Photo of the Day: Desert Classic

SAURABH DAS/ASSOCIATED PRESS

Amid the limestone rough, a competitor hits out of a sandtrap at the Asian Games in Qatar.

Into the weekend: Long bombs to short putts

With winter arriving today, JABS Mansion is into full and festive mukluks-and-corn-starch mode, having sacrificed a perfectly good golf umbrella to the wind this morning and getting soaked to the skin, only The National's Abel blaring in the ears to ward off the chill. We're leaving early, in other words, to get outta these wet clothes and into a dry martini.

But first, a quick look around the week's bits, and to put another Canadian football season to bed, let's start with Sean Smith at sportsBabel, who along with Rod Murray wrote The Narrative of Long Bombs, a provocative, thoughtful look at football's military connection. Here's a taste, but read it all:

. . . What is ironic is that this sponsorship comes at a time when the Canadian military has waived its requirement of a minimum fitness level to join the service. While this is clearly one sign among many that the Forces are on a desperate mission to increase their numbers, apparently general recruitment has little to do with requiring fit bodies. The thrust to recruit soldiers via football suggests that there must be some congruency between military and sport cultures.
(snip)
Of course, the choice of an athlete, or any Canadian, to enlist in our armed forces is a deeply personal one that should be respected. But when the business of sports intersects so dramatically with the decisions of our political and military leaders, we should take pause. Canada should support its soldiers, but if war is a continuation of politics by other means, that support should begin before they are sent off to fight. In other words, when the slick marketing campaign is pulled back, are the right questions being asked? And if so, are the right answers being given?
Pat Tillman's family doesn’t think so.

One last e-mail. Wade Tomlin figures the notion of a Sam Mitchell watch in the media is vastly overrated - at least in the Toronto sports media (the Raptors are en fuego, as they say on the sports broadcasts, zooming up to 5-10 on November since Wade wrote this early in the week):

To me firing Mitchell is as straightforward a situation for Bryan Colangelo as you see in sports. You have a team that everyone seems to accept has improved its roster, yet the team is off to forget about a slow start, but a similar one to the horrible start a year ago (1-11, 3-9, there is no real difference) and you have a coach who is now on the verge of his third losing season, who has no previous track record of success as a NBA head coach, who just last year was voted the worst coach in the N.B.A. by league players.
It is getting embarrassing as a fan to hear this idea that the Raptors have some form of excuse for this sorry start, there called standards and the Raptors organization, and many of the people surrounding the team (the announce team, sportswriters following the team), seem to have none when it comes to winning. Fire Mitchell now or this team will continue with its mantle as the new Los Angeles Clippers.

DICK LOEK/Toronto Star file photo

Ballard warms up for '75 Latvia finals.

One last "Is on fire! Let's NBA!" I don't know who did this, but some wicked wit who goes by the handle of Lockdown on the RealGM board has a pretty take in Sam Mitchell: The Graphic Novel. (Just in: Part II.)

One last invitation. To journalists covering next spring's world hockey championships, from the International Table Hockey Federation (via Babelfish, I presume. Either that or Borat):

"Also it is significant that this tournament will be restored in Riga, Latvia. Latvia is not only famous with their noisy and ice hockey loving fans, but Latvia is the first country in the world where table hockey is recognized by country officials as sport."

Table hockey as sport? Now that's a country.

One last Official Golfer of JABS update. That'd be Miguel Angel Jimenez, he of the lobster arms, ruddy ponytail and pot belly, who headed out for nine holes with GolfMagic and demonstrated admirable sponsor loyalty:

AMY SANCETTA/Associated Press

Jimenez: Give me Ping or give me death.

As we crouched down to read a tricky putt on the penultimate green he was intrigued by the shape of the Elmer M1 putter I was reviewing for Golfmagic. But he refused to handle it.
"No, no I cannot be photographed with another putter. That would be wrong, it would be disloyal to Ping. I've been with them for 15 years. Besides they would kill me!"

Sports around town. One of the more intense college rivalries in the neighbourhood gets renewed this weekend as Humber Hawks hosts Sheridan Bruins at 7 p.m. tonight.

Watching. Super Dogs and Horse Relay (3 p.m., Saturday, TSN). Frankly, I was hoping to take in some Elephant Polo this weekend, but I guess this will have to do. Super Dogs? Are they wearing capes? Do they rescue the horses from a burning building?

