

No wonder, it’s defensemen, those dumb motherf*****s

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…yeah, I wrote a poem.  Do something about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Simply Style

 

I still live out of a suitcase, which basically means I wear about five shirts on loop.  It’s been seven cities in three years, and I just wanna hang my shit up.

Anyways, I figured it was probably high time I add a sixth shirt to the rotation - throw a little curveball at society.  So, where does a 26 year old go to buy a t-shirt?  I didn’t know either, so logically, I hit the mall.

Skulls. 

Skulls everywhere.

Apparently, understated is out.  And apparently, overstated is not.  Flames, roses and daggers seem to be popular side dishes for this buffet of shirts that look like someone wore a glue-covered cotton “t” into an all-gothic car accident.

I wasn’t aware that Ed Hardy would be the leading influence in how The Bay chooses to use it’s buying power, but apparently they were quite taken with his LOOK AT MY SHIRT! line of tees, and tried to make them with lesser quality materials.  Very sharp.

There’s no secondary option.  No tasteful, minimally logoed, light summer t-shirt.  Your options are collared shirt, Hanes three-pack, or Ultimate Fighting enthusiast.  I can’t wait to look back at this era of men’s fashion the same way we now look at the 80′s. 

“How did we ever think that was okay?”

I bought nothing.

**Disclaimer:  I have a purple and light purple shirt with an embroidered rose and latin writing on it that I reserve the right to wear twice a year free from judgement.  No juding.  You’re judging me aren’t you.  I feel judged.

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Ahhhh, the British Open at Turnberry.

How badly I want to go to Ireland.  My Irish roots are in Tinaheely, apparently (and actually, our family name was O’Burne a mere four or five generations back, before someone moved here and chucked the “o” in the middle “to avoid persecution”, I’m told).

But lets talk Watson.

Every year some blast-from-the-past hangs around for a few days in a major and lets the commentators reminisce on the days of yore.  That player is usually someone pushing 50 - Watson is two months from being goddamn 60, and is doing it against the best players in the world, with Tiger in the field, and has hung around for three days now.  Plus, he just had his hip replaced in October! <—- (Not a joke)

This would have to be the greatest win in the history of golf if he could slap it around Turnberry in a couple under par tomorrow (by the way, anybody else get the feeling that this event would’ve been a freebie for Mickelson?  With Tiger out of the mix and the leaders not going super-low… gotta believe he’d have been at least a in the hunt). 

Tiger winning a US Open by 15 shots has to be the most impressive win of my lifetime, but if Watson could get hot for just one more day… wow. 

Yup, I’ll do it.  If Tom wins, I’ll vow to give up all forms of the ageist slander I enjoying chucking at my parents for lent next year.  Come annnnn Tom!

By the way, has Watson not been the best-dressed guy in the tournament by miles so far?  I’m loving his classic sweaters, even the slightly risqué one he’s rocking above.  Little purple collar under it?  The guys on point this week.

Charitable Donations

 

Ah, the day after.

Clarks golf tournament was another huge success, but I may be biased because I won a new driver.  So like I was saying, huge success.

Ex-Islanders and athletes alike raised money for kids through Clarks fund, a fund that’s committed a million dollars to the construction of Huntington Hospitals “Clark Gillies” pediatric wing.

If you’d like to contribute, please make large checks out to “Justin Bourne” and I’ll handle the rest.  Trust me, it’s for a good cause.

Game six tonight!  I asked everyone connected to hockey (no namers like Lafontaine, Trottier and Brianna Gillies), and nobody was willing to write Pittsburgh off.

They’ve been dynamite at home, and for all intents and purposes, anytime every analyst says a team is going to lose, they won’t.  It’s the “nobody believed in us” factor that makes winning easier.

Anywho, I need to get something in my stomach, like a pancake, or half a dozen Tylenol.  Enjoy game six.

Whaaaaazzzzaaaappppp???

 

Before game four AKA game seven starts tonight, I’ve got a few blog worthy musings that barely pertain to hockey (if at all).

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I’m bringing back “wwwwwwhhhhhaaaaaazzzzzzzzzzzzzzuuuuuppppppp????” and you can’t stop me.  It’s been gone just long enough for it to be hilarious again. Trust me.

