Watching the Sunday nail-biter with my guys and texting all weekend with J3. The Masters 2019. Doesn’t get any better than this.
After the 9th hole, I kept whispering to Tiger. Think of Daddy & Navy Seals. And. It seemed to work.
A miracle that anyone could comeback from that.
So it begins. Spring road closures. Gates and tents all over Central Park. St. Patrick’s Day Parade today on Fifth. Half marathon on Sunday.
As usual, lots of talking going on while actual golf is being played somewhere in the background at The Players in Florida. Can Tiger stay on the Island? Brexit brothers Rory and Tommy lead the pack.
And. Trump will run over Beto the Manic Bozo as easily as Johnny & Moira Rose ran over that cat on Schitt’s Creek.
Robert Mueller must have watched HBO’s Brexit. He is questioning Cambridge Analytica leaders who were instrumental in swaying the Brits and aiding Steve Bannon’s global crusade for nationalism. Thus Trump.
Will never understand The Golf Channel. As Tiger is tearing up Riviera, there is a panel discussion about it and other golf-related stuff. Yet can’t watch the actual. Golf. Going on now. Frustrating.
Trevor Noah says his South African mother doesn’t visit him here because in life there are flowers and butterflies. So he takes flight then lands back home to share his adventures. Poetic. Better than pathetic!
Tiger v. Phippy. Las Vegas. Snorting, sniffing, heavy breathing caddy disgusting. Nobody told them to turn off his mike? That would have been the most smack the talk got. Neither Woods nor Mickelson had the personality ever or the talent anymore to make the post-Thanksgiving pay-per-view event slightly compelling. Bad golf. Loud snot. Boring coverage. All for $19.95. Unless you got it for free on the Bleacher Report website. Please let it be over soon!
European Ryder Cup Captain Thomas Bjørn deserves all credit. His picks earned 9 points. Team U.S.A. Captain Furyk the Jerk’s picks got 2. Veterans Woods and Mickelson dropped the ball, but they bring fans. Francesco and Sergio made records. It’s the joy and camaraderie of the Euros that make it hard to root against them. Esprit de Corps is an understatement.
My favorite moment. DeChambeau yells at his caddie after he hits a ball in the water and then topples down the hill. Happy that he didn’t even get half a point.
Dr. Husband captured magical sighting from our South Fork porch.
Then. We snatched summer’s last North Fork harvest.
Sweet corn. Heirlooms. Squash.
Back to the City in time to catch…
the miraculous comeback story of Tiger Woods.
No relief from a triple H summer even after Labor Day. Crispy air soon please.
Apparently John McCain decided to say #fu to #metoo. Both Charlie Rose and Tom Brokaw were at the Washington D.C. service. Gary Hart a pall bearer. Bill Clinton in the front pew.
Next leg of the FedEx Cup. Boston TPC, which it’s not. It’s in Norton. Boring venue with sophomoric galleries. Bryson DeChambeau’s second win. Destined to be on the Ryder Cup team now. Tiger likes his mechanics. A partnership in the making. Get out the clock.
Jack Ryan for an end of summer getaway. Homeland lite. Krasinski’s appealing.