Pooch Punts. From Super Dogs to Jinks the Viszla, who promises to go at least 1-4 with his kibbles-or-cookies picks this week and thereby keep pace with the other public handicappers:

CHICAGO (-9) over Minnesota
Tampa Bay (+7) over PITTSBURGH
NEW ORLEANS (-7) over San Francisco
GREEN BAY (+1) over NY Jets
Seattle (+4) over DENVER

Into the weekend: Low-def football, High-def racing

Time to wrap things up around here in the usual manner, starting with a television note: The Breeders' Cup is available only in High-Definition this weekend, while the Argos-Bombers east semifinal is not going to be broadcast in HD.

So the Breeders' Cup, horse racing's highest-end TV product, watched by a devoted but marginalized audience, gets pushed a little further into the edges.

AP FILE PHOTO

Look at the bright side. At least he's not out there making records.

As for the Argos, low-definition is them. Here they have the seemingly complimentary Ricky Williams (when he's not lining up on the kickoff coverage team) and John Avery in the backfield. They have a receiver in Arland Bruce who can break a game open if he gets the ball - pay attention to those last five words - and a supporting cast filled with Sowards, Talbots and (perhaps, if he's healed) Miles. They have football's all-time leading pitcher. And for all that, their offence is ranked seventh in an eight-team league. Is it Damon Allen? Adam Rita? Pinball? What gives here? This is the Argos' last hurrah at home, so it'll be the last day of pro playoffs here until the spring -- or perhaps even next fall.

One last read. Elliotte Friedman on the Argos:

Let’s bring up another scenario: that Toronto’s offence is seriously overrated, frightening for a group that is the CFL’s worst. In the aftermath of Saturday’s collapse, the frustration came pouring out of Arland Bruce. “All week long, I said I would do whatever it takes. I must have told D.A. 15-16 times that I would do whatever it takes. I was open in the second half. The ball just didn’t come my way.”
Now, there are two ways to look at this diatribe. One: Bruce is a selfish player pulling a Keyshawn Johnson bitchfest moments after the Argonauts lost the right to host the East Championship. Two: Bruce is a fierce competitor who badly wanted to win, just giving honest answers to a question.
I choose the second version.

One last email. Chris Flynn liked the post on Paul Maurice's Wednesday night coaching. Until he got to the part about Glenn Healy:

"Are you a Scotsman or something? ... I just cannot agree on the Healy comment, I find him to be purely obnoxious and he really tries to slam the Leafs."

I'll continue liking Healy, Chris. Even as a non-Scotsman. I must confess another thing: I think Pierre McGuire has done good work this season (There, I said it. I mean it. Let the e-mail blizzard begin.).

One last sign that playing a lot of golf can ruin lives. Kenny G tops Golf Digest's Top 100 musicians who golf. Dweezil Zappa is No. 20 and Bob Dylan is No. 63 (and on the subject of Bobby Z, don your finest biohazard gear and, if you dare, check this out).

One last view. Via kottke, vintage Youtube video of a daredevil trying to fly over the St. Lawrence River in a Lincoln Continental. You fear to watch, but you cannot look away.

One last auction. One of 20 game balls from last July's World Cup final, autographed by Italy's championship team, go up for auction on Saturday in Qatar. Sadly, though, no Materazzi-butted jersey.

One last game: Pong meets the seesaw. (Another find from kottke.)

Sports around town. U of T men's basketball Blues (7-2 for the preseason) tune up for next weekend's regular season with their final exhibition game, 4 p.m. Saturday at the Sports Gym against Humber College.

Watching. Lots to choose from but the Breeders' Cup is it, even if it's only on TSN HD, Saturday at 12:30 p.m. Bernardini is the best horse I've seen since Cigar - and you remember what happened to Cigar on BC day, right?

