Greatest Tiger Ever

The fact that Tiger Woods won his 11th career major Sunday isn't news. He's been winning majors pretty much from the day he got his Tour card.

The fact that Tiger Woods won his 11th career major after missing the cut at the U.S. Open last month, all the while grieving the loss of his mentor, best friend, and father Earl...now that is news.

This year's British Open wasn't so much about the golf. Nor was it really about how the likes of walking banana Sergio Garcia and Ernie Els choked it away down the stretch. It wasn't even about Phil's unsuccessful attempt to put the hospitality tent at Winged Foot behind him.

No, the 106th Open Championship was about the humanity of the game. How spending a few hours on the links can heal the most broken of hearts. How Chris DiMarco and Tiger Woods can stare grief in the face, laugh and march their way to the top of the leaderboard in one of the world's most prestigious tournaments.

The golf was undoubtedly impressive; Tiger using his driver just once all week, holing out for eagle on 14 on Friday from 200 yards out. The way DiMarco stared Tiger right in the eye on the back nine on Sunday, saving a miraculous 50-foot par before dropping a pair of birds. While others were bowing before the mighty Tiger's shadow, DiMarco stood tall and gave Woods his best shots.

And Woods gave back in kind, birdieing 14, 15, and 16. Tiger and Chris nearly matched each other shot for shot, and not only was it entertaining television, it was a testament to the mental and emotional toughness of these two players.

I doubt I could go out on the course just weeks after someone close to me died, let alone go out and contend for a major. But that's exactly what these two sultans of swing did.

And after Woods tapped in for par on the 72nd hole, he could no longer give us his steely exterior. The emotions broke through his personal dam, flooding the course. We all knew it was coming; it had been well documented, despite Tiger's private demeanor, that his father was the single greatest influence in his life.

But although I knew the tears were coming, though I knew Tiger would break down once the Claret Jug was in hand, it was still incredibly moving. How he latched onto his caddie, then marched over to his wife's arms, finding solace in her where he would once embrace Earl.

I would've liked to have seen the ABC camera back off of Tiger at this point, but it was so moving, so riveting, I let it pass. Heck, I even choked up a bit.

Tiger Woods, arguably the greatest golfer ever, showed for a few brief moments that, like the rest of us, he was human. I'll never bomb a driver 350 yards, nor will I have the touch around the green to chip with a 3-wood and land the ball two feet from the pin, but I know what it's like to lose someone close to you, and for that, Tiger made this British Open memorable.

Tiger was far more dominant at Pebble Beach in 2000, and his 1997 Masters win is the most culturally-significant thing to ever happen in golf, but this is by far his most important major championship. Whether Tiger catches Jack Nicklaus' mark of 18 career majors is irrelevant at this point; right now, this is about a young man grieving the loss of his best friend the only way he knows how: to go out and win on golf's highest stage.

Earl is responsible for just about everything we see out of Tiger Woods today, and as a golf fan, I owe Earl a lifetime of gratitude. But more than that, Earl made Tiger a good man, and I think we saw a glimpse of that Sunday afternoon at Royal Liverpool.

We should all be so lucky to have fathers like Earl Woods.

A Roof Over Her Head

Anyone who's followed even a smidge of auto racing over the past couple weeks has heard the rumblings of IndyCar Series starlet Danica Patrick considering a move to NASCAR next season, particularly the Nextel Cup Series.

Her contract with Rahal-Letterman Racing expires at the end of this season.

Aside from being a media darling, and the single reason the national media even talks about the IRL, Danica's known for finishing fourth in the 2005 Indianapolis 500 and setting the IRL rookie record for poles in a season (which would be three, for you Trivial Pursuit fans out there).

No wins. No championships.

But she's young and she's hot, so everyone wants her. Including, it would seem, NASCAR. Danica's father T.J. Patrick was a special guest for Roush Racing at the USG Sheetrock 400 at Chicagoland Speedway two Sundays ago, and that got the rumor mill started.

What we do know is this: not only is Rahal-Letterman (who won the Indy 500 a couple years ago with Buddy Rice) trying to negotiate a new deal with Patrick, one other IRL team is in contract discussions (possibly Andretti-Green). We also know of one Nextel Cup team (not sure which one) that has expressed interest in the star.

But the question begs asking: Does NASCAR need Danica Patrick?

Not nearly as much as she might need NASCAR. The racing series is not only by far the most popular motorsport in America, it's also the country's second most popular spectator sport (behind only the National Football League). Hundreds of thousands of fans pack the track every week, and millions more tune in on TV.

