Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, July 16, 2015, 9:15 a.m.
No, I didn’t get up at 4 a.m. to watch the British Open, though I left the TV on when I went to sleep so that, at some point, I’d roll over, peer at the screen, mutter, “I’ll be dogged,” and go back to sleep.
I started watching it at 7, though. At the time, Jordan Spieth was tied for the lead, Tiger Woods was grimacing, at which he remains world class, and it occurred to me that, while there is no logical NASCAR match to The Open Championship or any other championship, except its own, New Hampshire Motor Speedway is as close as it gets.
St. Andrews is in the northeast of Great Britain, a little over halfway up the coast of Scotland, and Loudon is in the northeast of the United States. The Old Course is quaint, and, in its way, so is the track.
The 1970 Open at St. Andrews, won by Jack Nicklaus over Doug Sanders, was the biggest reason I started playing golf. Guitar was the reason I stopped. When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was playing in the British Open, mainly because I usually played at little more than a cow pasture known as the Rolling S. (The last time I was there, the Rolling S had been greatly enhanced, almost to the point where it didn’t even remind me of St. Andrews, or Carnoustie, or Troon, and it’s located many miles from the ocean, though it does have several ponds.)
Watching Tiger Woods languishing made me think that Dabo Swinney missed the perfect opportunity to declare his team the Clemson Spieths. Coach Swinney hosted his annual media golf tournament on Wednesday. Of course, I wasn’t there, but I saw it on the 11 o’clock news, or, rather, the sports, which comes on right before Jimmy Fallon.
My mind has been as distant from sports as it ever gets, probably because (a.) the New York Yankees took two out of three from the Boston Red Sox, whom I prefer, before the All-Star Break; (b.) I watched a movie instead of the Home Run Derby; (c.) I watched two PBS documentaries instead of the All-Star Game; (d.) my new novel, Crazy of Natural Causes, will be released next Tuesday; and (e.) I’ve been polishing up my next novel, Forgive Us Our Trespasses, just to have it ready at the opportune time.
Facebook reminded me this morning that my most recent, and possibly last, visit to Fenway Park was three years ago tonight. The Red Sox won that game in spite of the fact that Bobby Valentine managed it. In the interim, I’ve been to one other major league game, about a dozen of the minor variety, and many involving collegians, mostly the ones wearing blue hose at Presbyterian College.
Hence the moniker Blue Hose.
Adam Scott just took his first official swing of The Open Championship. The graphics on screen predictably listed him at “even.”
Tiger Woods is way back, but, on the other hand, Paul Azinger just said that Dustin Johnson “plays like a panther.”
Then again, it’s only Thursday.
Before the release date, July 21, you can purchase Crazy of Natural Causes at the low, low advance price of $3.49: http://www.amazon.com/Crazy-Natural-Causes-Monte-Dutton-ebook/dp/B00YI8SWUU/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1436215069&sr=1-1&keywords=Crazy+of+Natural+Causes
Most of my books, fiction and non, can be purchased here: http://www.amazon.com/Monte-Dutton/e/B005H3B144/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1416767492&sr=8-1