Pooch punts. Football plays worth the paper that Jinks the Viszla whittled on. Here's his kibbles-or-cookie picks, and keep in mind the boy went 5-0 two weeks ago and 3-2 last week, so he's one hot dog:

Atlanta -5 over DETROIT
BALTIMORE -3 over Cincinnati
SAN FRANCISCO +5 over Minnesota
SAN DIEGO -12 1/2 over Cleveland
Oakland +7 1/2 over SEATTLE

Into the weekend: Materazzi is back

Recovering from the birthday hooley at JABS Mansion, I'm afraid the blog has been a bit spotty the last couple days (picking cheesies out of the carpet and scraping Orange Crush off the walls is a little time consuming).
So we're going straight into the weekend here, after watching all of about 30 seconds of this morning's Ryder Cup coverage on TSN -- "The Ryder Cup is underway!" said the excited announcer. Tiger put his tee shot into the water. Colin Montgomerie strode up next, looking more and more like good old Keith Appleyard, the crowd went nuts ...

BRIAN SNYDER/REUTERS

The glamour, the excitement, the shoes: It's the Ryder Cup.

And off that bit of excitement, that's enough golf, thank you. On to some links and the usual other stuff before the fumigators arrive:

One last look. Marco Materazzi, and his suddenly bulletproof, buttproof chest, has a new shoe commercial out in Italy.

One last read. The Guardian's Richard Williams has seen the Zidane movie that JABS has been all over, and likes it just as much. It opens in the UK next week:

Any conventional film about Zidane would include the astonishing 20-yard volley that won Real the European Cup final on its return to Hampden in 2003, plus the two he scored with his head in the 1998 World Cup final. It would examine, through the use of super-slo-mo, the technical tricks that were particular to him, such as the roulette, in which he deceived a defender by turning his body through 360 degrees, dragging the ball forward with the sole of his boot while in mid-pirouette, facing the way he had come. It would analyse the gift of balance that enabled this heavy-set man to move with such lightness and grace. It would investigate his childhood among north African immigrants in a poor quarter of Marseille; it would catalogue the transfers that took him from Cannes to Bordeaux as a teenager, then to Juventus of Turin and finally to Madrid.
This new film does none of these things.

That's undoubtedly why the guy in the Zidane shirt was among the few walkouts during last Friday's screening at the Varsity (oh, and one more link regarding a release of the film here in NA from one of the co-directors: "This film could certainly play on pay-per-view TV. But we're hoping for theatrical." Let's hope.)

One more film note. Katie Holmes to play Posh in a new Becks biopic? (Thanks to The Offside.)

Weekend assignment. Another tough question tackling the prickliest issues of the day, but that's what we do. Picking up where J.E. Skeets at The Basketball Jones left off, is Pryzbilla the highest Scrabble-scoring name in pro sports today?
UPDATE: Eagle-eyed reader John Richardson sends in this handy dandy score generator and an early entry that rolls into the lead: Wozniewski.

Sports around town. The OHL season is back on, and Brampton and St. Mike's play their home openers tonight. And on Sunday morning all over the place, it's the Scotiaback Toronto Waterfront Marathon.

Watching. Toronto at Calgary, Saturday, 7 p.m., CBC. Forget Ricky Williams. I wanna see Pinball in Coppley and Malcolm in Canali (good catch, Boatmen Blog).

Punters' corner. Ready or not, here's your recreational-purposes-only picks. After a second straight 2-3 week, it's time for a shakeup. I've brought in my dawg Jinks to make the choices, either kibble (visitors) or cookies (home):

BUFFALO (-5 1/2) over Jets. The dawg is nuts.
Cincinnati (+1 1/2) over PITTSBURGH. The dawg is hungry!
Jacksonville (+7) over INDY. The dawg is calming down, a little.
Chicago (-3) over MINNESOTA. Jinks barked on this one. Best bet, that.
N.Y. Giants (+3 1/2) over SEATTLE. This is pushing it. I'd never make this pick. Two in a row on the road? Plaxico would have something to say about that.

 

Tiger, Federer and Best-Ever Comparisons

With Tiger Woods running away with the PGA championship yesterday, he's now won 12 major titles in his 10th year as a pro golfer, and four of the past eight contested. He's the best player of his generation, and although it's always hazardous to go here, I'd call him the best ever, as many others are. Certainly, this kind of a career, at age 30, is unprecedented.

Lenny Ignelzi/Associated Press

Tiger Woods: A rare moment of losing his grip.

