Who needs Tiger, anyway?

In the last eight days in the golf world, we’ve seen the following:

• Sergio shock us all by channeling his clutch, 1999 self.

• Paul Goydos introduce the word “dirtbag” to the genteel golf world.

• Annika Sorenstam blindside us with a bizarre, Jim Brown-esque retirement.

• Lorena Ochoa break an endless, lengthy two-tournament drought without a win, thus staving off the “When will this bum ever win again?” talk.

• Ryuji Imada stare down a year-old, watery ghost on the 18th at TPC Sugarloaf, with a rare chance at redemption; and, finally …

• Kenny Perry follow an 81 on Sunday at Sawgrass with a screw-you kick off a tree into the water on a playoff hole at Sugarloaf on Sunday, Example No. 10,234,543 in golf history as to why golf gods are the meanest SOBs ever.

Other than that, not much going on in the golf universe.

Following on the old ad slogan, “Baseball Fever: Catch It!”, we can market our own: “Golf Karma: Go Figure!”

Starting with Annika, the only proper reaction is respect for her decision, and sadness at her departure. To say she’s already achieved enough to make an argument as the greatest woman ever to play is obvious; the only complaints would come from diehard fans of Mickey Wright, Kathy Whitworth and Babe Didrikson Zaharias. That said, I’m not sure how many Babe Didrikson Zaharias fans have access to email, so I’ll proceed and wait for those Zaharias-inspired handwritten letters in licked-and-stamped envelopes to arrive at Yahoo! HQ.

The sadness comes in when one realizes that the next few years could have produced some Lorena v. Annika doozies at the major championships. At 37, Annika has another eight to 10 years left of quality golf in her, and she could have gone bare-knuckle with Li’l Lorena at U.S. Women’s Opens, and Kraft Nabiscos, and enhanced the profile of her sport.

So, why now? Ours is not to reason why, golf fan. Like the great running back Brown, or like Barry Sanders, or like Michael Jordan, the great ones are different from you and me. They move at their own pace, and we can’t question their motivations or drive. That’s why we watch, and they play.

We can, however, get hunches, and like the rustlings around the great Brett Favre, who is believed to be a primo candidate for an “un”-retirement, I think we can make a legitimate early line that Annika will find her way back to some important golf tournaments even after the calendar year of ’08. She’s too good and too young, right?

At least we can hope – although Annika might make the compelling argument that if she isn’t practicing furiously and isn’t ready to play unless she can win, she won’t be back. As it is, we have three more majors this year to watch Annika and Lorena tangle, starting at the LPGA Championship in about a couple of weeks. After that, it’s Lorena v. Paula and Morgan and Michelle – oh, wait. I forgot. Can’t mention Michelle Wie. She’s so 2004.

One is even tempted to say the LPGA, with Lorena’s wins and Annika’s retirement, is more interesting than the PGA Tour these days. Heck, Jim Nantz and Nick Faldo must think so – they played hooky for the stop at TPC Sugarloaf, figuring that if Tiger and Phil didn’t play the AT&T Classic, why should they? The “A” team’s absence lent a JV feel to the event, which was only saved by the bizarre – and highly entertaining – machinations of the Imada-Perry playoff.

Imada had to approach that playoff with equal parts dread and anxiety. After all, one year earlier, in a one-hole showdown with Zach Johnson at Sugarloaf, he roasted a 3-wood to the flagstick fronted by water and … watched … as it … flew … and flew … and … kerplunk! … got wet. Zach Johnson won, barely shook Imada’s hand, kissed the big cardboard check, then slipped on the green jacket he won a month earlier, and peeled out in the parking lot in his courtesy car convertible, leaving a patch of rubber behind with a “So long, sucker!” shout-out to Imada.

Well, not really. But it probably felt that way to Imada.

This time, the golf gods tapped Imada on the shoulder and said: “We have your back, kid.” They arranged it so Perry hit first from the fairway on No. 18. Perry, desperate to make the Ryder Cup team this fall so he can play in his native Kentucky, ripped a fairway wood that cleared the water hazard – and promptly smashed off of a Georgia pine behind the green.

