It’s been nearly a month since Tiger played on the PGA Tour, and the system hasn’t collapsed. In fact, the last three events have been pretty interesting if you ask me.
Jose Coceres won at Hilton Head in a bizarre playoff, and then headed home to Buenos Aires, where he walked 23 miles to give thanks at the feet of a virgin. That’s not something we see every week. Where I come from, you’d have to walk farther than that to find a virgin, and it could take months to find three wise men. Hal Sutton wore out the young competition in Houston in a Texas twister on the final day, and last week, Scott “did he really say that” Hoch, America’s answer to Monty, and another old fart, won in Greensboro, nudging out Homer, I mean Scott Simpson, among others. Things on the PGA Tour have remained interesting, and the standard of play was still high, with the exception of the final round at Harbour Town.
You can say what you like about Scott Hoch, and most people do, but I like him. I know he has a habit of making as much sense as a washing machine on the slow cycle, but there’s nothing wrong with that. The tour has it’s fair share of politically correct automatons. Every time Scott Hoch opens his mouth, it’s an adventure, and for the record, he was right when he said that St. Andrews was designed by a bunch of sheep. Some of those sheep were relatives of mine, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he has that tight curly hair either. The man knows what he is talking about.
Hoch has been a fine player for a very long time, and he’s won a bunch of cash, using reverse psychology all the way. I showed up to join his group at the fifth hole on Sunday, and I said to him as he walked down the fairway, “You must be doing something right, if I’m here!” He looked at me with that goofy grin of his, and said, “Yeah, but it’ll probably all change now.”
Of course, from that moment on, he never missed a shot. He complained about most of them, but he never really missed one, believe me. It was as good a piece of front-running as I’ve seen for a long time, and all on a golf course he didn’t much care for. I wish he’d play at St. Andrews; he might win by a mile.