Then there's Roger Federer, the Swiss tennis artiste who recently tuned up for the upcoming U.S. Open with a win at last week's Rogers Cup here in Toronto. David Foster Wallace wrote in the New York Times of "Federer as Religious Experience" in the context of following the 25-year-old at this summer's Wimbledon tournament:

. . . Federer, through the semifinals, has provided no surprise or competitive drama at all. He’s outplayed each opponent so completely that the TV and print press are worried his matches are dull and can’t compete effectively with the nationalist fervor of the World Cup.

And:

The metaphysical explanation is that Roger Federer is one of those rare, preternatural athletes who appear to be exempt, at least in part, from certain physical laws. Good analogues here include Michael Jordan, who could not only jump inhumanly high but actually hang there a beat or two longer than gravity allows, and Muhammad Ali, who really could “float” across the canvas and land two or three jabs in the clock-time required for one. There are probably a half-dozen other examples since 1960. And Federer is of this type — a type that one could call genius, or mutant, or avatar. He is never hurried or off-balance. The approaching ball hangs, for him, a split-second longer than it ought to. His movements are lithe rather than athletic. Like Ali, Jordan, Maradona, and Gretzky, he seems both less and more substantial than the men he faces.

I don't follow tennis closely enough to appreciate much of what Wallace writes, but Federer's record -- eight Grand Slam titles at age 25 puts him on the same pace as Pete Sampras, whose 14 Slam wins tops the list -- while nowhere near as eloquent as the author's descriptions, make a strong argument for best-ever status.

Anja Niedringhaus/Associated Press

Roger Federer: No surprise.

As for lack of surprise and competitive drama, that fits Woods so well. His game is one of nuances as he enters into his prime years, adaptable to the British links as easily as a North American major-title final-round setup. Starting yesterday he was tied, but made birdie on the first hole. Right then, you knew it was over, if you didn't know already. More importantly, I suspect that Woods, and everyone else among the logo'd pros knew it was over as well.

Like Wallace, Michael Wilbon on Tiger writes this morning of small moments in the context of sports history:

So, we've come now to Tiger Woods, who is all these things we've come over the decades to value, including some ingredients we've never seen in the pot until now. Tiger striding up the 18th fairway in that red shirt on Sunday might as well be Ali's red tassels popping in the ring or Jordan's tongue wagging in the fourth quarter. He swings with the prodigious physicality of Ruth, while maintaining the precision of Joe Montana. He controls a golf ball the way Pete Maravich did a basketball, thinks his way around a golf course with the depth of intelligence that Ted Williams thought about hitting, and goes about the mission of winning with the same ferocious will that characterized Jordan.

Related: Chris Zelkovich rips CBS's coverage for not showing enough of Mike Weir (having nipped in and out of the day's TV broadcast once Woods opened up a lead and any drama disappeared -- there was a family barbecue to attend to -- I didn't take note of this one way or another. But it's not like this is a new refrain, is it?)

UPDATE: On the subject of the best of the best, Martina Navratilova won her 176th doubles title this morning in Montreal.

Yes, It's back

Exactly one month later -- in blog years, that's akin to a millenium, and in Mundial years, let's just say the odometer on that car has rusted out -- like it or not, It is back.

So what'd I miss? Momentous stuff -- Floyd Landis, caught; Maurice Clarett, bucking for a CFL tryout; Wade Belak, re-signed.

TORONTO STAR PHOTO

Like it or not, JABS, and Wade Belak, are back.

For now, I'll throw out a few links have caught my eye just to ease back into things and maybe get these cold embers up to room temperature. I didn't do much surfing during the time off, but a couple hats go off to faves Vancouver Canucks OpEd and Sports Guy North for their 24-hour blogathon efforts. 24 hours of continuous blogging. No wonder us daily newspaper types are getting killed (and on the subject of SGN, I've been tagged with one of those meme type things. I'm not quite sure what it's all about, but will advise and yes Kent, perform my blogger-bro duty).

Now to some of those links:

I know these are the dog days, and some of you are afflicted by golf addiction. Here's The Morning News' Ralph Gamelli with some tips, because, you know, it's such a mental game:

Hitting Out of the Woods

1. You’ve never liked the woods, have you?
2. You don’t even have a good excuse. You were never lost in them or abducted by crazed mountain men. You never suffered any kind of trauma in them whatsoever. You’re just a sniveling coward, afraid of what animals could be lurking in there.
3. Snakes.
4. Coyotes.
5. Maybe even bears.
6. You’re 50 feet away and already you can sense a pair of inhuman eyes in there, staring at you. Hungrily. Don’t go in. You’ll never come back out.
7. Take a penalty stroke and drop another ball at the nearest relief point.
8. Swing, you pansy.

