Feherty's Rants and Raves

Feherty’s Rants and Raves

Puh-lease. If I get asked if I think it’s a Grand Slam once more, I’m going to scream. I don’t care what it is, or what you call it. In fact, I think we should make up a new name for it, and then send it down the toilet. We could call it the “Royal Flush.”

I don’t know anything about much, but I do know this: If you want to see the trophies for Jack’s tournament, Arnold’s tournament, The Players Championship, Firestone, the Canadian Open, The Open Championship, the U.S. Open, and the PGA Championship, you’d have to go to Isleworth, get past the front security gate, find Tiger’s house, poison the dogs, and break a window. Take it from me, you’re not seeing them, I’ve tried, and all I got for my trouble was a tetanus shot.

If Tiger wins this week, it seems to me almost ludicrous to even try to compare the feat to anything else, past or present. It’s not a Grand Slam; it’s better than that. With another green jacket, he will be the defending champion at every significant golf tournament in the world, with the possible exception of the European PGA Championship. No one has ever come close to doing what he is doing. As for his opinion that it is a Grand Slam, that kind of reminds me of the relentless questioning about the Ryder Cup that David Duval had to endure before Brookline. Eventually he just said something to make them go away. This is not a debate; it’s a debacle. If you are trying to compare this feat with any other, you have to go outside golf for names such as Mark Spitz, Martina Navratilova, Johnny “Two No-hitter” Vander Meer. Of course, I haven’t a clue who that last guy is, but I’m reliably informed by Brian Hewitt of Golfweek that no one will ever break his record.

I know what you’re thinking. What about Byron Nelson’s 11 straight wins? Well, if Tiger wins this week, I think even Mr. Nelson would say that his greatest achievement might be second to this one. Call it what you want, If it happens, I’ll just call it like I see it, scratch my head in disbelief, and say to myself, “Damn, why am I surprised?”

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