Welcome to the GRILL ROOM

Take the 'Fins and Panthers, by George

2010-09-10T11:31:46Z

Finally. Wait! Let me say that again with some meaning, brothers and sisters -- FINALLY -- the NFL is back ...

Borrowing generously and loosely (while grudgingly editing out the F-Bombs) from the late, great George Carlin (pictured) ... say so long to the errors, bunts, singles, pop outs, and players gleefully skipping home that baseball ushers in with a collective yawn eight months out of the year.

Instead, it's time to welcome back football with a big ol' bear hug, and all its interceptions, aerial assaults, battering tackles, long bombs, blitzes and end-zone romps. It's time to coax out that little dab of testosterone that hides deep within even the most passive sports fan.

Better yet, the NFL booms forth with betting sheets and office pools thanks to those delicious odds the bookies in Vegas so skillfully manipulate. And you think these cats don't know what they're doing?

OK, wanna know what the point spread was for last night's opening tilt between the Saints and Vikes? Saints by five. And the score? Saints 14, Vikings 9.

How did they know?!
Seriously, get these dudes to Washington now, and have 'em start on the budget. If nothing else, the city would be a more honest place.

]]> No, these sharpies know exactly what they are doing, which is why we all need a little help before slapping our hard-earned money and betting sheet on the barrel head each week. And since you dropped by, we're here to help.

But rather than tackle all the games (after all, a bar owner must know his limits), we'll bring you the NFL tilts each week that stick out real odd -- like Rex Ryan's gut after his third lunch -- and are guaranteed money-makers.

Remember: Vegas sets its odds based on where it thinks the money is going. Sometimes it acts irrationally and piles points where is shouldn't just to keep the money flowing on both sides.

That said, two games look suspicious to us this week. So, without further ado ... this week's 100-proof locks, brought to you by the Grill Room ...

Panthers over the Giants, plus-7:

The Panthers are getting seven points?! Really?! It was only Week 15 a year ago when Carolina came blowing into Giants Stadium and ran over and through the departing tenants, 41-9. Panther RB Jonathan Stewart rolled up 206 yards on the very turf the Taylors, Carsons, and Strahans once employed their battering trade. On a day that will live in infamy, the Giants waved goodbye to their stadium from their backsides.

So guess who is coming to the swamp as the Giants open their new stadium Sunday ...? Think the schedule-makers don't have a mafia-like sense of humor?

What's more, Carolina's coach, John Fox, once the Giants defensive coordinator, seems to like nothing better than returning to New Jersey from time to time to give Giants fans and management a taste of what they are missing, and to audition for a job that might come open but quick if current Giants skipper Tom Coughlin can't get his team playing a more familiar shade of Big Blue this year.

Don't expect the Giants to be so accommodating this time 'round, but it is almost impossible to imagine them rolling over a team that has always given them fits.

We'll say Giants, 19-17.

Miami over Buffalo minus-3:

By our reckoning, Buffalo is the worst team in football, and certainly no better than third worst. And speaking of worst, it's hiring of Chan Gailey to take over as coach rates as one of the worst hires in NFL history, and certainly no better than third worst.

By our figuring, not since George W. Bush was reelected in 2004 has one fella done so little to earn so much. Bush, after all, might be the worst president in history and certainly no better than third worst.

My gosh, you wouldn't want Gailey coaching your nephew's flag-football team.

Miami, on the other hand, is a team on the rise. It has everything to play for this year, and if QB Chad Henne can build on last year's nifty success, we say Miami will be playing post-season ball this year.

It significantly upgraded Henne's targets by bringing in WR Brandon Marshall, and will rely on its dependable running game featuring Ronnie Brown and Ricky Williams to pound out yardage and own the clock. And the defense? Well, it's just big and mean.

Still think this one is a three-point game? Didn't think so. Good luck, Chan. Hello easy money.

We'll say Miami, 24-3.

Ravens Rise, Cards Crash, Saints Still Tops

2010-09-08T10:08:17Z

After a significant amount of debate among the primary instigators, we have, in fact, decided to reopen the Grill Room for yet another NFL season. We'd like to tell you we are back by popular demand, but that might be shading the truth a slight variation of Raiders' black.

No, we're back because after hashing the whole thing out over about 47 Pfungstadters the other night, we decided that closing the place would be cruel and unusual punishment for the football fan who still appreciates the smoky warmth of an understated bar on a long, cool autumn afternoon during the NFL season.

In the end, we had no choice but to act on the incessant pang of obligation, and put in the hard work to come to some consensus on this year's initial NFL100-Proof Rankings.

So take a load off, pull up a stool, order up a cold one, and welcome (back) to the Grill Room.

THE STRONG STUFF

1 (3) New Orleans (94 proof, 0-0) Still the champ until proven otherwise. Figure the 'otherwise' part will creep in Week 2 when they travel to San Fran for a Monday night date with the upstart 49ers. Repeating ain't for wussies.
2 (11) Baltimore (92 proof, 0-0) Bestowed yet another gift on its overrated QB Flacco with the signing of Houshmandzadeh Monday, leaving marginal QBs all across the NFL whining, "Where's mine?!"
3 (5) Dallas (91 proof, 0-0) Would you trust Wade Phillips with this much talent?
4 (2) Indianapolis (90 proof, 0-0) Hard to forgive this team for thumbing its collective nose at perfection, and rolling over against the irritating Jets last year. Hard to ignore a team that wins about 12 every year, though.

]]> WORTH A SHOT

5 (10) Cincinnati (89 proof, 0-0) Yeah, Cincinnati.
6 (6) Green Bay (88 proof, 0-0) Little leery about how much the so-called experts seem to like this group, but we'll surrender this one time to peer pressure.
7 (4) Minnesota (85 proof, 0-0) As an old cowboy once said, "When you hitch yer wagon upta a harse with a bum gidyup, crashin's a certainty, hoss."
8 (1) San Diego (84 proof, 0-0) Around this time of year, it's always a good idea to remind folks that Norv Turner is still the coach of this under-achieving group.
9 (21) N.Y. Giants (81 proof, 0-0) If their revamped defense is at all good, this team will roll. If not, heads will.
10 (18) Miami (78 proof, 0-0) These bruisers are at the head of a long line licking their collective chops, just waiting for a chance to punch the Jets in their big, fat mouths.
11 (15) Atlanta (77 proof, 0-0) Six or so decades later, this organization has finally stumbled into the blue print for building success.
12 (16) N.Y. Jets (75 proof, 0-0) Mark Sanchez can't even be trusted to deliver coach Buddy Boy's third helping of dessert.
13 (8) New England (72 proof, 0-0) If not for Brady and Belichick, this is a 4-12 team.