And still on golf, Dave Feschuk, this summer's hardest-working (and best) columnist, filed today on young Hamilton swinger Salimah Mussani, playing in this week's CN Canadian Women's Open in London despite suffering from lupus:

"It's scary," she said yesterday. "Before it happens, you can't hear anything. Everything goes mute. And then I'd slowly lose the sensation in my fingers. And then, suddenly, I was just out. It's happened a few times. And I know it's coming and I'll drink more water and sit down. ... But sometimes it's so intense, your body just shuts down."
Such is Mussani's ongoing battle with lupus, a decimator of the immune system for which there is no cure. Because lupus is triggered by sunlight and stress — a couple of golf's unavoidable occupational hazards — two doctors told her she would have to quit golf. But Mussani found a third doctor, at McMaster University's lupus clinic, who in turn found a drug that has, for the past couple of years, helped a rare athlete resume a promising career.

Good find over at Sportsfilter, with Foxsports' Randy Hill riffing on sports' biggest cheaters:

What level of personal protocol would you sacrifice to be the world's fastest human?
Thanks to the predicaments of cyclist Floyd Landis and sprinter Justin Gatlin, a culture of alleged cheating may have reached critical mess.
But breaking the rules is not unprecedented.

And one more, from a while back, sent along by e-mailer Robert Simpson and posted here in case you missed it -- O Canada coming in at No. 2 on SI's list of greatest sports songs. Never mind that No. 1 is the dreadful "We are the Champions". We're No. 2!:

TORONTO STAR PHOTO

Proud to be Canadian.

Yeah, it's a national anthem, but most national anthems sound like dirges and this one is lump-in-the-throat gorgeous. It summons images of gleaming ice and players on skates, heads bowed under Stanley Cup banners -- even when it's played in baseball stadiums.

I've never been all that keen on anthems, but there are exceptions and O Canada, at times rousing, at times butchered, always seems to provide them. This spring's Rexall Place singalong. Roger Doucet on New Year's Eve 1975 in Montreal. Mary O'Dowd at Yankee Stadium (reg. required). (Unfortunately, I can't find links to clips for those last two. If anyone can help, please do).

Best anthem memories, or some jock rock that moves you (with so much of that SI list -- and pro arenas -- stuck on stale numbers like Glory Days and Centre Field, of late I do like the Decemberists' "Sporting Life")? More golf tips? A cheater or two? Send 'em along. Like it or not, JABS is back.

I remember the Mechanic

Before riding off into the sunset of a long weekend, a little theme music to back a getaway post (except for the weekend surprise, that is, but you'll have to wait till Saturday for that).
When it comes to overhyped sports on TV, a good rule of thumb is the Four Days After rule, as in: what has stayed with you four days after investing some of your life in a sports event?

CHRIS O'MEARA/AP

Miguel Angel Jimenez: The common man's golfer.

Sports is the ultimate in-the-moment activity, whether you're participating or watching (or writing a weblog, actually, blogs being partly about immediacy). Thinking back on it, questioning it, checking for any little pieces of brain that remain -- I spent three hours watching the Leafs and the . . . Blue Jackets, was it? Who was that the Raptors started at centre against Golden State? etc. -- is a useful exercise in self-flagellation perspective.
So I applied the Four Days After rule to last weekend's Masters. And the result is: very little. It was as mundane and sparkless a sporting show as I've seen this year - but not a total loss. I do remember Miguel Angel Jimenez: the little pot belly, the yellow-and-brown colour combinations and the Naomi Klein approach to sponsorship, the baseball cap with the ponytail sticking out, the shoulders-back, chest-forward walk, the mild obscenity caught by the boom mikes as his tee shot on the 12th flew the green, his round falling apart. He looked like the guy who shows up midafternooon at Scarlett Woods, just coming off shift (his nickname is "the Mechanic") and hooking up with a group that's got a spot open.
Miguel Angel Jimenez, you're just regular folk -- common people -- and will be henceforth welcomed here: JABS' designated golfer/Google Alert.

