Jim Austin

His previous columns are archived HERE.

JIM AUSTIN

Goosed and abandoned

Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated wrote a column in their last issue decrying the fate of Stewart Cink, a professional golfer who blew his chance to win the U.S. Open.

This year's Open was a surprise to the golfing cognoscenti. The traveling Tiger show was a flop, due perhaps to the fact that Tiger has just signed with Disney to do promos and the like. Does this mean we have to call him "Tigger" from now on?

Duval, the handicapped pro, (born without a personality) was thrashing and hacking his way to mediocrity for the entire three days.

The number two man behind Tigger, Phil Mickelson, should start wearing a t-shirt illustrated with the Heimlich maneuver for the inevitable choking fit he has in all major tournaments. He's the guy who carried a beeper during a previous U.S. Open and claimed he would abandon the course "during a playoff" if his wife threatened to squirt out a whelp.

You think the curse of the Bambino was effective, just think how the golfing gods feel about that bizarre priority.

Anyway, here's the deal.

Cink and Goosen are coming up the last hole. Cink has to par the hole to put any pressure on the Goose, who is on the green and looking like a winner at only twelve feet from the cup.

Goosen, incidentally, is from South Africa and hails from a tribe who mated with Easter Island stone figures and is unable to change their facial expressions. After receiving the U.S. Open trophy he said "Thanks" then threw it in his trunk and drove to his hotel.

Cink makes a valiant effort on his par putt and rolls it past the hole by about two feet. He swoons for the cameras, totters to his ball, and blows the tap-in. He is now in third place.

The Goose, who had to have all his sphincters surgically loosened after leaving the putting green, stepped up to his 12-footer. Goose yipped it wide right and long by two feet. He was heard to mutter a strangled "Ich Bein Schieskopf" in Afrikaans by the dumbfounded gallery.

He staggered to the other side of the rapidly shrinking cup and uncorked a major foozler, again squibbing it past the cup (which by now was the size of a urinal drain hole).

"Einst Die Reisenflogger" wailed the wounded Goose as he again faced a slippery 2-footer to manage at least a playoff with second place competitor Mark Brooks. Brooks, incidentally, was on his third margarita, regaling the boys in the locker room about how he almost won the Open. Finally the Goose railed it in and a playoff was on for the next day.

The playoff was pretty boring.

Goose got his feathers unruffled and bitch-slapped Brooks who was so hung-over that he left the cover on his driver for the opening tee-off.

Later, while Cink was in the locker room whacking himself in the forehead with his pitching wedge, he was overcome by a brief epiphany. "If I had made that piffling 2-footer then I would be in a playoff with the Goose and 'Marguerita' Mark Brooks.

That was the essence of Reilly's article. The piece ended by saying that even though Cink had chunked his chance for immortality, he still had his family and a few of his friends. Basically, it was a literary wake for Stewart.

Let me tell you something Reilly. We hackers go through the same thing about once a week. He three-putted -- big deal. Maybe I don't three-putt to lose the U.S. Open but I three-putted to lose four one-dollar skins and the backside of a five-dollar Nassau to a grizzled farmer named "Long Ball" Hathaway last weekend.

Nobody sent me so much as a Hallmark Card to express their sympathy.

So don't ask me to feel sorry for "El Choko." One thing Reilly didn't mention amid the wailing and rending of raiment was that Cink won about $300,000 for that third place finish. That sure buys a lot of tissues and therapy.