Wednesday, July 13, 2005 | 9:58 a.m.
Adam Candee covers golf for the Sun. Reach him at (702) 259-4085 or by e-mail at [email protected].
So if I'm worth two shakes of salt as a golf writer, this week's space is supposed to be reserved for some sort of take on Michelle Wie.
There are only so many coats of paint, however, that can be thrown onto the angles about her two-day PGA tour stop last week to make them look remotely new or shiny.
That being the case, I dug past the cobwebbed athletic club membership and old Carvel receipts in my wallet to find my Golf Writers Association of America card, and found some solace. Nowhere on there does it read that I have to write about her again.
Not that the story doesn't deserve credence and play. Of course it does. It's just that my mind is closer to St. Andrews and High Street Kensington than it is to The Gap, Gloria Steinem or Don Ho.
Feel free to line the birdcage with this piece if it becomes sanctimonious or melodramatic at any point because that's certainly not the point. Right now, I can't help but think about the British Open in light of last week's terror attacks in London.
If there is any sporting event not prominently featuring feet and shin guards that could distract the folks in the United Kingdom for a moment, it's the Open. (Don't call it the British Open to any right-minded person in the U.K. How gauche.) And it just happens to be at the hallowed ground of St. Andrews in Scotland this time around.
Caring about a golf tournament may feel silly in any light. But for a weekend, for London, the U.K. and the rest of us, we can suspend that reality and we should.
There is pride involved in being the birthplace of golf, and the Open is passionate stuff across the pond. I can't say it was the primary discussion topic for anyone in January 2004 during my weeklong vacation in London, but any mention of golf in casual conversation was bound to turn to the Open.
The stop for my hotel on "The Tube" was High Street Kensington on the Circle Line, two stations away from the Edgware Road bombing. Man, those trains could get packed around rush hour. It's just so amazingly sad.
That's why the Open could not come at a better time. I understand those who talk of incidents like the bombings putting everything in perspective and how they remind that sports don't really matter. When lives are so senselessly lost, that is a natural thought.
Think back, though, to 2001 in the United States. We all shared the sadness of New York, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania. Along came a magical baseball postseason, capped by the greatest World Series ever, at just the right time to distract us for a while. (Hey, even my third-generation family of Yankees fans could agree with that.)
The Diamondbacks and Yankees did not cure anything. They did not replace lost lives or heal broken ones. They made it no easier for us to comprehend the violence of Sept. 11.
They did give us an outlet, though. Sitting in press row for the seventh game of that World Series, I couldn't help but think about terrorism, not after walking through layer upon layer of security to get into a stadium patrolled overhead by military jets. But after an inning or two and for the next three hours, the only thought that lingered was how amazing this baseball game could be.
The folks in the U.K. care intensely about this golf tournament and the players are undaunted in coming from around the world to play in it. There is no clear-cut favorite in the field, although Tiger's finishes in the first two majors of 2005 are first and second, respectively.
That should make for an exciting tournament. The Open usually does provide that type of thrill, even if it is simply watching the world's best fight Mother Nature along the Scottish coastline.
Here's hoping for a classic at St. Andrews. They deserve it. It wouldn't solve anything, but that's not the point. Just give the good folks something better to think about for a while.
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