polo rainboots Scott loses Open
As someone who loves golf, my least favorite golfers are the ones that rack up victories in small tournaments, build up their international ranking, but never contend in majors. What made Tiger Woods one of the two best players ever, is that he kept his best for when it mattered the most.
So guys like Luke Donald, Paul Casey and especially Adam Scott, are guys that I don care for because they typically fail miserably on golf biggest stage.
I actually didn watch Sunday action (I was at the Nationals game), but I was following it on my ESPN app. I saw when he was up four strokes through 15, and believed that he had the thing won. So, when I checked in again in an hour I was as flabbergasted as anyone that he had yakked the thing away.
But actually quite delighted, because I was so anti Scott.
When I got home I watched the two hour replay, and could not wait to see how exactly Scott threw up all over himself. I relished the opportunity to watch this car wreck.
But instead, I found myself feeling so terrible for the man after his missed putt on 18 that I hated myself for looking forward to watching his downfall.
We love sports because there so much emotion, and many times you have no idea what you about to see. What we saw on Sunday was a man feeling like he was on top of the world, and then his dreams getting crushed for the world to see.
I must frankly admit, however, that, either owing to the derangement of my nerves, or my new impressions in my new lodgings, or my recent melancholy, I gradually began at dusk to sink into that condition which is so common with me now at night in my illness, and which I call mysterious horror. It is a most oppressive, agonizing state of terror of something which I don’t know how to define, and something passing all understanding and outside the natural order of things, which yet may take shape this very minute, as though in mockery of all the conclusions of reason, come to me and stand before me as an undeniable fact, hideous, horrible, and relentless. This fear usually becomes more and more acute, in spite of all the protests of reason, so much so that although the mind sometimes is of exceptional clarity at such moments, it loses all power of resistance. It is unheeded, it becomes useless, and this inward division intensifies the agony of suspense. It seems to me something like the anguish of people who are afraid of the dead. But in my distress the indefiniteness of the apprehension makes my suffering even more acute.