Get this: It then kicked backward and raced – right into the water hazard. We’re talking serious hose job here. The golf gods sent him a text message, and the text message was: “Get bent.”

You could hear the plaintive wail in Perry, as the boom microphones picked up his Kentucky twang asking, with great futility, “Where is it? Where IS it?”

Uh, it’s in the water, Ken.

This made Imada’s job easy, and he laid up en route to victory. He left Sugarloaf thinking golf was a game of justice. Perry blew off the media room thinking golf is a game better suited for retirement. You could see the thought bubble above Perry’s head: “I may have to pull an Annika here.”

Crazy game, sports fans.

Scorecard of the week

• 73-72 – Missed Cut. Paul Goydos, AT&T Classic.

And just like that, there was no Long Beach State baseball hat on the weekend in Georgia.

Mulligan of the week

• Parker McLachlin seems like a nice lad. He is from Hawaii, and nobody can criticize anything about Hawaii. It’s not permitted in this column space. McLachlin even went to UCLA, which grants him “Most Favored Golfer” status in this column space.

But for the love of Mike, Parker, can you pull the trigger, kid?

On Sunday, McLachlin had played himself into contention with a birdie blitz reminiscent of a Bob Hope Classic, or the Vegas tour stop. He came to No. 18 and was in between clubs on his second shot. Should he muscle up and try to clear the water? Or should he lay up and try to make birdie from short range? And then there was the problem of the swirling wind.

Granted, some interesting decisions to make.

However, not interesting enough to take FIVE minutes to decide. McLachlin pulled a hybrid club, and waved it around meekly for a few minutes, before pulling a fairway wood, then waved it around meekly for a few minutes, before pulling an iron and waving it around meekly for a few minutes.

Get this: the crowd at Sugarloaf booed him. Booed – at a golf event!

I once heard the old saw that “work expands to time allotted.” True that. Be swift and decisive young Parker. The golf fans of America will applaud you.

Somebody give that kid a mulligan …

Broadcast moment of the week

• Never thought I’d see the day, but Phil Mickelson is winning the media war.

His Crowne Plaza ad campaign is original and downright funny. Mickelson, so often crushed by the media, including me, for condescension, plays the straight man beautifully in the various ads, including the “Meeting of People Who Were Hit By Phil’s Golf Balls” and the “Meeting of People Who Look Like Phil.” A little self-mockery goes a long way for Phil. Plus, his timing is excellent.

Madison Avenue has found the phit for Phil. I’m in. Well-done, Lefty.

Where do we go from here?

• On to Colonial, appropriately enough. The place where, in 2003, Annika carved her place in history, is the next PGA Tour stop. Get ready for an onslaught of “Colonial: A Half-Decade After Annika” feature stories. The media, of course, has time to kill until next week – when the rumor is, the Big Boy comes back to play the Memorial.

It’s hard to write a column about Paul Goydos’ epic, sprawling, emotional, charismatic turn of a week at Sawgrass without denigrating Sergio Garcia and all that he represents.

I don’t want this to be a Slam-Sergio column, but when you consider the showdown that played out on an unforgettable Sunday at The Players Championship – rich, spoiled, whiny underachiever versus humble, self-deprecating, appreciative grinder – it’s hard to avoid it.

See? I told you it was going to be hard not to take sides here.

And get this – this column actually has a soft spot for Sergio.

I’ve long admired his Ryder Cup grit through the years, been slack-jawed at his work off the tee and hopeful that he’d provide a worthy foil to Tiger, way back to the Medinah days in the Bill Clinton Era. But the last 9 years have seen Sergio let our sporting instincts down time and again, with late-round fades, or getting all figuratively tongue-tied around Tiger, or missed putt after missed putt after missed putt. That he capped it all with increasingly piercing whines about his fate – his ‘04 Masters diss of Dick Enberg, his moan about the golf gods at Carnoustie, among others – made it hard to root for the guy who was putting the “Nino” into “El Nino”.

So when it came down to Sergio v. Goydos on Sunday, well, it was almost too much of a landslide to be true.