WATERED DOWN

14 (7) Philadelphia (69 proof, 0-0) Won't miss McNabb as much as everybody thinks. Won't miss him at all, in fact.
15 (14) Tennessee (67 proof, 0-0) Under-appreciated team has a wizard as a coach, a witch at RB and will soon have Fat Albert back. That would be music to their fans' ears in a city that appreciates a good tune.
16 (20) San Francisco (66 proof, 0-0) If Coach Mike can't take this team to a title in this light-weight division, he should surrender his whipping belt.
17 (13) Carolina (65 proof, 0-0) Coach Fox ready to take a Giant leap if Big Blue falters this year. Game 1: Giants-Panthers. Hmmm ...
18 (12) Pittsburgh (64 proof, 0-0) We don't know how this team dropped so far, either.
19 (17) Houston (61 proof, 0-0) Frankly, we don't care if this is the year or not. Just shut-up and play.

CHEAP STUFF

20 (26) Oakland (58 proof, 0-0) Jason Campbell really isn't that good, but the rest of team ain't bad.
21 (25) Washington (55 proof, 0-0) Still looking for change anybody outside of D.C. can believe in. Start with the owner, though, and we might just believe.
22 (24) Cleveland (50 proof, 0-0) It's come to this in Cleveland that you are actually snickering at this elevated ranking. Admit it.
23 (23) Chicago (48 proof, 0-0) Lovie's job rides on Jay's arm. Mining is safer.
24 (9) Arizona (46 proof, 0-0) Was it Whisenhunt or Warner the past few years? Yep, we agree.

ROT GUT

25 (30) Seattle (42 proof, 0-0) Coach Carroll rediscovering he needs more than just money to motivate players at this level.
26 (22) Jacksonville (39 proof, 0-0) The city that doesn't deserve a football team gets its wish.
27 (19) Denver (36 proof, 0-0) Sure this is a pretty rough spot, but we'll count on Tim Tebow to blow sunshine all over it.
28 (31) Detroit (30 proof, 0-0) If GM can actually turn things around, why not the Lions?
29 (29) Tampa Bay (28 proof, 0-0) Prediction: Josh Freeman will throw 30 interceptions this year, but team will improve.
30 (28) Kansas City (23 proof, 0-0) Quick: Name one player that starts for the Chiefs.
31 (27) Buffalo (20 proof, 0-0) C.J. Spiller will be a star among a galaxy of low-lights. Chan Gailey?! Really?!
32 (32) St. Louis (15 proof, 0-0) The ever-positive Sam Bradford says he feels fortunate his favorite colors are black and blue.

(*) -- denotes last year's final regular-season ranking.

Flushing Glory's Last Shot Down Toilet?

2010-08-11T13:30:08Z

Maybe it's fitting that a real stinker of a golf season will end this week on a golf course owned by a guy who patented toilet-making, and is located somewhere north of Sheboygan.
Ironically, this is also where you can find Tiger Woods' game. I meant the toilet, not north of Sheboygan.

Yes, the PGA of America is visiting Whistling Straits for the 92nd rendition of its major championship. And just to prove how much it loves the place, it has promised to return in 2015 after playing there only six years ago in 2004.

Leave it to the PGA of A.
While the USGA and the Royal and Ancients claim places like Pebble Beach and Shinnecock and St. Andrews and Carnoustie to play their high-stakes events, the PGA has decided a golf course in that golfing bastion of middle Wisconsin is where it will regularly hang it's slate-gray shingle. Ya, fer sher.
Maybe it's the impeccable bathroom facilities at Herb Kohler's place that keeps 'em coming back for more. I suppose the golf course could have something to do with it, too.
I dunno.

]]> After promising so much, the 2010 season has delivered little. Yeah, yeah, I know, what do you serve as an encore to Tiger's Thanksgiving dinner? The story that had everything, and just kept on giving, suddenly stopped about the time Tiger systematically apologized to his mother, Buddha, and all of his true-believers, and then began locking himself deep in the gated kingdom of Islesworth where only an unidentified source from the Associated Press hiding in the bushes somewhere was able to break free erroneous information to the outside world.

Things did start promisingly enough, though. The ever-popular Ernie Els won a couple of tournaments early and looked to be a serious threat to win his first major since 2002. Then Phil Mickelson won the Masters, while Tiger miraculously scraped his way to a fourth-place finish despite bringing along only remnants of his old game.

Golf was buzzing, and then, just like that, it went all quiet. Since the Masters, it has had trouble raising a stink worthy of one of Herb's toilets.

First, the sweet-swinging but star-challenged Graeme McDowell won the U.S. Open, while guys like Woods, Els, and Mickelson melted down on the final nine holes Sunday. What could have been an epic finish on an epic golf course crumbled right in front of our eyes. It was like coming this close to a date with Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie and Halle Berry and ending up instead with only Rosie O'Donnell.

But there was still the Open Championship at St. Andrews to save the day, and lift the game higher. Surly, there would be heroics there ...
There were, at the end of the second round, when five-time Open champ Tom Watson said goodbye to the Old Course by almost holing out a wedge for eagle on 18.

After that we were forced to watch a shot-making clinic by some midget named Louis Oosterhuizen, who was better known to the 25 percent of the players that were familiar with him on tour as Shrek.

The guy won by seven frickin' shots -- at the home of golf! You can take my above analogy and insert Shrek in place of O'Donnell.

So here we are at a toilet-makers golf course hard along a lake -- not a sea, nor an ocean -- and hoping for some kind of a Palmer-esque spark. We are asking for a lot.

Despite being bashed around as the forgotten and disrespected major by hacks like me over the years, the PGA has had its moments, just not nearly enough of them.

Somebody started calling it "glory's last shot" in the past couple of decades or so, and unfortunately it has stuck.
And a warning: You will hear this come out of TNT talker Ernie Johnson's mouth 117 times over the next four days. That Ernie Johnson is allowed any place other than at Charles Barkley's side talking about NBA basketball is grounds for an investigation.
The golf-challenged guy and his awful broadcasting voice is really Bert of Sesame Street fame. Except, go figure, he's Ernie.

And, really, the PGA should be more aptly called "glory's first shot" thanks to the number of first-time major winners it has produced over the years.

Y.E. Yang of South Korea's 10-million strong Yang family was the latest guy to notch his first major at the tournament when he bested Tiger Woods down the stretch last year. We found out months later that this would be only the start of Woods' colossal collapse.

So is there hope Whistling Straits can produce some drama this week, put an exclamation point on 2010, and keep the game a-buzzing until next month's Ryder Cup?

You betcha there is. Just don't be surprised, though, if like most of the season, it comes up one club short of a royal flush.

