More Magic From Bubba

In case you were sleeping (which is understandable since it happened about 3 a.m. EST), I simply give you the latest amazing feat from Bubba Watson, this on the 18th hole at the HSBC Champions event in Shanghai early Sunday morning.

Even more astoundingly, the hole out came after Bubba had bogeyed 16 and double bogeyed 17 to fall from a two-shot lead to one shot behind five players as he stood on the 18th tee. The bunker shot, which was for an eagle, put him back in the lead by one. Tim Clark, playing in a group behind Bubba, birdied the 18th to force a playoff.  Which Bubba promptly won on the first playoff hole, sinking a curling downhill putt from about 20 feet.

Forget Gandalf, Bubba's nickname has to be stolen from John C. Reilly's character in Talladega Nights. He's The Magic Man.

The Magic Man (photo from imdb.com)

This Is for Faldo ...

Roy "Tin Cup" McAvoy: "This is for Venturi, who thinks I should lay up."

Romeo Posnar: "Yeah, what does he know? He only won this tournament before you were born."

I've compared Bubba Watson to Gandalf and Arnold Palmer before, but, for all those who have seen "Tin Cup", the similarity between Bubba in the 2014 Masters and Roy McAvoy, the fictional range pro from Salome, Texas played by Kevin Costner in the film, was unavoidable.

Much as Tin Cup knew that Ken Venturi, former U.S. Open champion turned television commentator, was advising his viewers that McAvoy should play it safe on the 72nd hole of the tournament, hopefully Bubba was aware of the chatter between David Feherty and Nick Faldo regarding his shot on 15 at the Masters on the final day.

Faldo had spent much of Saturday tut-tutting about Bubba's "nervy" putting, all but flat-out saying that Watson was choking. One got the feeling at the time that Faldo, who's game was tedious and precise (and won him six majors) was relishing what he saw as the anti-Faldo's collapse. Even on Sunday, when Watson seized the tournament on the 8th and 9th holes, Faldo seemed to assume that another meltdown was only a sweeping left-handed hook or missed putt away (and he never did give credit to Bubba that his putting was anything but nervy on Sunday as he one-putted 10 of the first 16 holes).

Feherty meanwhile, who can be wildly entertaining and is not hypercritical, assessed Watson's lie after his drive on 15 left him amongst the pines on the left-hand side of the hole, with water in front of the par 5 to carry and a three shot lead to protect. "He has to lay up," said Feherty more than once. "It's the only smart play," said Faldo, or words to that effect.

Watson, however, had other ideas. His second shot darted through the limbs, crossed the water, and landed behind the green.

It may have truly been the smart play. A lay-up might have left Watson out of position for a third shot over the water. Or he may have been concerned that it would carry all the way to the water.

I prefer, however, to think that, much like McAvoy, Bubba decided to tilt at another windmill and told his caddy Ted Scott "This is for Faldo, who thinks I should lay up." And then, unlike Tin Cup, cleared the water, made par, and won the tournament by three strokes.

What makes the comparison complete? Bubba, in either a knowing nod to Tin Cup or just because he truly is a small-town boy from Bagdad, Florida, celebrated his victory with friends and family at a Waffle House, just like Roy after his record-setting 62 in the second round of the Open.

Bubba's selfie at Waffle House (from @bubbawatson),

"That shot was a defining moment, and when a defining moment comes along, you define the moment … or the moment defines you." Roy McAvoy.

What if We Decided Not to Blame Anyone?

"scape·goat/ˈskāpˌgōt/

Noun:	1. (in the Bible) A goat sent into the wilderness after the Jewish chief priest had symbolically laid the sins of the people upon it (Lev. 16). 2. One that is made to bear the blame of others.
Verb:	Make a scapegoat of.
Synonyms:	whipping boy - fall guy - goat"

After attending all three days of competitive play at the Ryder Cup, I too got caught up in the discussions in the aftermath of the Meltdown at Medinah. 

"Who should we blame?" all the commentators asked. Various candidates were offered (Jim Furyk, Steve Stricker, Tiger Woods, and Captain Davis Love chief among them). "Did we lose it or they win it?" was a conversation I engaged in as well. After discussing some of the above candidates, we decided it was a little of both -- some of our guys lost matches they could or should have won, some of their guys (chief among them Justin Rose) won matches they had every reason to believe they had already lost.

Jim Furyk reacts to a missed putt on the final day.

As the sting has faded though, I've been thinking more about our need (and by "our" I mean Mankind, Humankind, all us people, etc., not just Americans and not just the Ryder Cup) to attach blame and find a scapegoat. Particularly interesting, or troubling, is the definition above: "one that is made to bear the blame of others."

I understand that with multiple 24-hour sports, news, and golf television and radio it is inevitable that in the endless effort to fill air time every result and action will be overanalyzed. But I can't help but think that at least part of why we do so, or even listen while others do, is to find someone to "bear our blame." Not the blame of losing an exhibition golf match (anymore than our average counterpart in Europe can take credit for the victory), but for our collective discontent and feeling that we're no longer the masters of our domain.