Here’s Paul Goydos, a player who, to the best of our sports fan perspective, represents everything we ever wanted as sports fans: a player who shows passion for his craft (plays in the muny games at his local Long Beach track), acknowledgment at how lucky he is to play golf for a living (his gracious tips of the cap throughout the week), zero sense of entitlement (his no-complaints “sometimes the other guy beats you” assessment of the playoff with Sergio; and his obvious understanding that a $1 million runner-up check is an obscene bit of fortune).

That he topped it all off with a Long Beach State baseball cap on his noggin at Sawgrass may have been the ultimate sartorial symbol in the history of golf. Yes, the ball teams at “The Beach” are known as “Dirtbags”, and it was all too richly perfect, again, to be believed. While Sergio was dressed, essentially, as a gigantic Adidas shoe, the endorsement-free Goydos picked up his Dirtbags hat at an airport store.

When you throw in the fact that the only person who promotes the city of Long Beach, California as much as Goydos is fellow Long Beach native Calvin Broadus, aka Snoop Dogg, the story takes on rich comic shading.

Goydos and Snoop: Coming to a pro-am near you soon.

There was more, of course. Goydos’ work before he became a PGA Tour mainstay with a 1996 win at Bay Hill was as a substitute teacher in Long Beach, a job with as much appeal as the guy who has to strap on the scuba gear and fish out golf balls from the lagoon at 17 at Sawgrass – except the guy who has to dive at Sawgrass doesn’t have kids throwing spitwads at him when he turns to write on the chalkboard.

This is all to say that, sometimes, the Sports Gods get it wrong. It was Mother’s Day, and Goydos took the time to write ‘MOM’ on his golf ball. A cynic would think this a manipulative act by an athlete playing for sympathy. Checking out Goydos all week, the only accurate read was the opposite: He wanted to make sure he used his moment in the sun to say hi to his 80-year-old Mom, who has pneumonia. I’m sure Sergio loves his Mom, too. It’s just that Goydos’ scribbling of ‘MOM’ on his golf ball never registered on the B.S. detector. It felt like a guy who wanted to make sure his Mom saw a greeting of love.

Plus, when Goydos hit his tee shot safely on 17 during regulation, he made sure to say to the TV camera: “Hi, Mom … Happy Mother’s Day … and Happy Mother’s Day to all you Moms out there.” My wife is a new, first-time Mom and she stopped in the middle of our living room to nod her head at the TV. “Thanks!” she said. Had Phil Mickelson made the same wish to the TV camera, I’m sure I’d have found it cloying and obvious. When Goydos did it, I found it heartfelt. That’s what charisma will do for you.

So how did the Sports Gods allow Goydos to miss the putt on the 72nd hole that would have won it all? How did they allow him to hit his tee shot in the playoff into the water at that nefarious, dastardly, and, let’s say it, bogus 17th hole? How did they allow Sergio to knife his tee shot to terra firma, and win the $1.7 million check?

Sometimes, there’s no explaining fate. Sometimes, there is no justice in this sports world. Sometimes, the Sports Gods miss one.

Sometimes, we need to give them a mulligan. This counts as one of those times.

Broadcast moment of the week

• Bob Costas to Paul Goydos, before the final round: “How’d you sleep last night?”

Goydos to Costas: “On my back.”

Goydos stopped just short of dusting off the old “I just flew in from Long Beach, and boy, are my arms tired.”

Mulligan of the week

• Didn’t we cover this already?

Back to the 17th tee … one more time …

Scorecard of the week

• 64-66-69-66 – Annika Sorenstam, 19-under 265, 1st place, Michelob ULTRA Open at Kingsmill.

I’ve used this slice of cyberspace to trumpet Lorena Ochoa’s ’08 season and, by definition, to begin the wake for Annika.

Idle question: Can a Swede have a wake, or is it reserved only for the Irish? And what does one bring to a Swedish wake? Videotapes of old Sweden-Finland hockey matches for viewing pleasure?

Anyway, about that wake: Not so fast, chump.

And I’m the “chump” in question.

What a dominating run by Annika this weekend, 12 shots clear of Ochoa, who is now 0 for her last 2, and starting to feel like yesterday’s news. With the next major – the LPGA Championship – four weeks away, the LPGA season now has the feel of a golf match in which the player who was 4-down at the turn has won the first two holes on the back nine. Stay tuned.

Where do we go from here?

