Six Commas

I wish I'd done so here, so I could then go all I-told-you-so on you, but I did say to at least two friends sometime in the last several months, but prior to the British Open, that, and I quote, "There's nothing wrong with golf that Rory McIlroy winning a couple of majors won't fix."  [6 commas]

Which means, I suppose, that there's now nothing wrong with golf.  Which is great, because I like golf.  And while a general sense of parity is fine for the NFL, I think golf is better when the little dogs are chasing the big dog.  Tiger Woods being the biggest dog we've seen since Jack Nicklaus, and possibly the biggest dog ever, which is not to be confused with the best golfer ever.  That's different.  Now Rory is the big dog.  And, to paraphrase Genesis 1:4, it is good.

Did you happen to watch the end of the PGA Championship?  Really, it was astonishing on a number of levels, not the least of which was my boy Rory stinking up the joint for the first nine holes and then coming back to win by a stroke.  And he probably would have won by two except he played his last several shots in the kind of light you get at noon in January in Reykjavik.

Also noteworthy was the race to finish before the light faded, requiring the final two pairs to play in some fractured version of a foursome.

Honestly, it was like no Major I've ever seen.

Woof.  Let the big dog eat.