I missed Tiger Woods' stellar 69 on Saturday. Too bad. I was driving from the Florida Panhandle to St. Petersburg, a 400-plus mile trek along I-10 and I-75.
However, I didn’t miss anything important on Sunday from 2:30 p.m. until the trophy presentation. I watched the final round with my friend Aly while our wives and kids spent the afternoon at the swimming pool.
“Why are the announcers wearing dark suits and ties?” Aly said. “They’re not dressed like golfers.”
I was so consumed by the golf that I hadn’t noticed.
“Because dark suits are what people wear to funerals,” I joked.
Indeed, the final round at Oakmont was like a funeral procession. Each player’s hopes died a slow (or fast), painful death. (Except for an Angel.) As is always the case at the U.S. Open, it was agonizing to watch. And, at the same time, riveting.
I really thought Tiger Woods would win. I’m not at all surprised that Jim Furyk came close (again). And I loved the way Angel Cabrera just went out and took it. He was the best yesterday and a joy to watch.
The Armchair Golfer
More final thoughts on the U.S. Open at: Down the Middle