Jed Says Favre Playin' Vikes Like a Fiddle

2010-08-06T10:40:05Z

Jed Muttonbreth is a regular in the Grill Room.
He's as dependable as a politician is small, and sits tight Monday through Sunday in the creaky seat hard along the bar, and by the corner TV next to the Pfungstadter Bier poster.

Muttonbreth likes his Pfungstadter ice-cold, the conversation slow and odd, and "all of them, blond, balanced-up foxes on that Foxy-News." He takes his Foxy-News with the volume down.
"Conversation's a real a show-stopper, know what I mean, boy?"

He also claims to be Brett Favre's boyhood buddy ...
"Known 'em since we were just skinny tads sneaking up to the fishing hole, skimmyin' 'round the shallow end to get us some kindle," he says.

I admit that at first I was pretty skeptical about Muttonbreth's alleged big-time connection to the serial interception-thrower, and retiree. I've come to find over the years, though, that the guy understands Favre better than Favre seems to understand himself.

]]> "No deep-thinker, Brett," Muttonbreth said before adding, "But the boy loves his trouble big, and gettin' out of it bigger ..."

So when it came out earlier this week via several unattributable sources on ESPN that Favre had once again had enough with professional football, Muttonbreth just rolled his eyes and took a hard hit on his Pfungstadter ...
"That boy got the Twitter fever, is all," he said.
"Sonofagun was always looking for attention -- good and bad. Can't help himself. Started ever since his daddy ran off with that possum-swag when he was but a toothless, ground critter."

"So he's just doing this for attention," I asked, pushing another beer in front of Jed.

"Oh, that's certainly part of it, " Muttonbreth said.
"Look, dude, Brett's wired differently than we are ... hell, than just about anybody, I reckon. He comes off dumber than a ruttin' buck, but at the same time he's cagey, like a big ol' bass just flickin' his tail at a pop-snoodle lure, ya know?

"He don't mean no harm -- just funnin' is all."

"I dunno, Jed. Seems like for all his talent he's a pretty big distraction these days."

"Son, that boy distracted that goofy Minny coach's skinny ass to the championship last year. You seen that coach, right? Looks like his face got into some angry scrap with a pile of Elmer's glue and a pack of sheddin' weasels. That cracker'd be better off leadin' a library book to a brief case than a bunch of 380-pound meat-heads to skirmish."

"What?!"

"And the owner ... What's his name? Ziggy Wolf?"
"Zygi Wilf,"I quickly correct.

"Wolf, Wilf, whatever .... Seriously, boy, you got yerself a big ol' pile of money like that, but don't have the good sense to get that varmint name changed?! I wouldn't let something called Zygi Wilf pull up to one of my nightmares."

"Point is, boy, this is good ol' country chicanery for Brett is all. He knows he's smarter than what he's messin' with, and that's always been a dangerous proposition where Brett's concerned."

"I dunno, Jed ..."

"You dunno? How 'bout this, yuh beer-grabbin' dummy: Brett just got offered up yet another $3 million to drag his tired, ol' ass to work whenever he wants to this year. All for just bluffin' a tweet.
"Still think he's not smarter than that fat ol', tail-flappin' large-mouth, much less something called Zygi Wilf?

"Now grab me another cold one, would ya, buddy?"

Taking T.O. to Properly Appreciate Jack Tatum

2010-07-29T10:08:38Z

We'll get only a moment to see the sad, poetic symmetry of Jack Tatum quietly passing away, and Terrell Owens making another thundering return to the NFL within hours of each other this week.

One represented what the NFL used to be; the other is a pathetic poster child for what it is becoming.
Tatum let his play on the field do the talking; Owens keeps the neighbors up at night babbling in his sleep.
Tatum, the assassin; Owens the ass ...

I admittedly was a Jack Tatum fan when there were few -- outside of the nutty Raiders Nation, that is.
Pound for pound, Tatum is the hardest hitter I have ever seen.

To this day I remember the lick he gave a running back (can't remember who, or what team) when he was playing safety at Ohio State in 1970. The back hit the hole and Tatum hit him. The back actually went head over heels ... and backwards. I have never seen anybody ejected from the line of scrimmage like that before or since.

]]> Tatum spent the next decade or so with the rough-and-tumble Raiders greeting ball carriers in all sorts of rude and unsavory ways. He was a regular Pro-Bowler, a Super Bowl winner, and should be a Hall-of-Famer.

But he will be forever tied to Darryl Stingley, whom he left a quadriplegic after a crushing hit along the sidelines of a preseason game in 1978. It would become known as the hit and it was punishing and horrible.

It was also completely legal, but that never seemed to matter much, because it was what did or did not happen after the hit that left an ugly stain on the safety's otherwise black-and-blue career.

It was said by many, and became some kind of an unverified truth, that he never apologized or showed remorse for both ending Stingley's career, and the kind of life the wide receiver even remotely imagined living.

Over the years we quietly learned that Tatum actually went to the hospital after the game to see Stingley but was told only family could visit the wide receiver. In fact, he tried many times to see Stingley in later years but was rebuffed.

Then we learned that the classy Stingley, who died three years ago, never harbored any ill will toward Tatum, and, in fact, forgave him.

For his part, Tatum always said there was nothing to be forgiven for. It was a clean hit.
Cold? Maybe. But sometimes the facts are served that way. Tatum would say he felt sorry for what happened, but not guilty.

After his career ended, Tatum wrote a few books and we caught glimpses of him on the occasional NFL Films clip walloping anything on the field attached to a football. He also suffered with diabetes and lost a leg to the disease. He created The Jack Tatum Fund for Youthful Diabetes to help raise awareness and finance diabetes research. But it's the hit most will remember him for.

Me? I'll remember him as the guy who played a brutal game to its terrifying limits. I wish I had taken the time to learn more about him off the field, and before he passed away.

You get the feeling, though, that Owens will never shut up, nor go away. He's selfish, arrogant, and vastly overrates himself. He's all me, and no us. He's killed more quarterbacks than Deacon Jones. I know more about him on and off the field than is possibly fair.

Just when you think we're finally done with this circus act, he returns to be coddled and condemned by the carnival barkers at places like ESPN. Train wrecks are more subtle.

So while we are remembering and still discovering what made Jack Tatum what he was, it would be a great service to the future of the game, if we come to grips with what Terrell Owens is.

AP's Telling Tiger Tales Again ...

2010-07-26T14:02:33Z

The Associated Press roared out of the box with a three-paragraph story Sunday that it is asking us to take at face value. Beside its grammatically challenged lead, the story has absolutely no sourcing.

Ahhhh ... It's like going home again.

You might remember that AP perfected this type of reporting last fall and winter when it allegedly had some terrified source deep inside Orlando's Isleworth compound reporting on Tiger Woods' every move and intention in the weeks after the golfer put a bad swing on a Thanksgiving drive that landed him in a tree.