And with ABC/ESPN entering the NASCAR television fray next year, said exposure is about to skyrocket even more. ESPN has a lot of say over what the general public thinks is or isn't a sport.

Just look at poker.

So NASCAR doesn't need Danica to bring in more fans and exposure (not to mention money). That's not to say NASCAR won't turn her away; if she decides to jump into a car with a roof over her head, the good ol' boys in the suits and ties will embrace her--and the millions she's going to rake in advertising and television revenues. New fans will come over to NASCAR, if out of nothing else but sheer curiosity.

Danica might not be a successful NASCAR driver, but she would be a rich one.

You know who does need Danica, though? The IndyCar Series. Open-wheel racing has struggled since the highly-publicized CART-IRL split back in 1995, with neither series gathering much, if any, fanfare. These days, the IRL grabs the spotlight only because of its crown jewel, the Indy 500, and because of Danica Patrick.

As for CART? Well, it's now known as the Champ Car World Series, and unless you religiously watch SPEED Channel, you might be under the impression the series no longer exists. SportsCenter's certainly not touching it.

The drivers might not like the attention she gets (which is an awful lot for a driver who's yet to see a checkered flag), but Danica brings the IRL exposure, TV ratings, and money. The last thing Tony George needs is another hotshot open-wheeler to defect to stock car racing (anyone remember Tony Stewart's IRL days?).

If Danica does indeed jump to NASCAR, the IndyCar Series will return to near-complete obscurity. It's a shame, given the quality of the racing in that series, but in American motorsports, NASCAR is king...so much so that even the less successful of drivers can make themselves stars.

So Danica would probably feel right at home.

Sucker Punch

Sugar Shane Mosley defeated Fernando Vargas Saturday night in six rounds by TKO, marking one of the few times this year boxing has found itself in the national spotlight (read: on SportsCenter).

But here's the rub: I don't care.

This isn't a blog in which I lament the fall in boxing's popularity over the past decade-plus. Nor will I spend this space blaming the sport's downfall on the lunacy of one Mike Tyson. I also won't be longing for the days of Sugar Ray Leonard or even the god himself, Muhammed Ali.

For one, we already know these things to be near-universal truths in the sporting world, so to reiterate them would be utterly pointless.

No...I instead use this blog space to articulate how I never truly enjoyed boxing, even in the days of Foreman and Ali and a pre-rape trial Tyson. A sport long praised by sportswriters and sportscasters for its elegant brutality has never been more to me than some professionally-sanctioned schoolyard brawl.

If I wanted to see two men beating each other to a bloody pulp, I'll go catch a hockey game. Or see if I can find the right frat party at one of the many colleges in southeastern Virginia.

Or, better yet, I'll go back to high school, where it seemed like everybody was trying to pick a fight. The jocks hated the computer nerds, the cheerleaders hated the goth chicks, the grunge kids hated the preppy boys...you get the idea.

I simply have never been able to get behind a sport where the whole point is to punch the other guy in the face. I'm fine with a sport where fully-grown men pummel each other for a ball that's not even round, and I'm more than willing to get behind 43 guys driving around in circles at 200 MPH for hours on end. Hell, catch me in the right mood, and I might even entertain the idea of a bunch of guys running around trying to kick a ball into a net surrounded by fans so passionate and crazy they're willing to kill.

But I just can't get into two men punching each other in their (admittedly shiny) boxers. That sounds like a bad X-rated film waiting to happen.

This isn't about that Ultimate Fighting stuff you're likely to find on Spike TV, either. Yes, it seems more authentic than boxing, but that doesn't mean I like it any more. If I want bloody fighting, I'll play Mortal Kombat. I want more in my sports than mindless bloodshed and fisticuffs.

When two guys drop their mitts in hockey, there's usually a reason: one guy feels the other guy screwed him in some way, so they have at it. And they drop their gloves; in boxing, you have to put gloves on.

Like those gloves are gonna make any difference.

Fights in baseball, laughable as they often are, also serve a purpose, usually the the-pitcher-hit-me-and-I-think-he-did-it-on-purpose variety.

In auto racing, guys'll fight over an alleged wreck...or attempted wreck.

Right, Kurt Busch?

But in boxing, there's no point to the punching...unless you count the punching. Maybe I'm crazy, but I've always looked at fights and thought, "Okay, why are those guys fighting?" And that's why I can never get into boxing; I see no reason for the two guys in the ring to be fighting. Maybe if someone combined the authentic violence of boxing with the over-the-top storylines of the WWE, then I'd watch.

But as it is, boxing is nothing to me but pointless brutality. The kind that was more entertaining in high school.