• The big boys head to Atlanta for the AT&T Classic at Sugarloaf, otherwise known as The Tourney That Used to Be The Week Before the Masters.

Now that it’s lost that identity, the moniker “The Tourney That Follows The Players Championship” doesn’t have the same ring.

But it’s OK. Goydos is playing. And within a few weeks, he’ll be forgotten again. Here’s the catch: Goydos won’t mind. He knows how lucky he is.

You know the deal, sports fan. It’s all about the new, new thing.

Out with the moldy, in with the fresh. Nobody wants to be caught playing 8-tracks when your friend is burning CDs; nobody wants to ask “Beta or VHS?” when your friend is going Blu-Ray.

As a result, I am hereby petitioning the golf gods: Can I trade Tiger for Lorena in my “Best Player on the Planet” pool?

It breaks down pretty simple. Lorena: Today’s News. Tiger: Yesterday’s News.

Don’t laugh, chauvinist pig. A glance at the C.V. of each player makes a convincing case. See if you can guess which is Tiger and which is Lorena.

Player A’s 2008 season: 6 starts, 5 wins, 1 for 1 in major championships.

Player B’s 2008 season: 5 starts, 3 wins, 0 for 1 in major championships.

Oh, and did I add that Player B just had knee surgery and is out for a month?

Sorry, Tiger. It’s a cold, cruel world. You’re good, kid. It’s just that right now – Lorena is better. Maybe if Tiger is lucky, Lorena will start texting him with friendly barbs. After all, Tiger and Annika Sorenstam famously texted each other back in the heyday of the mid-‘00s after major championship wins. You know, back when Tiger won majors.

Possible text from Lorena to Tiger: “R U going 2 win anytime soon? LOL.”

Another possible text from Lorena to Tiger: “Want 2 C my major trophy? 2 bad I can’t C urs.”

You, the astute reader, of course know that I refer to Lorena Ochoa, the two-time reigning LPGA Rolex Player of the Year, hard at work on her third. Her win at the Ginn Open in Florida Sunday was her fourth consecutive ‘W’ in four starts, and Byron Nelson, resting up in heaven, doesn’t need to ask about those footsteps he hears: They belong to a petite 5-foot-6 Mexican prodigy who runs half-marathons and does triathlons in her spare time.

I figure Lorena is first-name only now. She’s joined Tiger, Phil, Ernie, Vijay and Annika in first-name territory. Only difference: She’s better than all of them.

And what an appealing player she is. In an era where Tiger and Annika turned golf into a Bowflex infomercial with eye-popping musculature, Lorena avoids the bench press/Chuck Zito routine. She’s a wisp of a player, petite, yet powerful. Li’l Lorena may be skinnier than a 2-iron, but compromises nothing off the tee.

This is not to overlook her personality appeal, as well. She’s a proud Mexican who is fiercely close to her family, and hasn’t sold out for the standard “lives in Orlando, Florida” line in her bio. She maintains her only home in her native country, and acknowledges her role as a Mexican sporting hero. When adoring fans follow her around the course, the shy superstar will still take time to gratefully acknowledge their ‘Lo-re-na!’ chants. Not comparing or anything, but I believe Tiger (Iceman) Woods last acknowledged a fan sometime in the Clinton Administration.

And he’s still pretty good. All I’m saying is, sometimes – and sometimes with darn good reason – we get caught up in Tiger’s World, not realizing there’s a bright, blue, beautiful golf world out there. With 4 wins in her last 4 starts, Lorena is an honored citizen in that world. She sits this week out, heading back to Mexico for a family dinner on Monday night planned by her Mom, attended by her siblings. Then, it’s back to America in two weeks for the event at Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Anybody want to bet against her?

Scorecard of the week

•69-65-64-71 – Boo Weekley, first place, Verizon Heritage, Harbour Town Links, Hilton Head, S.C.

Or, as the Verizon Heritage at Harbour Town is known, by its alternate name: Hangover Central.

What a perfect place for the post-Masters PGA Tour stop. It’s a short commute from Augusta. It’s a quiet, mellow place so that stressed-out players can unwind and purge memories of 4-putts on the 14th green at Augusta National. It’s the equivalent of a Sunday morning hangover, the kind you cure with a cheeseburger, a milkshake and a 2-hour mid-day nap.