Essentially, Sunday's news is that Ryder Cup captain Corey Pavin is going to meet with Woods at the PGA Championship in a couple of weeks to discuss whether he wants to be a part of the team. Of course we have no idea how AP learned this, but let's just trust they have the story right. I mean, they very well might, you know.

]]>

We won't tell you where this confab between Woods and Pavin took place, or how we were privy to it. That's not important. What is important is that you believe it.

Understand, we followed AP guidelines in transcribing the following conversation:

Bulldog: How's single life treating ya?

Tiger: Dang. So, you're going to just jump right out there and start talking all that smack, little man? But to answer your question: Ridiculously awesome.

Bulldog: So all that sexual addiction stuff was just crap then, right?

Tiger: What do you think, dude?

Bulldog: All that was just for the sponsors and lawyers then?

Tiger: Dude, if you are a healthy American man, and you don't have a sexual addiction problem ... you are not a healthy American man.

Bulldog: Hahaha. Roger that, TW. And don't let my short stature fool ya in that department. Know what I mean ... ?

Tiger: So what it is you really want, man? Understand, I'm not hooking you up with any broads. I'm having enough trouble keeping my own stable open while TMZ rides along in my saddle.

Bulldog: I have no idea what you just said, and, besides, I am a happily married man.

Tiger: Yer what?!

Bulldog: Dude, I'm happily married. Really.

Tiger: Uh-huh. Now what's up, man?

Bulldog: I just wanted to tell you that unless you qualify for the Ryder Cup team I won't be making you a captain's pick.

Tiger: What?!

Bulldog: Look, man, no offense, but you are like a one-man marching band. Vuvuzelas make less noise than you do. I don't need all that on my team.

Tiger: OK, yer joking, right?

Bulldog: No. Either you qualify or you don't play.

Tiger: You can't do that.

Bulldog: Watch me. Besides, I read a story that said you called me little, weak and out of my league as captain.

Tiger: I never said that, man.

Bulldog: Hey, it was in an AP story, so it has to be right, OK?

Tiger: I'm telling you I never said that.

Bulldog: Well, the story said it was quoting somebody in a position to have heard you say it about three or four weeks ago at some undisclosed location.

Tiger: Well, that certainly sounds like AP ... But I didn't say it.

Bulldog: Look, man, Azinger told me that the best thing about his team was that you weren't on it. And they positively rolled the Euros.

Tiger: Dude said what?!

Bulldog: Yeah, he said it was a blessing not to have you around. Besides, it allowed everybody to speak freely about you behind your back. You know nobody likes you.

Tiger: Yeah, but they did what?!

Bulldog: They were busting on you, man. And that was before anybody ever really knew the real you! Can you imagine what we can talk about this year?! Talk about keeping the team loose. We'll be like a bunch of sweet-swinging Gumbys out there after we're done ripping on you!

Tiger: Dang.

Bulldog: And let's face it, you have never been much of a team player.

Tiger: True. Screw teams, man. Teams are for wussies.

Bulldog: And can you imagine the hell you'll catch if we lose? You'll get all the blame, bro.

Tiger: True again. I am sick of being blamed for everything.

Bulldog: So, you are OK with all of this?

Tiger: Yeah ... I guess so. But before it becomes official, let me think of a good excuse to leak to the AP.

Guy Pens Book On ESPN Crime, Station Sells It

2010-07-23T10:18:10Z

There is only one thing media companies take less seriously than their ombudsman: the readers and/or viewers themselves.

So I had to chuckle through gritted teeth when ESPN's ombudsman, Don Ohlmeyer, ripped off an eye-bleeding, 678-paragraph howitzer this week aimed at the very station that employs him over its laughable mishandling of the whole LeBron James affair.

Unfortunately, you'll remember that James took over ownership of the station for an hour one night recently to announce where he would be dribbling a basketball, and exhibiting his fine tattoos and jewelry.

James, of course, showed there's plenty of brains behind all that bling when he picked the sunny beaches and palm trees of Miami, instead of remaining in the grayish Midwest and in that awful place that has never won anything, Cleveland.

]]>

In fact he couldn't stop himself from making good points because this single column will soon be bound into a book in the coming weeks called, "ESPN: So Rotten I Couldn't Stop Typing About It."

Soft irony, then, that the book will be published and sold by ESPN, because nobody laughs longer and harder at itself while skipping merrily to the bank than the Entertainment Sports Programming Network.

And because you are wasting precious time at work reading this offering, I'll assume you won't be able to read Ohlmeyer's entire column/book, so I'll boil it down for you in five words (I were a editor once): ESPN trades ethics for access.

There is a reason Entertainment is the first word in its name, and Sports a distant second. The folks at ESPN have never -- make that, never ever -- been interested in delivering reputable sports journalism. They are interested in putting on a show which attracts millions of viewers, which in turn attracts gobs of advertisers, which in turn attracts piles of money.

And how do you put on a good show? Why, with good actors, of course! And nobody, I mean, nobody, has better niche actors than ESPN.

By rushing around in a frenzy kissing the asses of every athlete it can get its fat lips on, while at the same time throwing several cameras in their face, ESPN gets more access to these performers than their immediate families.

And for many of the pampered, attention-starved athletes it gets even better: When they are no longer worthy of having their behinds kissed for their exploits on the field of play, the station is only too happy to plop their out-of-shape but well-kissed fannies in front of some camera, where they are hailed as experts! Who says ex-jocks are stupid?

Oh, it's a wonderful deal, and everybody gets what they want -- except for the people that still have some grand delusion that what the station is doing is unethical and flat wrong.

So ESPN keeps an ombudsman around so it can give the appearance it is bothered by what it is doing, even if it has no intention of stopping itself. Remember how Tony Soprano used sooth his tired soul by seeing that good-looking psychiatrist before heading over to the Bada Bing! to plot murders and sample the eye candy ... ?

Maybe the best part of Ohlmeyer's column is near the end when he quotes the ombudsman that was at the place before he was, Le Anne Schreiber.

Schreiber, too, seemed bothered by the lack of checks and balances where journalism is concerned at the place when she typed this:

"Clearly, ESPN's many layers of editors and producers are not all on the same page, not even about some basic principles that define the nature of a journalistic enterprise. Without a formal, written handbook of guidance and policy, there is not much chance they ever will be, and the price for that will be paid in avoidable suspensions, apologies and erosion of credibility."

Hey, did you see the ESPYs?

Shrek Wrecks Golf's Home As Foes Do Nothing

2010-07-19T12:14:02Z

The game of golf returned to its birthplace this weekend only to roll into some seaside bunker and collapse.

