carnage at carnoustie

[post on BartonHallBenchWarmers]

If I had to fight off the sleep demons into the wee hours of the morning to witness the conclusion of the British Open, I will make damn sure my fellow sports junkies know about it too. Fortunately for me, it was golf drama at its best in its tantalizing yet confounding mysterious ways; unfortunately for the warriors w/ sticks, it was yet another bloodbath at the 18th of the dreaded carnoustie. Sergio Garcia, the El Nino himself, had a 3-stroke lead trotting into the final round and (gasp!) no Tiger in sight. That's as sure as the rain in Spain rains mainly on the plains, si? Lo and behold, the magic of the belly putter has once again abandoned him; the sight of him missing birdie chances one after another after gutsy approaches was heartrending. The hard charging ol' lad Harrington from Ireland, a man of stoic countenance and humility in speech, was surely the victor well earned, aye? The calamity of the 18th, ala the infamous surrender of Jean Van de Velde, has casted his evil eyes again. 2 doomed lost balls in the stormy waters of Barry Burn and a double-bogey later and it's chaos once again. Sergio needed only par for victory and redemption. He slashed iron off the tee for safety, he chipped and chopped to 10-foot for a chance to edge his name on the beloved cup, a week after his mentor Seve Bellesteros declared his retirement from the very same course where himself won his first major---a God-ordained declaration that the Spanish torch of flair and charisma shall be passed now to the son of God. then it happened: the putt marched surely and proudly, kissed the left lip and rolled off. Sergio crouched in utter disappointment. There was no need to watch the 4-hole playoffs. The momentum had buckled with yet another misread. It would be a green day in Scotland; Harrington can breathe without the stink of the cursed Frenchman. He smiled broadly as the sun dispelled the omenous clouds for the last one standing.

tossing coins

Slumping on an overly fluffed sofa and staring at the brightening morning sky, I lackadaisically conjecture that life's events fall broadly into two general categories: those which can be reasonably explained by causality, those which appear utterly random and unexplainable, as if the Lord, similarly leaning languidly on His throne with sleepy eyes half shut, is tossing heavenly coins one-by-one to pass His days. Cursed are men who are burdened with the burning desire for knowledge and wisdom ("to be like God", as the Serpent salaciously tempted Eve in the Garden) and forever seek reasons and explanations for every bump and ridge of the perceivable world to quench a rasping thirst that can never be satisfied. Do the birds question the biological makeup of the wildflower seeds, or the cats ponder the historic beginning of the scalding sun? Do knowledge itself bring comfort, understanding itself peace? Troubles will befall all who breath long enough to see their own bitter ends; who knows what tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace from day to day, would ultimately bring? I say: accept your fate, you measly created things of finite worth! Trust in the Creator of all things, if you so desire, and rest in the knowledge that He will surely cast His eyes upon you and call your fateful number, in due time, whether according to His reason or His caprice.

Passing of a Texas Wildflower

The mention of Lady Bird Johnson, who peacefully departed last week at the age of 94, usually conjures painful memories of an ill-conceived and dreadfully managed Vietnam war. But behind the fury and vigor of a determined but misguided President has always been a stoic and steady First Lady. Thrust into the White House spotlight after the tragic assassination of John F. Kennedy, Lady Bird Johnson was immediately casted into the shadow of the glamorous and captivating Jacqueline Kennedy. A Texan of quiet strength, who suffered through four miscarriages as a mother, Lady Bird took her unenviable task as unelected First Lady with grace and exceptional efficiency. Shrewdness she acquired while supporting her husband's early political drive financially paid dividends in the peripheral of the Oval Office. Hosting official guests at L.B.J ranch in Texas, her hospitality and political sensitivity won her allies and admirers at home and overseas. The L.B.J couple would go on to win the 1964 in a landslide and endure four of the most difficult years in American history.

Best known for her determined and sustained push for highway beautification--a worthy environmental cause well ahead of her time, perhaps she should also be remembered as a remarkable woman with classic American grace, one who warmed to the political limelight without desperately wanting it. Till the end, she was a model of peace, acceptance and temperance. “It has been a wonderful life,” she spoke in 1992. “I feel like a jug into which wine is poured until it overflows.”