One last look. Another year, another baseball season, and David Wells continues to morph into Brando's Col. Kurtz. Is it the end of the line for Boomer?

CHARLES KRUPA/AP

David Wells: "The horror . . . the horror . . ."

One last view. This was going to be the weekend surprise, but I'll put it up now 'cause it's that good: Mystic Ball. Just gorgeous. Big thanks to World Cup Blog for this one.

One last read. SI's Kelly Dwyer rates every NBA announcing team, giving a B to the Raptors (He gives higher marks to Seattle's Kevin Calabro, who I've always felt to be the best around, but a guy who's never been given the national platform he deserves). Meantime, True Hoop's Henry Abbott, who passed along the link to Dwyer's piece and thanks for that, has a great post on his day with Team Hollywood:

The regular coach is not here.
His name is Newt. By all reports, he’s a real character—someone who will say anything to anyone and is scared of nothing. In a pinch, Pete can coach instead.
This is not the real coach. And this is streetball. The players have a complex understanding of the game, but the coaching is unbelievably simple. This is an actual quote from Pete’s pre-game talk:
"Rebounds, gentlemen. Defense."
Here’s another one:
"Listen up: rebounds… defense… blocked shots."
And one more:
"REEEEEEEBOOUNDS. Ok? Can you get some rebounds, and play some defense?"

Breaking news. Another one via the World Cup blog: Iranian soccer star has two wives. Check that. He had two wives.

Sports around town. This didn't take first time around, but better late than never: In Brampton, the Battalion face elimination tonight, down 3-1 against the Barrie Colts. And at Humber College, it's the Canada Cup floorball championships.

Watching/not watching. Taking a pass on TV this weekend, with Mrs. JABS and I off to New York for a mini-vacation. Happy Easter, Happy Passover, Happy It's-Springtime-and-Long-Weekend (check whichever applies).

Spring Running-Off

Time to wrap it up around here with a Sports around town note.
Saturday morning High Park will be buzzing with the annual Harry's Spring Run-Off, Harry Rosen having taken over the sponsorship of this annual in its 28th year -- actually, it's two races, the 8K sold out and the 5K, as of Friday, still open.

RICHARD LAUTENS/TORONTO STAR

Harry's Spring Run-Off: Beware the Spring Road hill.

There's spring training for runners, too, and this is opening day, one of the best events on the local running calendar. If you're not in it but find yourself in the neighbourhood, there are worse things to do than grab a coffee and stand on the Spring Road hill watching the agonized faces toughing it out up the final 200+-metre uphill to the finish. Excruciating, whether you're a spectator or a runner.

Breaking news. Still on the roads, local distance runner Michal Kapral will be contesting the Boston Marathon in a couple of weeks -- while juggling. He's actually going up against Zach Warren, who broke the "joggling" record Kapral set at last year's Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon, both raising money for children's charities: A Run for Liane, raising money for a new childhood cancer care centre at the Hospital for Sick Children, and the Afghan Mobile Mini-Circus for Children. Running a sub 3:10 marathon and juggling at the same time and raising money for a worthy cause -- go for it, fellas.

One last look. Greg Norman, mentioned in numerous Masters previews and posts because it's the 10th anniversary of his Sunday collapse for the ages, has a $70 million yacht (thanks, Norris). (UPDATE: Norman sold the yacht in 2004 to Florida millionaire and sports owner Wayne Huizenga -- thanks to Victor for the e-mail and the link).

One last read. Weedy McSmokey, a great web handle from the SportsFilter crowd, has a dead-on essay on the Leafs, as we count down to the moment where they finally stop not conceding anything (thanks, Sean):

There is a constant paradox to this team. Technically, the Leafs are the second most successful team in the history of the sport -- yet so comically and legitimately unsuccessful that people who have never seen a victory speak of them in songs despite the fact that they occurred decades before they existed (the primary reason why The Tragically Hip will never attain true coolness. Being a Leaf fan is not cool. It is fun, but never cool. Mike Myers is a Leaf fan. Enough said.). It is a franchise that has been so buoyed by national radio and TV coverage for the better part of a century that it has bullied its way into being the favourite son of the land of hockey, boasting legions of fans from coast to coast -- fans who are unquestionably loyal, despite having been given every reason to question that loyalty. Self-loathing and celebrating unite every Saturday.

