Give your father what he really wants this Father’s Day. Admiration. That’s the word that sprouts into most people’s mind when watching the professional (and amateur) golfers partake in the United States Open, or, for that matter, any tournament.
You watch Tiger Woods hit drives that even low-key announcers will deem as monstrous. You watch Retief Goosen nail every six-foot par putt that Pinehurst No. 2 has to offer, seemingly without breaking a sweat. From one hundred yards out, you watch Phil Mickelson hit small, dimpled spheres to five feet of a given target, over four hundred yards from the tee box. And then, the ball spins back, inching closer to the cup.
You see every player in the field impatiently knock down a three foot putt, as if he is in a rush to start the process over again, just one of the eighteen times he will do so that day. Those three foot putts–the ones that they take for granted, are just the putts that most recreational players will line up as if a green jacket is on the line–because those are the putts that the recreational players have a chance at holing. The professionals know that they will make that putt, and seem insulted that they even have to putt it out.
Millions witness Peter Jacobson ace hole number nine at Pinehurst No. 2. He gazes at the ball, tumbling thousands of times through the air. He distantly views it take one hop, hit the pin, and land innocently in the cup. The gallery erupts, and Jacobson can only smile and high-five his caddy.
Let’s just recap: he just achieved a hole-in-one on of the hardest golf courses in the world. He doesn’t have to worry about a witness to verify: he is playing in front of thousands of live audience members, as well as on national television. And to make the situation even better, he is doing it at the United States Open. Life can’t get much better.
Admiration. That’s the word. And maybe a wee bit of jealousy.
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Not a golf aficionado? Flip the channel. Try some interleague baseball.
How about a game between two of the most storied franchises in all of professional sports, the Chicago Cubs and the New York Yankees, in perhaps the greatest stadium of all time? It’s a matchup that hasn’t been seen since Babe Ruth called his shot at Wrigley Field.
It’s a chance to not only witness some surefire future Hall of Famers in Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Mariano Rivera, and Randy Johnson, but also a lesson in the history of baseball. Just watch how the two teams conduct themselves; that is, look out for the difference of play between the lovable Cubbies and easy-to-hate Bombers. Sure, Cubs fans are frustrated–they haven’t won a World Series in ninety-six years. But, they wholeheartedly support their team and even in Yankees Stadium, their presence is known. Now, look down the first base dugout. The Yankees have won twenty-six World Series, most recently in 2000. And, fans are panicking because of the “drought” in which they are suffering. Floating under the radar is not an option in New York. Whereas a Cub may get by with a 2-4 performance in the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, it is probable that a Yankee player enjoying a 2-4 day will get booed if he fails to produce in a big spot.
Both teams are truly historical. The Cubs are infamous for their inability to win–whether with Ernie Banks manning shortstop, Ryne Sandberg patrolling second base, or Steve Bartman scuffling hot dogs and swatting balls in the leftfield bleachers. They play day games in front of drunken fans, in a park with ivy adorning the brick outfield wall. They are losers; but they’re lovable losers.
The Yankees, on the other hand, are infamous too–because they win. Their maniacal owner George Steinbrenner dishes out millions of dollars for bums like Hideki Irabu. Their fans mercilessly heckle other teams, and don’t tolerate losing or incompetence. The white façade encompassing the Stadium is a reminder of beauty in the urban Bronx section where the House that Ruth Built resides. They are the Evil Empire–which the “black” section in centerfield perfectly portrays.
It’s the ultimate matchup, good vs. evil, winner vs. loser. Savor it. You may not see it for seventy-three more years.
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Not a baseball man either?
Try the NBA finals–if you dare.
Watch some College World Series–until the constant sound of “ping!” gives you a headache.
It’s not really important what you watch. This Sunday though, it’s not necessary to pony up for an expensive round of golf, or buy that hideous tie that will never grace a collared shirt.
Take a break from the barbecue and sit down with your father. Crash on the sofa, sit on the couch, dig up two folding chairs, and plant yourself in front of the television.
Because while it may be fun to go swimming or play golf with your father, let him relax. Let him watch the professionals do what they do best. When he reminds you how it was to watch Jack Nicklaus rip up a golf course, remind him that he’s watching Tiger Woods drive balls over 350 yards. Concede arguments to him–you know that you’ll never win anyway.
But most of all, let him hold the remote control. It’s Father’s Day. Let him watch whatever he wants. Don’t let him forget, though, that come Monday, the remote control is all yours again.