And Weekley is the perfect post-Masters winner. He’s loose, he’s funny, he’s deep-fried Southern and he played with his Mom in the Pro-Am. Weekley’s perfect answer to owning two garish red plaid coats from Harbour Town, having won in ’07, also: “I can wear one on Saturday, one on Sunday.”

Mulligan of the week

•’ll level with you all and admit I don’t watch much Champions Tour golf. However, when I hear that Scott Hoch and Tom Watson are engaged in a final-round showdown at the Outback Steakhouse Pro-Am, I’m in. After all, you have two charismatic players with decorated resumes. The catch: Watson won 8 majors, Hoch won none.

Hoch had a darn good chance to win the Masters in 1989 but – and it pains me just to type this – he MISSED an 18-inch putt to allow Nick Faldo to win his first green jacket.

Fast-forward 19 years to a little-watched Champions Tour event, and Hoch has a 4-footer to force overtime with Watson… and… he… missed… it.

Poor Scott Hoch.

Of course, I say “poor Scott Hoch” when he’s earned over $20 million combined on the PGA Tour and Champions Tour, won 11 times on Tour and was a Ryder Cupper.

Still – poor Scott Hoch.

Somebody give that man a mulligan.

Broadcast moment of the week

•“Maybe we should start calling her ‘El Toro” – a CBS commentator during the Ginn Open, but I couldn’t tell whether it was Beth Daniel, Val Skinner or Mary Bryan.

Listen, I only took four years of high school Spanish, and ‘Piso Mojado’ is about as sophisticated as I get these days, knowing the bathroom floor in the airport is wet and dangerous, but even my tiny brain knows it’s probably not a good idea to nickname a female golfer something that begins with ‘El’, and not ‘La’. Already, her detractors in the past few years had slapped her with ‘Ochoka’ because of her failure to close the deal on majors earlier in her career, but that nickname is about as hip as Annika stock about now.

Time for a new one. ‘La Reina’ – or, The Queen, anybody? How about just shouting, like a lout: ‘TU ERES LA MUJER!” (You da woman!) every time she tees off?

Where do we go from here?

•The PGA Tour heads to a venerable stop: The Byron Nelson in Dallas. We all miss Lord Byron. His invites were veritable mandates to attend, and it used to be one of the great sights in the sport to see Tiger, Phil, Ernie and Vijay all go kiss the ring after holing out on 18.

We miss you, sir. Hope you’re up in the clouds, rooting on Lorena “La Reina” Ochoa.

While the year is still young – only one of four majors is in the books – it’s not too soon to notice the marquee players and promising young talents who have yet to perform at the level so many anticipated. With the Players Championship, the Memorial, and the U.S. Open among the great challenges over the next eight weeks, they will have plenty of opportunities to turn their seasons around.

1. Sergio Garcia: In six appearances, Garcia has yet to break into the Top 10, with 11 of his 17 rounds at 70 or above. It would be absurd to write him off but he’s 28, and has not come close to realizing his potential. In his last five majors, he has made it through the whole weekend only once, squandering the Claret Jug he clearly should have won. The problem is familiar: He ranks 115th in putting average.

2. Adam Scott: As with Garcia, Scott is a wonderful ball striker but a very inconsistent putter; he ranks 43rd in putting average. His inability to consistently compete in major championships remains one of the game’s most surprising developments – in 28 starts, he has recorded only four top 10s. Perhaps the Players, where he won in 2004, will be where he rebounds.

3. Phil Mickelson: Hasn’t he won at Riviera and posted three other top 10s? Yes, but he is Phil Mickelson and much more is expected from the No. 2 player in the world. In three of the most important events of the year – Augusta, Bay Hill, Doral – Mickelson was not a major factor on Sunday afternoon. He and Butch Harmon have been together for about a year. They must produce now, and in a big way.

4. Charles Howell III: Back in 2002, when Howell captured his first tour event in Virginia, nobody would ever have imagined that in over 150 starts since, he’d add only one more victory to that total. This year is no different: In 12 starts, he has recorded only four Top 20s. He’s not hitting enough fairways, reaching enough greens, and converting enough putts.