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I think pecs inhibits the natural golf swing.

For years, I would come home from the hockey season and head out to the golf course.  Once the rust/hangover wore off, I’d start firing a few low numbers, figuring that this was the year I’d finally give Tiger a run (no?).  Of course, I always came home from hockey run-down-ragged and skinny, but that never seemed to affect my ability to golf.

As the summers went on, I spent a lot of my non-golf time in the gym, bulking up for the next seasons training camp.  And, as I got towards the end of the summer, I filled my shirt better but my scorecard worse.  One stroke here.  Two there.  Hosel OB.  I never could figure out the cause.

I’ve recently been back in the gym battling the post-jaw-injury skinny upper-body/fat lower-half condition I developed.  As I’m getting more muscular again, my score is starting to creeeeep up on me.

The other possibility, is that I’m desperately searching for anything to blame other than playing like Roy Macavoy of Tin Cup on 18, because that’s damn near been happening lately.  Let’s move on.

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Richard “Shakey” Krouse was the trainer of the Central Texas Stampede, where my Dad coached many a years ago.  As Dad moved up in leagues and changed teams, he always brought his life-of-the-party trainer with him, without fail.  Shakey treated my brother and I well, and sure enough, he’s moved on to become a New York Islanders staff member.  When I was at Islanders rookie and main camp, it was so nice just to know someone who wasn’t evaluating something I was doing.

Now, Shakes has agreed to come to work the bench at the Hockey Greats Fantasy Camp!  We’re proud to have him and look forward to his company.

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How about Shaq “twittering” that he wants Kobe to win his fourth NBA title? 

No he doesn’t. 

All he wants is to avoid a “Kobe sure showed you” interview where he has to defend himself while the media act like he just got “Punked”.  He doesn’t want Kobe to win anything but the herpes lottery (which would seem foolish to buy a ticket for).

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As for tonight, I’ll be watching the game and packing to head out to NY for the Clark Gillies Charity Classic (a tournament where, I’d like to point out, they haven’t let me play since I dethroned four-time long drive champion Mario Lemieux).  There, I’ll either be playing or on the high-traffic drink cart with Breezy, so that’s a win-win.  After that, I’m registering my car (which has been a Gillies driveway fixture for months), and driving it cross-continent to Kelowna BC.  Good times!

The Sporting Climax Approaches

 

The sports world is heating up isn’t it?

As I sit here holding down my couch springs while loving round two of March Madness (aka Gamblers Paradise), I can’t help but get excited for the weeks to come. 

The Masters?  The freakin Masters??  If you aren’t aware of my obsession, here’s an earlier stream-of-consciousness blog:   http://jtbourne.wordpress.com/2009/02/23/why-i-love-the-masters/ .  I just saw a commercial:  “Amen Corner…     Where you pray, to survive.”  Tigers back… Phil is hot… I can’t even deal with it.

The NHL playoff race is thick right now.  There’s 20+ teams with legitimate playoff hopes, so we get treated to playoff intensity early.  And as much as everyone loves the finals, the first round has to be my favourite.  Four great games every night, anything can happen, and lots to bet on, including “who can claim the most-vague injury”.  I’m staight giddy for night number one.

Oh, and did you notice the NBA is headed down the stretch too?  I need Lebron to win a title and be the Tiger of the NBA, where they’re just too. damn. good. to question.  Even baseball is getting started, and the Mets have K-Rod; maybe I won’t have to threaten violent assaults on their bullpen this year.

The college hockey tournament gets started in a week too, with the Frozen Four the same weekend as The Masters.  It’ll be an amazing tournament like it is every year, despite the notable absence of my alma mater, the University of Alaska Anchorage Seawolves, who were “upset” by the Denver Pioneers 3-2 and 4-3, thus eliminating the fellas, and starting the mandatory post-post-season college bender.  My liver recoils at the memories.

Shout out to my linemate and road roommate from my senior year, Paul Crowder.  After his third season with Seapups, he just signed with the New York Rangers… maybe you’ve heard of them?  Paul you owe me money, I made you.  No?  Okay probably not.

Please soak in the below picture of Paul and I hooking up for a powerplay goal, with the rival Fairbanks (possibly fat) d-man turning in misery, with the ref doing the goal point.  Ye-he-hesss.

