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Spieth joins elite company
Jordan Spieth coughed up six shots in three holes to destroy his hopes of back-to-back titles.
PT1M2S 620 349I hate golf. It's an attack on my masculinity.
Ever been at the bottom of the hill on the par-three ninth at Urunga golf course, about to play your 12th shot, as your mates roll around in laughter each time your ball finds the green up the top, only for it to slowly trickle back down, right to where you played the godforsaken …
Tough day out: Jordan Spieth walks down the 18th fairway. Photo: David J. Phillip
Yep. It's about as funny as a hangover.
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I once sliced a ball so badly at Woollahra it nearly knocked out a rugby player training on the nearby footy field. Then I did it again. And then again.
Then I wrapped a three-iron around a tree. It made me happy. For about five seconds.
I once played a round at Torquay south of Melbourne with leading jockey Damien Oliver for a profile story I was writing about him.
"You've got the touch of an elephant," he said as I three-putted.
Thanks, scoop. How about you tell me something I don't know, like which horses I should be backing on Saturday?
I once played in the notorious Jack Newton Celebrity Golf Tournament.
Former fast bowler Geoff Lawson was the celebrity in the group. I lost so many balls around Cypress Lakes I had to ask him for some more to finish the round.
"Outta ammo, are you?" he asked, before refusing to hand over any of his spare balls because he'd seen from close range the slow moving car crash that is my golf game.
When the round was finally over, and we headed for the clubhouse bar, it felt like I was returning from war. I got so drunk that night I missed the tee-off time the next day – a cardinal sin – and slunk back to Sydney in shame.
So, yes, I hate golf.
But I tell you when I love golf. When I adore golf. When Jordan Spieth cards a quadruple bogey on the 12th hole at Augusta National to completely blow his chance of winning back-to-back US Masters.
Because that shows you even the best player in the world can play like a fat hacker just doing his best, just trying to survive, just trying to not hit an unsuspecting fourth-grade rugby player.
Just like the 1996 US Masters wasn't about Nick Faldo but about Greg Norman's historic meltdown, this year's tournament won't be how 66-to-1 outsider Danny Willett claimed the green jacket but how Spieth handed it to him.
Spieth made four-straight birdies to close the front nine. The tournament was over.
Then he made bogey on the 10th and again on the 11th.
Then he hit Amen Corner, a par three almost as famous as the ninth up the hill at Urunga.
Water. Water. Sand.
"Buddy," he told his caddie, Mike Greller, "it seems like we are collapsing."
For those of us watching from the safety of the lounge room, the capitulation left an uneasy feeling in the stomach.
But for those who have gone water-water-sand-water-sand-club-in-water-bar, there was a warm, fuzzy feeling of familiarity.
If Jordan Spieth can play that badly, then I can too. I don't even play the game for a living. I mean, this guy sucks…
Bloody golf.
So said Bobby Jones, the founder of the Masters: "No one will ever have golf under his thumb. No round ever will be so good it could not have been better. Perhaps this is why golf is the greatest of games. You are not playing a human adversary; you are playing a game. You are playing old man par."
Spieth has been under fire in recent months.
Many critics and experts had written him off heading into the Masters. He'd traded barbs with "trolls" on social media. The love affair with the golfing media from last year was over.
He may not have claimed the green jacket for a second year in a row, but he showed afterwards that he has much class.
For there he was, wearing the look of a man attending his own funeral, presenting Willett with the green jacket, as is the custom for the defending champion at Augusta each year.
This was like Ben Hunt presenting the Clive Churchill Medal to Johnathan Thurston. Like Andy Murray handing Novak Djokovic the Australian Open title. Like Kanye West handing Taylor Swift a Grammy.
Spieth couldn't hide his disappointment, but he finished the day with dignity. Lesser men would've struggled.
You can hate golf, but you can't dislike Jordan Spieth.