Put it this way: If somebody told you that a flat-lining, gap-toothed, driving machine nicknamed "Shrek" would dismantle The Old Course to the tune of 16-under, thump the garden-variety British runner-up named Westwood, Casey, Poulter, Rose or Donald by seven-or-so shots, all while Tiger and Phil thrashed about in the gorse and heather 13 and 17 strokes back respectively ... would you have watched?

You aren't alone. An Open Championship that promised everything at the start, slowly and painfully delivered very little at the end.

Minutes after Paul Casey was taking about an hour to assemble a grotesque triple on No. 12, while playing partner and assassin Louis Oosthuizen poured in another birdie on the same hole to take his lead to eight shots, I just couldn't take it anymore, and walked away.

]]> Oh, I returned feeling an odd obligation to watch Oostie make his ceremonial walk up 18, but by that time, I had washed from my mind most of what had happened -- or didn't -- over the past four days at St. Andrews.

If ever a golf tournament failed to rise to within shouting distance of the high hopes of golf fans across the world, it was this 139th rendition of the Open Championship on The Old Course. You'll never see a grander stage house a flatter performance.

There is no denying that Oostie was brilliant, but if we were forced to be subjected to some one-man show, better his name was Woods or Mickelson or Els ...

Oosthuizen? Nice story, just not when you are expecting a blockbuster.

You saw it.
The guy's swing, diminutive stature, and unfortunately, personality, are all kind of Hogan-esque. Even with constant 30 mph winds nagging away at him for three straight days, the move he put on the golf ball, and his straight-ahead demeanor were never ruffled. It was bizarre, and as if he was playing in some sort of protective bubble, while everybody else dealt with the elements.

The kid put on a clinic. Trouble is, most of us wanted to watch a competitive tournament at the home of golf, not some systematic killing.

Not once over the course of the final two hours Sunday did anybody have to man up and hit a clutch shot. Oostie could have tripled the notorious Road Hole, No. 17, and still skipped up the 18th fairway without bother.

In retrospect, the tournament was over for me on Friday night when the great Tom Watson finished with a ridiculous flourish. Only minutes after dealing with the emotional burst of crossing the Swilcan Bridge for the final time, the five-time Open champ came within one inch of flushing the ball for an eagle on his approach chip on 18.

Tooooom! Now that's drama!

Nothing after that came within a John Daly 2-iron of approaching such excitement in the game's oldest championship, and at its oldest course.

By the time the third round was over, the guy whose name nobody could pronounce was leading the latest would-be major winner from England, Paul Casey, by four shots and the rest of the field by about twice that.

To be honest, I thought Shrek would crack, and let a couple of the outsiders back in it on Sunday (or maybe I was just being ridiculously optimistic). Instead, he kept striping it, while the rest of the star-challenged loomers showed little inclination to do anything necessary to climb back in it.

You get the sense that golf is getting close to becoming a bit irrelevant again. Golf fans will only put up for so long watching guys like McDowell and Oosthuizen steal away with championships at hallowed venues like Pebble Beach and St. Andrews.

The game has taken naps like this before, only to be resuscitated by Jones, Palmer, Nicklaus and Woods ...

Maybe things aren't quite that bad yet, and just look that way the day after such an uninspiring Open.

Maybe, unlike the Curtises, Lawries, Micheels, Campbells and Immelmans before him, Oosthuizen will prove himself to be more than a one-hit wonder. Maybe he'll take all that game and step up and slug it out regularly with Tiger and Phil.

If not, let's hope the stars start shining again but quick, and before golf finds out it really can't go home again.

Good Day for a Sick Day, Golf ... and ESPN?

2010-07-16T15:55:46Z

The first groups just teed off for the second round of the Open Championship and there are signs The Old Course and her buddy, Mother Nature, are not going to be quite so accommodating today. Despite that, some dude named Louis Oosthuizen from Mars, South Africa, has just got it to 11-under ...

But listen up, sports fans: Before you head out the door to do whatever it is that pays your cable bill, we'll offer you the best advice you'll get all weekend: Call out sick.

My God, people, ESPN is showing 11 straight hours of golf from the place the game was born. If you live in the vicinity of the East Coast, you can scramble some eggs, brew a pot, and settle into the couch with your striped pajamas on, and watch the world's greatest game.

When the final shots are struck at 3 p.m., or so, you can grab a nap (bonus points if you also grab your honey), then rise, shine, shower up, and visit an establishment like The Grill Room for a pint or two to round out the perfect Friday.

Then, on Saturday and Sunday, simply rinse and repeat.

OK, now that that's settled, here's what we liked best and least from Thursday's first-round action:

]]> WHAT WE LIKED BEST:

ESPN's coverage ...

If you are a regular to The Grill Room, you know that we credit ESPN as often as John Boehner sends Barack Obama roses.

But, hey, some credit where credit is due.

In addition to keeping Chris Berman as far from Scotland as possible, the sports entertainment station has stocked its lineup with a big, fat team of all-star analysts to call its unprecedented 93 hours (seriously) of live golf. My gosh, I even heard good, ol' Tom Weiskopf behind the mic on Thursday.

When you have the greatest of all time, Peter Alliss, painting a purist's picture, along with a guy who could become the greatest of all time if he just did it more, Paul Azinger, giving some honest, inside perspective, there is little not to like about this coverage.

Well, OK, Curtis Strange is still completely awful, and offers nothing original. And please, Curtis, work on the 1864 General Lee dialect will ya? As in, "fahv-ahrn" (five-iron) and "nahn-ahrn" (nine-iron).

And Scott Van Pelt renders any good observations he might come across moot thanks to that ridiculous "Captain Serious" look he works so hard to throw together. Really, dude, are we to believe that when you look in the mirror, that is really how you want to present in front of the camera?! Somebody please get this guy a part in a "Spider Man" movie or something.

But Van Pelt and Strange are the exceptions to a team that also includes the most underrated on-course talker ever, Judy Rankin, top-five sports announcer, Sean McDonough, and the rock-solid Andy North.

And if Rocco Mediate flops, it will be the greatest upset of all time. The guy is a natural.

Finally, it's also hard to type a bad thing about Mike Tirico. The guy is as smooth as the butter you are now pouring over your pancakes.

Somehow, though, I just don't see him standing over a golf ball with a driver and doing anything other than gouging it about 137 yards and dead right.

Ah, well ... Good stuff, ESPN. Who says we don't grudgingly call 'em as we see 'em?

WHAT WE LIKED LEAST:

The Weather ...

It was said approximately 73 times by ESPN's 22 announcers, and we'll confirm, The Old Course's only defense is the wind. It was unbelievably calm Thursday, and the course played as easy as it possibly can. As the Scots say, "If it's nay wind, and nay rain ... it's nay golf."

