Thanks, Rocco. The 45-year-old with the bad back and the Italian surname (Mediate? Wonder how they pronounce it in the Old Country) captured Your Humble Scribe's imagination & interest over the last couple of days. He almost took out the Number One Golfer--dare we say Athlete?--in the Known Universe yesterday. Professional golf will never be the same.
Let's be clear. The Scholastic Scribe is no golf fan. The Hubby has been a golfer since he could toddle around and heft a putter. His Lovely Wife used to use golf clubs for self-defense when we lived on Capitol Hill. The wedge, we've found, is a particularly potent weapon.
Yes, we're sports-minded. Over the years we've swum, and have played tennis, softball, soccer & basketball with enthusiasm, if not always grace. We love watching professional baseball, & college basketball has a special place in our hearts (yes, mama hailed from Indiana--we're Half Hoosier, dontcha know).
But golf? Golf? Golf is not a game, it's a hobby that takes too much time. The Hubby was as shocked as His Bride that we doggedly kept tabs on Rocco & his pursuit of the Open Trophy, especially yesterday, when we juggled watching the Open with Our Humble High School's Graduation, grocery shopping, & wrapping up the end-o-the-year High School Janx. And when a thunderstorm briefly cut off the satellite power as Rocco & Tiger reached the 17th green, we switched to the streaming video online.
Rocco's iconic run was a Thing of Beauty for the record-books, even though he didn't win. Our AP English Cherubs might term him a Tragic Hero, minus the hubris. We might tune in to the next golf tourney, just to see if Rocco makes the cut.