So at least as far as this Ryder Cup goes, I'm not looking for a scapegoat, not placing blame. The Euros won, and did so with passion and flair. Let's just leave it at that.

Random observations from three days at Medinah:

"USA! USA! USA!" is insipid. C'mon people we can do better. I suggest that for the next Ryder Cup on U.S. soil (or even Gleneagles in 2014 for that matter) we enlist Sam's Army or the American Outlaws (which are U.S. Soccer supporter groups, not biker gangs) to instruct all American fans in some proper songs.

One of the five coolest moments in my sports spectating life was watching and listening as Ian Poulter and Bubba Watson got the fans amped up on the first tee on Saturday afternoon, then hit while they were still in a frenzy. If you didn't see it, you have to watch.

Not sure why, but golfers on the whole strike me as the most universally likable athletes.

Except for Sergio Garcia, who I've never really liked.

Hurray for the Uncoached

As this blog has evolved it's largely taken the form of commentary on timely events regarding soccer and sports in general and the possible lessons to be learned for society as a whole and coaches and athletes in particular.

As a former coach, I obviously believe that coaches are, at their best, essential to the development of players and teams. This is always true of team sports, where individual brilliance may be present, but has to be integrated into the machinery of the team in order for there to be collective success.

In individual sports, coaches used to be the exception, not the norm. But these days every tennis player has a coach, and every PGA player has at least one, and often more: swing coach; short game coach; psychologist; not to mention caddies and agents. 

I believe that all this coaching has taken some of the magic out of those sports. We now seem to have cookie-cutter formulas for success. In women's tennis, in order to be a star you apparently have to grunt/scream in agony on every shot (and it doesn't hurt to have a last name ending in "ova"). Men's tennis is now just a series of baseline displays of power, with two players firing ICBMs at each other until one succumbs. The players then move on to the next point, indistinguishable from the last, where the sparring renews. 

It's the same in golf where most of the players, especially those in the middle-of-the-pack, seem interchangeable. I'm always amused when a commentator analyzes some player's swing with the super-slow-motion camera and breathlessly describes the takeaway or the downswing or the follow-through. They all look exactly the same to me (except, of course, for Jim Furyk's). But maybe that's why I'm watching and they're playing.

I pine for the days when you could tell a player just by his/her swing, whether on the court or the course. Just saying the name Borg or McEnroe or Evert or Palmer or Player conjures up a very clear image in my mind, not of the player's face, but the player's stroke or swing and the way they played the game.

The classic Palmer follow through.

Which is why Bubba Watson's triumph at the Masters this past weekend came as such a breath of fresh air. As I'm sure you've read by now, Watson has never had a golf lesson and is mostly self-taught. His pairing with Louis Oosthuizen for 20 holes on Sunday provided the perfect contrast between the always-in-control-never-out-of-balance swings taught and learned by almost everyone these days and the swing-from-your-heels-or-toes-it-doesn't-matter-when-you-hit-the-ball-350-yards thrashing of Bubba.

Bubba's follow through. While with a driver -- look familiar?

Watson has commented before that he in all likelihood has Attention Deficit Disorder (which his wife readily confirms) and that he relies on his caddie to keep him on-task during a round. But he has consistently refused to hire a swing coach or even seek much advice regarding his swing. And, as far as I'm concerned, we're all better off because of it.

While the psychologist quoted in the article above likens an athlete with ADD to those individuals who used to be described as having an "artistic temperament", nothing about Bubba's game is particularly artistic. In his all-white outfits, wielding a pink driver with a pink shaft, hair flowing out of his visor like a frat boy at Ft. Lauderdale on spring break, the image is much more that of a mad scientist or a wizard. And all of us are enchanted.

Tell me you can't see Gandalf with a pink driver in his hands.

While Bubba evidently identifies most with the late Payne Stewart (who also likely had ADD), their games aren't much alike. The golfer who Watson most reminds me of is Seve Ballesteros, another mad genius whose imagination could help him escape the most unlikely of circumstances. Although, in Seve's case, it was usually much farther from the green than Bubba normally finds himself.

More than most, I understand the value of coaches and coaching, especially in team sports. And I certainly understand, particularly with my flawed golf swing and more flawed psyche, that coaches can benefit players in individual sports as well. But I also appreciate artistry or mad genius, particularly in individual sports. And that's why we all should celebrate Bubba's triumph.

He is every kid, who, hitting a ball he tossed to himself, shooting a three-pointer, or hitting a practice ball (on a vacant lot, or hoop without a rim, or sandy spot in his backyard) dreamt of hitting a walk-off home run, or making the last shot in the NBA finals, or sinking a putt on the 74th hole to win the Masters. It can happen. And you can do it all by yourself.