Let's hope for some Scottish golf today, and the rest of the weekend. Only then, will St. Andrews sort out the contenders from the pretenders and choose a worthy winner.

UPDATE: 9:51. EST: Well, no more "nay wind." Play has actually been stopped because of the feisty breezes, and get this: The players are being taken to evacuation spots. Seriously. It's a glorious day, the sun is out, the wind is blowing, but the poor, poor players are being spared these horrible, horrible elements.

I love the game, but not the way the pros are primped and coddled these days. If they aren't going to make 'em play, at least make 'em wait by their golf balls. Evacuation spots?!

Good grief.

WHAT WE LIKED LEAST: THE WEATHER, PART II

The big deal made about being on the right- and wrong-half of the draw ...

To hear the 22 announcers we mostly liked groan about it, you'd think Mickelson and the late starters Thursday dealt with Katrina out there. No, the conditions in the afternoon were not as favorable as they were in the morning. And by favorable, I mean freakishly calm.

A bit of wind and a spot of rain came up late in the day, yes, but any Scot worth his bagpipe would tell you the course was eminently playable all day. Lee Westwood carved out an easy 67 in the 'awful' conditions late in the day.

But let's not let the truth get in the way of a ridiculous storyline.

UPDATE: 9:58 EST: The leader, Oosthuizen, was also on the wrong half of the draw. See? Just because they say it, doesn't make it so.

WHAT WE LIKED LEAST: THE WEATHER, PART III

Phil Mickelson ...

It blows my mind (pardon the pun) that the guy either can't, or more likely, simply won't, play the bump-and-run shot around the massive greens at The Old Course. If you are going to keep hoisting wedges into the air, Phil, I wonder why you bother even showing up for these Opens. You are way to good for this silly behavior.

OK, go pour yourself another cup, and don't forget about that nap later on.

Golf's Greatest Stage Awaits Another Worthy Victor

2010-07-14T10:10:06Z

With apologies to the bow-ties at the United States Golf Association, the green-jackets at Augusta, and the well-intentioned invisibles at the PGA of America, the game of golf offers no better stage than an Open Championship played on The Old Course at St. Andrews.

It's where the game was born, where purists simply have to play, and where champions feel they must win.

Now cruising along in its formative years after its birth in the mid-16th century, St. Andrews stands as golf's mecca, and epicenter.

It will host its 28th Open Championship starting Thursday. If you can watch only one tournament all year, you'll do no better than this one.

]]> The Old Course and all its charm, nuances and complexities has been written about in so many beautiful ways by so many venerable writers over the decades that rather than hack my way through some unworthy describer, I'll take a crack at a quick anecdote instead:

I'd been writing about the game for a number of years, and playing it long before that, when I made my first trip to the town in the late-summer of 1992. After driving several hours north through the beautiful patchwork of gold-and-green hills that sit hard along the North Sea, we finally arrived at St. Andrews on a lovely Sunday afternoon.

Thirty seconds or so after tossing our suitcases in the corner of the hotel room, I bounded out to get my first look at the hallowed grounds I'd seen and read so much about.

Five minutes later, I stopped dead in my tracks, and quickly scooped my jaw off the sidewalk.

Instead, of coming upon something resembling golfing royalty, I found myself staring at a nifty, garden-variety park.

There were picnic blankets spread about the meandering beach-side tundra; dogs scampering here and there doing their business; lovers cuddling; kites rippling in the breeze ...

No, I hadn't somehow missed my mark. It seems golf's most prized jewel doubles as a seaside park for the townspeople of St. Andrews. Golf at The Old Course takes Sundays off. How else do you live to be 500?

I won't go as far as to say that unless you have won at St. Andrews you aren't a truly great champion, because that would eliminate the likes of six-time Open winner Harry Vardon, five-time Open champ Tom Watson and four-time winner Walter Hagen. It would also take out Ben Hogan, Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, and Lee Trevino -- great players all.

I will say that when you combine the course and the stakes, there is no tournament that a golfer would rather have than this one.
Win the Open at St. Andrews, and no matter what comes before or after is a very nice accompaniment.

Since the first Open was played on The Old Course in 1873, five-time winner J.H. Taylor, Bobby Jones, Sam Snead, five-time winner Peter Thomson, four-time winner Bobby Locke, Jack Nicklaus (twice), Seve Ballesteros, Nick Faldo, and Tiger Woods (twice), have raised the Claret Jug at golf's home.

In fact, the last seven winners at the Old Course have been Nicklaus (1970, 1978), Ballesteros (1984), Faldo (1990), John Daly (1995), and Tiger Woods, who won the last two in 2000 and 2005.

You'll notice there's not a dud among that group.

And before you scream that Daly tarnishes the fab foursome of Nicklaus, Ballesteros, Faldo and Woods, I'd remind you that off-course recklessness aside, Daly remains one of the greatest examples of power and finesse the game has ever seen. I'm betting Woods is only too happy to let him off the hook for his rowdy and rude misbehavior.

So if the old gal anoints only great talents, who will wear the game's most coveted crown come Sunday?

I'll say it will come from the very good-to-great foursome of Phil Mickelson, Padraig Harrington, Ernie Els, and Tiger Woods. Probably the four best players of recent times.

We'll eliminate Woods because his game is too unstable right now. St. Andrews' bunkers are penal, and all those wayward drives he's been belting all over the lot are bound to land him in a very, very bad spot or two over the weekend. Not this time, Tiger.

Mickelson has every shot needed to win at The Old Course, but for some reason the guy struggles mightily in the wind. It makes no sense, and despite being golf's true magician, his record in the Open is awful. Cheers, Phil.

Els has an Open title, and nobody would like to win one at St. Andrews more than Ernie. But Els has proven to be an undependable closer in majors over the last decade or so, and just can't be trusted down the stretch here. Sorry, Ernie.

Which leaves Harrington ...
Paddy has won two of the last three Opens, and seems a good bet for at least one more before his winning days are behind him. An Open title Sunday will give him four majors, and lift him higher yet toward true greatness.

It just seems like Harrington and The Old Course are meant for each other right about now.

Enjoy the show.

Soccer's a Game Only a Mother Could Love

2010-07-12T11:09:24Z

Like an old lover, the World Cup showed up at our door four weeks ago, and was welcomed in with a wink and a warm hug. It was going to be a lot of fun getting to know each other again.

Turns out, neither of us has changed.

By the time Spain had out-waited the Netherlands in about the 118th minute of some dentist appointment disguised as a big game last night, we were only too happy to give the ol' gal one of those ass-out hugs and show her the door.

See ya in four years, baby ... now isn't there some women's golf on the tube, or something?