5. Justin Rose: Granted, he’s teed it up only seven times on American soil this season. Still, the fact he has yet to record a single top 10 is a major disappointment. Amazingly, Rose, widely regarded as one of the premier talents under the age of 30, hasn’t won in the United States. If he keeps this up, he’ll be this generation’s Monty. Failing to break par in his last three rounds at Augusta was the latest poor showing.

6. Hunter Mahan: So much was expected this year of Mahan, 25, who started a new workout regimen last fall. However, he’s missed four cuts in 11 appearances, and hasn’t broken 70 since the final round at Bay Hill. Last year, he didn’t really get on track until late June when he broke through for his first victory in Hartford. He’ll need a similar torrid stretch this summer.

7. Jim Furyk: Like Mickelson, Furyk has certainly had his moments – a tie for second at Doral, a fourth at Hilton Head – but he, too, has been way back in the pack too many times. Most notably, he tied for 33rd at Augusta, and lost in the second round of the Match Play. Surprisingly, he ranks 67th in putting average. Furyk, about to turn 38, should have at least a few more productive campaigns.

8. Rory Sabbatini: He’s the one who is suddenly more “beatable” than ever. After two promising performances early on in Hawaii and San Diego, Sabbatini hasn’t finished in the top 30 since. One statistic that stands out: His greens-in-regulation percentage from 75 to 100 yards is only 70 percent, which ranks 179th. He’s also had a lot of trouble in trying to scramble for par – he ranks 153rd.

9. Camilo Villegas: Finally, he emerged in South Carolina to post his first top 10 of 2008. The question is: Was this a one-week aberration or a sign of better things to come? Villegas, after all, is another who possesses enormous talent. Yet he, like Rose, is still searching for his first PGA Tour victory. Villegas has to improve on his driving accuracy and greens in regulation.

10. Paul Casey: What happened to him in the final round at Augusta National – he shot a disastrous 79 to fall out of contention – is typical of what has been a very disappointing year. He missed the cut at Bay Hill and tied for 51st at Doral. Conversely, in 10 appearances last year in the U.S., he compiled four top 10s. He ranks only 118th in greens in regulation.

Once again, we were reminded why we’re all sick in the head – those of us who play golf, love golf, watch golf, care about golf.

All it is, is one long, slow-motion, sadistic, masochistic and creepy peek into our inner beings, where if it’s not us choking away a $5 Nassau on a Saturday morning with our pals, it’s a highly-paid professional in tailored slacks melting down like a candle under a blow torch.

Or, to put it another way, I watched Stewart Cink play golf on Sunday.

Surely, you’ve noticed the trend by now. Every week Tiger does not play on Tour, we witness somebody endure terrible heartbreak at his own hand. These are truly tragic figures in the Shakespearean sense – characters whose demise is brought about by their own doing.
If it’s not Justin Leonard shooting 72 in the final round of the Hope to blow the lead, it’s Vijay Singh making a hat trick of bogeys at Pebble to blow his lead. If it’s not Aaron Baddeley missing three chances to put away Tiger in the Match Play, it’s Ernie Els taking a four-shot lead on the back nine at Dubai and sliding it through the paper shredder of his psyche.

Mark Calcavecchia chipping into a hazard at PGA National … Phil Mickelson making an 11 at Pebble.

I’m feeling their pain. Can anybody loan me a DVD of Nicklaus-Watson at Turnberry? I need a pick-me-up.

If you missed Cink’s particulars, and don’t want to hear them, just go outside with a magnifying glass and find the nearest bug under sunlight. You’ll net the same effect.

Bad enough that a player of Cink’s skill hadn’t won in 86 tries, he opened up a vein with the media on Saturday night and NBC on Sunday morning, saying how important it was for him to close the deal, to make good on his 8 and 7 thumping from Tiger at Match Play, to prove to himself that he won’t always be remembered for the missed kick-in at Southern Hills in the 2001 U.S. Open.

The mere fact that, seven years later, jerks like me are still mentioning the missed kick-in at Southern Hills in the 2001 U.S. Open means it appears Cink will be remembered for it.

By laying it out so bare, Cink is metaphorically naked before the golf world.