Roars And Sores

By Dan Jenkins
Photos: Perry: Jamie Squire/Cabrera: J.D. Cuban June 2009

The greatly anticipated 2009 Masters was like going to a Broadway hit and finding out that the star, Sir Tiger Woods, was off that night, and his replacement was the cab driver who dropped you off at the theater.

No offense to Angel Cabrera, the Wild Duck of the Pampas, a waddling man who apparently can only win majors.

Even the second lead in the show was missing until Sunday. But Phil Mickelson had an excuse: He was trapped inside one of those silly-looking, too-tight shirts with the shorty sleeves that he keeps wearing. Fashion victim.

Tiger wound up being particularly disappointing to this bureau because his adoring media had pronounced him back, better and stronger than ever. This begs for a comparison between the comebacks of one of his historical adversaries, Ben Hogan. Speaking for Hogan, I'm urged to say, "I'll see your knee, Tiger, and raise you a double-fractured pelvis, broken collarbone, broken ankle, cracked rib, blood clots tied off in both legs, and a Greyhound bus."

Tiger's tie with three others for sixth at this Masters left him fuming on and off the range and saying he fought his swing all week. Hogan topped his comeback in 1950 by winning the U.S. Open at Merion, so we're all eager to see what Tiger does in the Open at Bethpage.

What was wrong with him at Augusta? Maybe he should have played another tournament in his preparation. He thought too much about his shots. Played tentatively. Misread too many putts in the early rounds. A person close to him said, "He's playing afraid, like he's trying to keep from making mistakes."

If that was true, it might have been because he's trying too hard to save the game from certain idiots who have blamed golf for the poor economy.

None of this mattered to the fans. Woods still had 30,000 scurrying after him while the leaders looked rather lonely.

The weather was perfect in Thursday's first round, the day half of Western Civilization shot in the 60s, but Tiger looked less like a man trying to save the sport of golf than he did a corporate CEO who'd just learned that he'd been fired by the White House.

He started his trend of bogeying the 18th hole, which he would do three out of the four rounds, and turned a 67 into a 70. Friday he turned a 70 into a 72. And then came Saturday: After hitting drivers on the range till dark the night before, he stepped up on No. 1 and looped a tee shot into the wilderness for a double bogey.

All of the above helped introduce the '09 Masters to the strange set of characters who would dominate it, leader-board-wise. First there was Chad Campbell, a native of Andrews, Tex., a place where you either have oil and cattle or high school football and chicken-fried steaks.

Campbell led the first round and tied for the second-round lead, and that's when we remembered that his wife is a singer who goes by Amy Lepard. Before things were all over, he might have given her the inspiration for a song: "If the Putt Don't Drop, You'll Know It's Me."

Kenny Perry's song would be "My Old Kentucky Three-Piece Swing." He was tied at the top after 36, 54 and 72. There were those who rooted for a good guy like Perry to become the oldest winner of a major (he's four months shy of 49) but found it hard to root for someone who skips majors. Perry has played only five British Opens in 20-plus years on tour, and last year he ducked out on the U.S. Open and the British while trying to make the Ryder Cup team. He should ask Bruce Lietzke out to dinner sometime.

The biggest excitement on Friday was provided by Anthony Kim, the brash young talent and Ryder Cup hero who made 11 birdies in a round of 65. It was a good thing Kim also made two bogeys and a double bogey, or his score might have encouraged the Augusta National to buy up more residential property surrounding the course and add another 1,000 yards, giving Sergio Garcia something else to whine about.

A sense of drama started building for Sunday's final round when it became known that Tiger and Phil would be paired together and would go out an hour ahead of the leaders. Those two might put up a number, but how many Kenny Perrys, Chad Campbells, Angel Cabreras, and Jim Furyks could Tiger or Phil count on to faint? For that matter, would they even speak to each other?