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.