]]> Last night's groaner between the Spaniards and the Dutch in the World Cup finale is only the latest example of why America will never commit to soccer in any big, meaningful way. Sure, the game has its beautiful moments, but they are suffocated by all the lallygagging, diving, whining, blown calls, and lack of any kind of sustained offensive flow.

You want a better game right off the bat? Get rid of the offside rule. Hell, the refs get that one wrong more than they do right, anyway ...

Truthfully, I'm not sure that would even help.
Besides, I'm wading into territory that I'll wager has already been covered approximately 7,000 times in the blogs and columns on this web site alone over the past month.

And that is pretty much the point, isn't it?

Every four years the World Cup comes along, and the same old question is asked in thousands of different ways: After she goes, will America miss her?

Unless you drive a 16-cylinder SUV, color your hair some version of blondish-gold, and tote your semi-obese, pig-tailed daughters and their 13 friends and cell phones to a Saturday-morning youth soccer league, the answer to that question is an easy, no.

Or it could be you were a fumbling mess in those good, ol' traditional American sports that require true hand (not foot)-eye coordination. Now you tell all your hard-living accountant friends that soccer, and all its hard-to-see nuances, is king, because, really, you are still royally pissed about being picked last in all those choose-'em-up neighborhood baseball tilts.

Or maybe your motives are completely pure. Maybe you actually played soccer at a semi-high level at one point and have a true appreciation for the game.

Otherwise, for the rest of us sports fans, soccer's nice to have around for a month every four years or so. It's sort of like the Olympics. I don't know that I'd want to watch people swim, curl, or run every two or three years, though.

Just as soon as ESPN is done milking the skinny cow for all its worth, soccer will be put out to pasture with only occasional sightings over the next four years.

By the time the World Cup comes around again we will have been through 16 NFL, MLB, NBA, and NHL seasons; four Super Bowl, World Series, NBA Finals, and Stanley Cup trophies will have been hoisted; drivers will have made hard-lefts in eight Daytona and Indy 500s; 748 bowl games will have been played; March will have gone mad four times; Tiger Woods will have amassed another billion dollars, nine cocktail waitresses, and at least two more majors out of the 16 that will have been played; LeBron James will still be hated in Cleveland, but will have purchased Fox Sports in addition to ESPN.

The point is, the World Cup will always be a welcome diversion every four years. But by the time her four weeks are up, and the last 1-0 game has ground to a halt, we'll be just as happy to watch her go.

See ya in Brazil, baby. I'm sure I'll recognize ya.

Germany, Cleveland, LPGA Feel the Heat

2010-07-09T10:15:31Z

Well, the Grill Room is currently being painted a lovely shade of yellow as we carve out some time to answer a few burning, sports-like questions from our steamy haunt in Germany on this sizzling Friday morning.

Yes, my point is it's hot as hell in Europe right now, and, no, they don't do A/C over here. No, again, I'm not kidding. Yes, they take this whole global-warming, carbon-footprint stuff very seriously. No, Europeans don't bathe often, and, yes, they smell like day-old fish when the thermometer gushes into the upper-90s.

No, we won't lighten up.

Anyway, I'd like to say we picked the sunny, yellow color in honor of Spain, which saved the continent from certain German domination thanks to its semifinal win over the Schweinsteigers Wednesday night.
Actually, it just seemed like the decent, diplomatic thing to do. After all, Surrender White has always been better suited for a building somewhere in the vicinity of Paris.

]]> So the Germans next assault on their neighbors seems to have been averted for the time being. It's the Spaniards vs. the Dutch in Sunday's World Cup finale, which leads us to our first question: Did you know that?

Here's why we're askin':

Because LeBron James' cable sports company, ESPN, has done nothing the past few days but promote its owner's pending move to any place but Cleveland. The World Cup has suddenly become old, non-existent news on his network.
By our reckoning, the game will start somewhere in the vicinity of 2 p.m. EST on ESPN, sandwiched by approximately seven 2-hour shows dedicated to its owner.

You're welcome.

Next question:

Since about the year 1892, has anybody ever up and moved from Miami to Cleveland?

Here's why we're askin':

Because despite the delicious rant from Cavs' owner Dan Gilbert, a good-looking, 25-year-old single guy and owner of ESPN like James bolting Cleveland for the Florida beaches, hot babes, warm adulation, and a treasure chest stuffed with about a gazillion dollars makes more sense than just about anything you are likely to encounter in this crazy, mixed up world.

A follow-up question:

So we really don't think LeBron owed Cleveland a single thing?

Here's why we're askin':

Because if we actually believed that malarkey, we'd probably deserve to live in that awful place. I bet they have A/C, though.

Another question, different subject:

If the LPGA showed up for its biggest tournament of the year on one of the game's most venerable golf courses, would anybody bother to attend?

Here's why we're askin':

Because in the hours before ESPN televised its owner's big decision Thursday, it used one of its 16 stations to carry first-round coverage of the U.S. Women's Open from Oakmont Country Club.

It looked a lot to the patrons watching in the Grill Room that LeBron made a miscalculation in his staffing for the event. There were more TV people covering the thing than there were fans on the course.

Good grief, you'll see more folks milling around the beaches of Alabama these days.

Of course, it doesn't help that the tour's most notorious player, Michelle Wie, has finally done the responsible thing and pretty much deserted the LPGA for college. She was nice enough to carry her rusty game to Oakmont, and toss in a brutal 82, though. At least she'll be back at Stanford in time for the keggers this weekend.

Here's your leaderboard from Oakmont:

1) Brittany Lang
T2) Kelli Shean
T2) Amy Yang
T2) Inbee Park
T2) M.J. Hur
T6) Mhairi McKay
T6) Sakura Yokomine

So don't tell me the heat in Pittsburgh had anything to do with the paltry attendance. Right now the LPGA has as much star power as the Republican Party.

And, besides, aren't we all just a little tired of blaming the Heat for everything?
Well?! Aren't we?!

World Cup Inspires Pride, then Punishment

2010-07-07T09:00:38Z

Well, we picked a fine time to reopen the Grill Room, let me tell ya ...

As I type away on this glorious Wednesday morning in the hills of SW Germany, the staff is still scraping orange-clad Nederlanders off the floor.
It was the damnedest thing: if you just brushed elbows with one of 'em last night as they watched their team's semifinal tilt with Uruguay, they dropped to the deck like they'd been shot, and then rolled around grimacing in pain.

Speaking of which, Germany could well be next for the Orange Mush when the World Cup 2010 plays its final game Sunday. This has me and others very, very nervous. Wars -- world wars, even -- have been started over less.

But, first, welcome back to the Grill Room ...

]]> I guarantee you it was never our intent to re-introduce ourselves at Real Clear Sports by spinning World Cup copy. The nuances of soccer are lost on me, so an expert I am not. I do appreciate, however, that these fellas can get more done with two feet than Bill Clinton ever did with his hands.

