How you know that golf really is only about Tiger Woods

Sergio Garcia gagged another major yesterday, and no one noticed. Padraig Harrington picks up his second straight major, though he probably still has no worries about being stopped at the airport for autographs. It just goes to show you what an Irishman can do when he stops drinking for a few months.

Oh, and a small point, really... why is it that every athlete feels compelled to give the big gaudy trophy a light smooch on the side for the photographers? Tongue that baby, Padraig. She's something you had to fight hundreds of men for over four days and a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Chaste ain't cutting it; drop some trou already. Why let hockey guys have all of the hot man-on-artifact action?

But getting back to Garcia... of course, when you go around in public wearing clothes that Al Czervik would find distasteful, it does tend to distract people from actually noticing the quality of your game. The late great Rodney Dangerfield really was only a waggle away from totally predicting this clown.



Finally, this... what's your nightmare foursome? Mine's Garcia, Colin Montgomerie, and Hitler. Though I'm pretty sure that The Truth might go for Jean Van der Velde instead...