Either way, fun times ahead.  People get chunky over the holiday’s and try to start getting fit in the new year.  This is my holidays; I reserve the right to gain a wee beer belly before focusing on tidying up my flesh for summer.   After April, what’s the next thing you care about in sports?  I literally can’t think of one, which means I’ll have to get outside, thank heavens.

So get on your sweats, clean the dust off the TV and get involved.  Maybe join a gambling website.  Maybe write me and propose a bet.  I don’t quite deal in Charley Barkley dollars, but I’ll bet on anything, if I can tinker with the odds.  What are Bourne’s Blog readers most excited about in the upcoming weeks?  I bet I can guess….

[polldaddy poll=1475325]

Reading The Break

 

Golfers love their bad jokes.  Putts left short inevitably bring about the “putter in the purse strings” barb, and duffers rush to be the first to say “one” after the ball falls off somebody’s tee.  A good break may even call for a classic: ”The sun even shines on a dog’s ass somedays”.  Well arf arf  Brendan Jones.

Brendan won the insta-fame lottery when Tiger Woods decided to make his return to golf at this years Accenture World Match Play event.  Now, I shouldn’t call Brendan names; in fact, he’s racked up 8 victories on the Japanese Tour.  But, being the dead last player to qualify (64th), means he’s earned the right to have Tigers Nike swooshes rammed where the sun happened to be shining on this particular day.

Brendan is from a town so obscure in Australia there’s still people who think they’re criminals in exile.  But this week, his Mom is doing phone-in-interviews, and Brendan is the man of the moment.  And like he should, he’s making it count.  He’s had some wonderful quotes since embracing his 15 minutes.  After stopping for pictures for a number of different media outlets, Brendan headed to the podium to give a little press conference.

When asked if he’s had any tips from two Australians who have eliminated Woods from this event in the past (Peter O’Malley and Nick O’Hern), Jones replied “No, I haven’t, but I’ve gotten some advice from Stephen Ames.”  Last year Ames apparently had the lobotomy required to challenge Tigers driving accuracy in the media before their match, before promptly losing 9 and 8.  For the record, if I, my mother, or my Aunts Shih-tsu were to play Tiger, the very worst he could beat us is 10 and 8.  Self deprecating humour from athletes gets me every time.

After making the mandatory Tonya Harding-esque jokes about thwacking Tigers knee if he starts losing and humbly accepting defeat beforehand, he mentioned that, of course, he doesn’t plan on rolling over on the first tee. 

Which leaves me thinking.  What an opportunity.  What a win-win.  If he loses, it was expected, plus he had front row seats to the comeback of the greatest player of my generation, most likely the greatest of any generation.  With that safety net, he has the opportunity to beat Tiger Woods in a nationally televised match, which is about as likely as beating an actual tiger in a nationally televised cage match.  But it’s an opportunity nonetheless.  And you never know.  Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in awhile.

 

PS.  I wanted to name this bit “Spumoni” in reference the Will Ferrel’s safe word from Semi-Pro when he fights the live bear, but I thought the reference was too obscure.  Regardless, I think Jones should work out a safe-word in case Tiger comes out playing like his old self.  I suggest “Gillooly”.

A Bogey, My Albatross, and Christ

 

I always go back to that stupid putt.  For those of you who play sports, you know there’s euphoric highs and sickening lows, and both can happen within the same game.  Occasionally I daydream about being in the Vernon Vipers dressing room after we won the BCHL championship, or the triple overtime goal I scored in playoffs last year.  I’ll even let myself drift back to winning my first golf tournament.  But by leaps and bounds, the sports moment I think about the most hurts.

I watched Marvin Harrison talk before the Superbowl about the year before, where an effeminate Eli Manning escaped near death to launch a wounded duck to the ever-average David Tyree.  Despite Harrisons tight coverage, Tyree then managed to somehow jam the ball against his helmet and hold on for “the catch” as it is now simply known.  Harrison had some laughs about it during the interview, but by discussions end, you could glean that there was some serious scarring beneath the surface.  My moment is 1/1000th as dramatic as this.