So putting the finer points of the game aside for good, what has me concerned is the nationalistic nature of the whole thing.

Slowly but surely, the flag-flying here in Germany has been building. Every other car is adorned with one -- or two. Kids walk German Shepherds that have German flags attached to their tails. Old ladies have one sticking out of their hats and another attached to their bicycle spokes. Even the brooms they use to sweep their streets each day have a flag protruding out of the butt end.

Pride in your team is one thing, but when it starts to look condescending and threatening it's time to take notice.

And I don't mean to be insensitive here, but let's face it, if a two-bit moron with a bad mustache can inspire a country to war during tough economic times, who's to say a guy named Podolski born with dynamite in his foot couldn't do the same?

And the economy does stink over here, folks. The Yanks aren't the only ones feeling the pain. It's gotten so bad, the dollar is actually worth something in these parts.
And this: It's so, so bad that everybody has put aside their collective hate for France, and turned menacingly toward Greece.

These are uneasy times, and this World Cup isn't helping.

So now I am wondering if it's better that the Germans just lose to Spain tonight and get it all out of their systems, so they can get back to their self-loathing, or if it's better that they win, and the war starts and ends just as quickly as possible.

Dangerous times, indeed.

Westwood Wins, While Tiger Whines...

2010-04-11T13:04:07Z

Just wanted to open The Grill Room today to offer our patrons in Europe who have been up late watching the Masters the past few nights a complimentary Bloody Mary, and a bit of good news where the green jacket is concerned.

While you drink up, we'll tell you quickly how it will go today:
The winner of the Masters will come from the last group; Tiger will make a little noise, and then a lot more when he drops an F-Bomb 'round about the 14th hole; and Hunter Mahan and Ian Poulter will put together gallant runs, before running out of turf down the stretch.

And isn't it nice to see that absolutely nothing has changed with Tiger Woods? We're talking about the good and the bad that's bundled too tightly in Nike's chosen one.

OK, quickly, here's how we see the final round today:

]]> Lee Westwood (pictured) will win because for one thing, we picked the gap-toothed Brit right behind Ernie Els before the tournament started, so we can't give up on ourselves, or Lee, now.

Tee to green, he's been the best player on the course the first three days. He is absolutely pounding his drives and hitting his irons ridiculously pure. Those two things nicely mask the only weakness in his game, those touchy little shots around the greens. Westwood has been a lurker of the lead in several majors recently, and this time will close the deal with a closing 69.

The polite fans at Augusta will grudgingly give him his due, while their favorite son, Lefty, comes ever so close...

Has there ever been three successive iron shots struck in the major heat of battle better than the ones Phil Mickelson ripped of Saturday on Nos. 13, 14, and 15? After the shot on 15, I pulled myself up off my couch and gave him a standing O. I have not done that since Nicklaus ran home that putt on No. 17, 24 years ago.

It's nice to see Phil has discovered his game and some joy this week, but his final-round 69 will leave him one behind Westbrook, but ahead of Darth Vader...

The guy can still whine and grind better than anybody out there. Tiger somehow turned a 75 into a 70 Saturday. He's still in it, but unless he starts driving the ball better and onto the wide-open Augusta fairways, he won't be for long. A final-round 71 gets him a top-5 finish, while his boorish behavior will continue to lose him fans by the thousands.

Just for fun, Poulter and Mahan, ball-striking wonders both, will knock a mess of irons stiff, but will finish two noses off the the pace as they run out of holes down the stretch. I would not be surprised if one, or both, threw a 66 or a 67 at the course to make it interesting, though.

And what about Fred Couples? It's just too much to ask of Mr. Aw-Shucks.
Augusta is one of the toughest courses in the world to walk, and Couples and that balky back of his will relent somewhere over the final holes.
Of course, we said that about Watson at the Open Championship last year, and we all know he never went away until the ill-fated playoff.

We would love nothing better than to be wrong again.

Now drink up, and enjoy the tournament unlike any other.

-The Grill Room

Picking Winner With as Little Payne as Possible

2010-04-08T10:34:47Z

Now that Billy Payne has put the stamp of disapproval on Tiger Woods, I guess everybody's job is done now, and we can go back to fawning over the great Tiger as he begins his quest for another green jacket.

Nice to know the wise and all-knowing Chairman of the Augusta National Golf Club is a guy who believes in second chances, even if he doesn't believe in first chances for perspective members of his club -- especially if they went through the unfortunate circumstance of being born a yucky woman.

Way to go, Billy. Thanks for that annual reminder that pompousness at your otherwise exquisite golfing venue knows no bounds.

But we got kind of hung up on that one yesterday in the Grill Room, so it's time to move on to more practical things, like picking a winner of the tournament. And not a moment too soon as things are mere hours away from getting ceremoniously started...

]]> Grill Room:
If somebody put a gun to my head and demanded I reveal the winner or die, who would I pick...?

I really think this cuts to the heart of it, and produces a choice with as little bias behind it as possible.

Any other year, I'd pick Tiger. He was by far the surest thing out there, even if he has been one of the biggest victims of all this Tiger-proofing that has gone on at the course the past decade. And, you're welcome for the 'victim' reference, Tiger. Bet you haven't heard that one in a while.

Thing is, now that he's allegedly off the babes, and going through some unidentified mind-altering treatment, who knows what's inside that once-calculating head of his?
Nah, can't trust all that psychological mumbo-jumbo with my life...

This year, the surest thing out there is Ernie Els.
Els has always had as much talent as Woods, but wasn't raised like a robot, so his tendency to act like a genuine good guy and please everybody always got in the way of more winning.

But age brings urgency, and Ernie is a more focused guy armed with a new, sure-fire putting stroke that is producing victories this year.

And let's dispense with the Ernie-has-the-game-for-the-Masters crap. Darn near everybody in the field has the game for the place, or they wouldn't be here.

Ernie just has more game, and this year he shows it.

If the gun-toter said he might offer a reprieve if somebody other than Els won, who would we pick?

OK, in this order:

Lee Westwood: Now this is lot like literally taking your life in your hands, because if we have learned one thing about the Brit golfers since Nick Faldo grabbed a handful of microphones, it's that they are choking dogs. Poulter, Casey, Rose and Westwood all have the talent to win anytime, anyplace, but not the onions. Of the four, Westwood looks most likely to grow a pair.

Padraig Harrington: The toughest guy out there. Over the past few years, nobody has made more big putts than Paddy.

Anthony Kim: When he's hot, he's hot and right now he's hot. He's also fearless. Hear that, Lee?

Dustin Johnson: OK, a bit of a long-shot, but the dude has a ton of game. He's Davis Love with a putting stroke.

Now go on and enjoy this tournament unlike any other...