I first went golfing during my father's afternoon off when I was 6 years old at a time when he sometimes went golfing in flip flops, so I make no apologies for my golfing habit. Call me an elitist, but I still play with the clubs I bought for $150 that I purchased with my below-minimum-wage allowance while working on the lumberyard in middle school. Whatever.
When I was young and into the golf scene, I hated Greg Norman. He was the guy with all the skills, all the money, and all the reasons to dominate, yet he still seemed to lack that killer instinct that would allow me to root for him. I remember watching the Masters in '96 when he blew a seemingly insurmountable lead and cheering with my friend Ross as Norman completely collapsed through Amen corner in the final round. Now, over a decade later, I've had the pleasure of following another guy with all the skills, all the money, and an indescribable instinct for "the moment" destroy the golf scene. It only seems fitting that as The Man is noticeably absent from the British Open ("You know you've got problems when you're too injured to golf"- John Ring) that I find myself cheering for Greg Norman as he has turned back the clock and found himself as the unlikely leader at 53 years of age heading into the final round at the 2008 British Open.
From roughly 1998 through 2004, I was too into my own lackluster athletic career to really follow anyone else wholeheartedly. However, now that I'm washed up in Alumni Creek, I think I've discovered how great it is to be an unbiased fan, to witness the seemingly unthinkable and appreciate how great it is. Maybe Norman will revert to his form in '86 when he led every major after 3 rounds (the dubious "Saturday Slam") and only won 1, or maybe he will draw strength from his GILFish wife who was able to perform in the clutch on numerous occasions throughout her career. Whether fair or unfair, I'll compare Norman's performance tomorrow to my own in dire situations that were clearly less pressure filled than his. Jim Rome may call him "Chris" or every sportswriter in the world may call him Jesus. Whatever happens, happens. It's been a fun ride, and I know who I'll be rooting for.