And this wicked bit:

The Leafs are principally owned by the Ontario School Teachers Pension Fund. So, that asshole math teacher that tormented you fifteen years ago is profiting from your yearly misery. That's the kind of attention to detail that you have to respect. The extra, almost unnoticed, Marquis de Sade-esque, exquisite nipple-twist cherry on the crotch-kick sundae.

Watching. The Masters (final round), Sunday, 2:30 p.m., CBS, Global. I promise, this is the last time I put golf in this spot.

Not watching. Canada Russia '72, Sunday and Monday, 8 p.m., CBC. I've seen enough and heard enough about this series to last me several lifetimes, and the blathering shows no signs of letting up. Now I'm supposed to sit down and watch the TV-movie version? Please, make it stop.

Pimento sandwiches for everyone

Thought for the morning: 110 years ago today, the Olympics were reborn in Athens. The 1896 Games had athletes from 13 countries, and the opening ceremonies were watched by 60,000 spectators and King Georgos I.

110 years ago tomorrow, Georgos founded BALCO.

Just kidding about that last bit. Here's your morning links:

The Masters starts today, and this clip from last year is making the rounds because it has everything: a great shot, that Sunday cathedral of the pines feeling, the utter silence of the crowd watching (and the explosion after), Tiger Woods. This year's edition marks the 10-year anniversary of Norman's collapse, and it's been 20 years since Nicklaus's charge. I'm not much for golf -- but the Masters is something beyond. I covered it once, in 1993, and it was one of those different-world assignments - the fabled foliage has been known to be touched up with spray paint, it's about as conservative and lily-white an audience as you'll find in sports, the pimento sandwiches taste like cardboard and off the tee, no one has a straight lie.

And thanks to Irish Eagle for pointing this Daily Scotsman story out, even if it has a well-duh kind of ring to it: "MEN are nearly twice as likely to walk away from a failing marriage as to abandon their struggling football team, research has revealed. And the divorce rate would halve overnight if men showed the same commitment to their relationships as they did to their teams, according to a study by psychologist Dr Aric Sigman."

Heads-Up Read of the Day: A Fistful of Euros reprints an expats' lament at being stuck in Paris on opening day, poor dear (via Militant Moderate, who has revived the Sportblog roundup, yay!). It's a few years old and the names change, but here's a taste:

Here the stadia thrill to the scrumdowns
And the soccer fans flock to the games
And the chic punt the nags out a Longchamp
Where the women are dames and not dames
But it’s different at Forbes and at Griffith
The homes of the Buc and the Nat
Where the hotdog and peanut share laurels
With the sound of the crack of a bat.

Tiger Who?

The Presidents Cup is not the Ryder Cup, says Ian Baker-Finch:

"I hope it doesn't become as combative as the Ryder Cup, personally."

What a pity. Try as they might to turn this into a competition that the rest of us casuals might watch, instead you have Jack Nicklaus, captain of the home team U.S., saying that the visitors shouldn't be out there signing autographs, thereby making his apple-cheeked boys "look like jerks." As The Star's Dave Perkins drily notes: "This is not something many U.S. players often need help with."

You have Baker-Finch, the assistant captain of Internazionale -- now doesn't that sound better than the Internationals -- blandly declaring that he likes it just the way it is.

Echoes of the past, where you have Tiger Woods getting in a snit because one of Inter's caddies came out wearing a Tiger Who? cap. The nerve! "I thought it wasn't real respectful," Woods was quoted in The Australian.

Fellas, it's a competition. That means fans, some of whom might ask for autographs. It means fair play -- and some gamesmanship. It means a little talk -- even if it is trashy at times.

Nobody says it has to be the Ryder Cup with its rah-rah jingoism and its blonde-haired brides lining the green. But it sure needs something other than this kind of stone-faced solemnity.

Vaguely related:

Is golf a sport? The Sports Law Blog wonders whether that, and other sporting questions -- including, shootout fans, the significance of the tie in the NHL -- could be one day answered by robots. (And to add to the discussion, what about the rouge in the CFL? What about Don Cherry's popularity?)