British Open (Or Open Championship, Whatever): 4 Winners, 4 Losers

Categories: Game Time, Sports

I can't remember the last time I wrote about golf in this space. Honestly, if it didn't involve Tiger Woods, a Perkins waitress, and a nine iron through the driver's side window of an SUV, there's a decent chance I've never written about golf here. It's not that I don't like golf, it's just that I like football, WWE, pygmy goats and bath salts more.

So, congratulations, you're reading history!

Now, I don't know if it was history that we witnessed yesterday with Phil Mickelson at the British Open (or The Open Championship, whatever you want to call it), or just an historic final six holes, but whatever it was, it was cool. Going into the day, Lefty was a 20/1 shot to win the tournament, and he came back to not only win, but win by three strokes.

The guy who said on Saturday that even par would be good enough to win the Claret Jug wound up being the only guy under par for the whole tournament.

Tiger Woods, Adam Scott, Lee Westwood were playing golf for the final hour of the broadcast and it was meaningful for prize money purposes, and that's about it. Phil was that good -- because he teed off like 45 minutes before the leaders, he essentially turned the final hour of the telecast into the golf equivalent of NBA garbage time.

So, yes, Phil Mickelson turned Tiger Woods into Tracy McGrady. Bravo, Lefty.

As for everyone else, there were winners and there were losers, let's dissect them like a dead frog in biology class, shall we?


4. Scottish accents
The trophy ceremony for the Open Championship, or any tournament held at Muirfield, has a floor of a B+ based solely on the Scottish accents of the presenters. There is no denying that the Scottish accent is the coolest of all the accents, and watching the closing ceremony on Sunday made me want to go sack York and then send someone's head in a basket to Longshanks...


3. WWE Analogies
About midway through the final round, my buddy Peter Burns, radio host extraordinaire in Denver on Mile High Sports, tweeted this:

Brilliant thought, and very true. This is actually a very simplified version of the formula that, by and large, WWE uses to get over their new stars. Use the veteran, more tenured guys to have great, compelling matches/storylines and ultimately the newer guy wins in the end. Voila, stars created! Of course, the key difference is that the WWE veteran guys are agreeing to put over the new stars. Tiger is reluctantly dog cussing his way to a fifth place finish.

So, yes, under this WWE/PGA analogy, Tiger Woods is Chris Jericho. Also, Phil is C.M. Punk ("Best in the world!"), Adam Scott is John Cena (Mercedes logo is the spinner belt), Jack Nicklaus is Ric Flair (18 time champion), and Rory McIlroy is Heath Slater (if you're not a WWE fan, just trust me, Rory has been Heath Slater lately).

2. Sportsbooks in Vegas and, well, everywhere
After the second round of the Open on Friday, with Tiger hanging around at two under par, my buddy R.J. Bell (founder of tweeted this:

On my national radio show on Saturday morning on Yahoo! Sports Radio, R.J. further clarified that, roughly estimated, Vegas' action represents about one percent of the world's action on any given wager. So Tiger had actually lost bettors closer to $150 million over that time period, and with this past weekend's exploits that number escalated even further. Soon, we are going to need one of those Times Square style national debt tickers to calculate the amount of money Tiger bettors are losing each week.

I'm still disappointed that we don't run Revolutionary War smack at the British every chance we get. I mean, those people ruled us with stiff dictatorship and we bravely freed ourselves. (I say "we" like I was there. Um, in spirit, I was.) Are you telling me there's a statute of limitations over talking shit about escaping the shackles of a ruthless mother land? Phil should have walked up to grab the trophy while humming the preamble to the Constitution "Schoolhouse Rock" style, and then pulled out a cartoon picture of George the Third, thrown it on the ground, whipped out his unit, and taken a leak on it while holding the Claret Jug over his head with one hand and making the "wolf pack" hand sign with the other. That's what I would have done.


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If I were Rinaldi I would have done the crying when I interviewed Dustin Johnson just thinking about how lucky of a guy he is.  Not only would I have cried, DJ would have gotten a fist bump, a pat on the back, and a nod and a wink.

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