It will not sit on a shelf next to the best works of Shakespeare or Tolstoy. Pearl Buck isn't worried that "The Good Earth" just got voted off the island.

I don't think "Call me Graeme" will replace "Call me Ishmael" in literary history. If Dickens was writing the definitive book on Pebble Beach 2010, it might have opened:

"It was the worst of times, it was the worser of times."

I have NO problem with a guy we know next-to-nothing about winning this tournament. That, by itself, might have been a rally-around type story.

 

First European to win in 40 years. Instant national hero. Dad in the house on Father's Day. Pub and drinking references everywhere. Hell, the guy was talking to the camera and the world as he was walking up to finish the most important hole he will EVER play. Wished me and you a Happy Father's Day right there in the middle of the 18th fairway. If he was pissing his pants, he hid it well.

If you dig no deeper, all good. Someday it might be looked at that way.

Today is not "someday."

This was comical ... in a not-so-funny way.

You probably know how this went. In a nutshell here's what happened as I see it:

The guys with the pedigree were fighting fatigue. Wait for it ... let it breathe ... wait ... wait ... IT'S TIRING KICKING YOURSELF FOR 4+ HOURS.
(RIMSHOT!). Get it? FA-TIGUE. You thought I was going to say that they are OLD. Then I said that they ... never mind.

Ernie, Phil and Tiger could have kicked themselves out of the gate, down the street and all the way home. No private plane required. And if you think it's any better today for those three, two words for you -- Graeme McDowell.

Ernie Els: He didn't need to "steal" this thing. He needed to win it. And couldn't. In some ways, he could have been the anti-everybody coming down the stretch. He had the least to lose. Didn't play that way. Double at 10. Missed an easy birdie on 15. 40 on the back nine and into the clubhouse without having to make McDowell make a decision on 18. No reason I know of to not pull for the guy. He was so pissed, he left without word. And without that third U.S. Open trophy.

MOMENT ELIMINATED -- The double at 10 would be easy. Bogey at 14 (bad wedge) didn't help. But it was the miss at 15. A make there might have pushed him to a better finish than anyone.

Phil Mickelson: If Ernie had the least to lose, Phil might have had the most. I will go so far as to say that he would trade two of his three green jackets for one U.S. Open Trophy (how is it that this thing doesn't have a name? Crap worth a lot less than this have names). Maybe all three. Bad shot here. Bad decision there. In other words, Phil in a Major. If there were points for grace, Phil wins. At least he's got that going for him.

MOMENT ELIMINATED -- 4th hole. 15-footer for eagle turns into a 3-putt par. No Birdies the rest of the way. Read that again. NO BIRDIES THE REST OF THE WAY. One of the best, "most creative" (a nice way to say he might try some crazy shit, but it DOES sometimes work) shotmakers in the world had not one "did you see that" shot in his bag -- for 14 holes on a Major Sunday.

Dustin Johnson: Holy Mother of God! That was Epic; an all-timer right before our eyes. The best thing you can say about this round was that he was SO done SO fast that he doesn't have to hear how he blew it on the back nine or had a shot to win with three holes left and gagged. Believe me, this guy will need something to fall back on and that is it. That and the fact that there was so much stink by big-time "those guys are better than him" players that he will almost be forgotten. At least as forgotten as a guy who had a three-stroke lead and threw up an 82 on U.S. Open Sunday (I'm trying brother).
If he was a horse, they would have shot him after the fourth hole (6-over at that point). I kept waiting for his cornerman to throw in the towel. Or the ref to stop the fight. The moment got to him -- not a crime. But he pulled an Ernie and left without talking. His 66 on Saturday was great. Problem is, 16 stroke-swings from Saturday to Sunday at a Major HAVE to be called what they are -- a bona fide living and breathing choke.

MOMENT ELIMINATED -- Take your pick.

The French Guy (Gregory Havret): No. 391 in the world and alive until the 72nd hole at a major? Hold your head high. And hope they remember your name. Because I don't.

This guy will be the least-talked-about, runner-up, look at me, I only lost by one stroke and I beat Els, Mickelson and Woods in my first U.S. Open, did I mention I was a qualifier in the history of a Major? I have no idea if this guy will EVER be heard from again. But his near-miss was not one for the ages.

Tiger: You want the good news or the bad news? The good news is that the gallery went ape-shit crazy when you knocked in at 17 on Saturday. They LOVED you. Saw your 66 and it was as if nothing (relatively speaking) had ever happened.

The bad news? You still can't play. Not 72 holes worth. And worse than that -- and this is big -- you turned bitch. Between the complaints about the greens, by itself a bad sign for the guy who was thought to be able to overcome any and everything to the Mac-Daddy don't do it ... oh no he didn't, yes he did ...  "Watch me throw my caddie under the bus -- he gave me bad clubs and made mental mistakes that I shouldn't have had to deal with" crap that came out of his mouth after this one, the Tiger you know is still not in the building.

Couple that with his lousy math ("I made 3 mental mistakes out there") and it's time to realize that there is still work to be done. Understandable actually. But I for one now believe that St. Andrews -- his favorite course and the most suitable to cover up mistakes -- now becomes HUGE for him. His Sunday Red means nothing right now. His trek to 19 Majors is still in play.

****This has been my rational math through the last couple of years -- pre-Thanksgiving bumper cars lying in the middle of a fancy neighborhood street he banged HOW MANY women? Craziness -- he has 15 years of Majors -- if he cant win 5 of 60 THAT will be the greatest choke in the HISTORY OF SPORTS.****

MOMENT ELIMINATED -- when I read that he and the Perkins flap-jack girl were eating Subway sandwiches and he was swigging Bailey's out of a bottle before they had a wonderfully romantic and spiritual meeting of their skank in his office down the street from his house, wife and kids.

As for the winner, congratulations, Graeme -- you won. Scoreboard. No apologies needed from you. No one will remember that you had two birdies in your last 34 holes. The world needs mudders. You were the last man wobbling. I won't remember one shot you made all week. Not one. I WILL remember that you played 18 on Sunday perfectly. Lay-up. 2-putt for the win. Proves to me that you WERE the best when you had to be.

Will you ever do it again? No idea. But your name is on that unnamed trophy forever. And they can't ever take that away from you. Because if those guys on Sunday couldn't, no one can today.

 

EXTRA BONUS

This is EASILY the most effiminate video of all-time.

This guy makes Roberta Flack look like Isaac Hayes.

(for you younger guys....)

This guy makes Taylor Swift look like Courtney Love.

sit back, enjoy and remember -- there is a good chance your wife once wanted this guy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR0j7sModCI