I had won the Shannon Lake junior golf tournament for the first time when I was 15 or 16, a two-day event that I never expected to contend in.  I played barefoot at that age, not because I didn’t have golf shoes, but because I enjoyed it (this isn’t a rags to riches story.  My parents provided for me in plenty, I was just a brat).  My previous low score on the course was 77, and I had blacked out and shot 73 on day one.  The next day, I was in the final group (and the lead) with the scary kids who won all the time.  Apparently my blackout was a coma, because I followed it up with a 75 to narrowly win.  So when the tournament rolled around the next summer and I hadn’t exactly shaved a ton of strokes off my average score, I was nervous.

I was better, but not by a lot.  There were a lot of good golfers around my age, and we were all improving together.  Better or not, you had to be the best on those two days, and on that first day, I shot 77.  I was behind by a couple.  Sunday was a beautiful day, which tends to play into the hands of the barefoot.  As luck would have it, I had zero game that day, but man… was I scrapping.  I was playing out of the trees and sand all day, only hanging on with my with strong point at the time, my Mickelson inspired-but-not-worthy short game.  I saved pars like Christ saved souls that Sunday.  14 ugly pars and 3 bogey’s brought me to the 18th hole 1 shot back of the leader.  The guy was a pretty good player, but kinda smug about it.  I remember being annoyed by his demeanor all day, and kind of being on tilt (probably didn’t help). 

Coming up 18, I needed a break.  Not that 18 wasn’t a birdie hole, but it was junior Canadian golf, and birdies happened once or twice a round.  I got that break.  The leader had blown his second shot over the green (the adrenalin I experienced the year before maybe?), and would go on to chunk his chip and two putt for bogey.  I could par the 18th at Shannon Lake 9 times out of 10 at that age.  This time, however, I hit my second shot so fat (nerves maybe?) it didn’t make the creek that runs in front of the green, a huge break.  Knowing where my opponents second shot was, I knew I had to get up and down from the tight cut fairway to the hole placed just over the creek to have any chance at extra holes.  I knew if I could just get this kid to extra holes, I would have him.  Holding the lead all day is tough, and to lose it on the 18th green is a tough punch to regroup from.  In the theme of the day, I hit a nice tight checking-chip to 5-6 feet.  Pressure distance. 

My opponent had rolled his long putt up close and tapped in for a bogey 5.  The stage was set for me to complete my less-than-flammable-performance/comeback with another par. 

Alright, the putt is right to left (kind of on a hump?). 

 It’s uphill (that’s uphill right?). 

I read it from all angles.  The problem was, I wasn’t yet good enough at the Bagger Vance technique of blocking everything else out.  I was looking, but all I was thinking about was the ball falling in the hole.  Zero data was being processed.  More information, less generalities may have helped that stupid white sphere go where it was supposed to go.  I pushed it a bit I think.  Or maybe I mis-read it.   All I know is the ball caught the right lip, and rolled 3 feet past the hole and to the left, settling in 2nd place territory.  I had meant to hit it hard because I wasn’t certain of the break, but the fear of leaving an uphill putt short to lose a tournament clearly influenced my stroke.  Yeah that was it, I hit it too hard.  I had lost. 

From there, it didn’t get any more fun.  My Mom pulled up the moment after I missed the putt and wanted to console me, which um, wasn’t the right time.  The club professional let me know that “he could DQ me for playing barefoot, and strip me of any prize” (not my Top Flite Magna’s, please).  I got in my car (Mom’s minivan) and left.  And that was how my toughest 15 minutes in sports unfolded.  I didn’t even drink at that age, so I just had to deal with it.  To this day, I’ll be in the shower and just yell an F bomb about it.  I don’t really know why, I guess it’s just that golf is a sport that’s all on you, and what I had to do to tie was my specialty, it’s just…. I dunno…. I just don’t know. !#$@%&.

I can’t imagine how Rodney Harrison feels.  The scale of that play was a catrillion fold, and I can’t imagine if I had to watch a replay of my miss every other week on TV.  Mine wasn’t even all that relevant to my life, since I didn’t end up pursuing golf.  So, my heart goes out to him, and hopefully some day, I’ll get over this.  I’m just gonna have to win another tournament I guess, I dunno…. I just don’t know.