Can we dispense with the allegories about the Masters?  It’s golf, people, not a morality play.  It is a game associated with Type A alpha males.  You golf with clients so you have them all to your lonesome for 4 hours on the course plus a couple cocktails and dinner later. 

You also get a pretty good idea of how well they handle pressure as well as adversity when they shank one into the sand trap, can’t get out on the first attempt, and then three put for a snowman. 

You also hope they do it before you do.  You hate to be the first one to helicopter a club into the woods while yelling, “FUCK ME!” at the top of your lungs.

 (That kind of snap doesn't always happen, but it can.  My personal favorite was watching a guy hit a metal tool shed and then launch the C-Bomb at the top of his lungs before realizing we were making the turn at the clubhouse. There were a bunch of older ladies having lunch on the veranda who had been startled by the sound of his ball caroming off the metal shed, and hence attuned to listening when his C-Bomb wafted in from the fairway. Notoriously cheap, he opted NOT to approach the ball and make known which of us had launched the mother of all expletives.  We made sure we pointed at him as we went by, however, to remove the stigma from our own innocent visages.  Lad had an anger management problem, you might say.)

You also can quickly tell who cheats.  You don’t like that in business.  It doesn’t fly.  There’s a certain honor on the course. Bill Clinton found out when he blew a whole bunch of smoke at the media at Farm Neck on Martha’s Vineyard about his score.  Golfers knew he was lying through his teeth.

It’s an Alpha Male endurance test, and playing the game tells you a lot about the person.  It’s insanely frustrating, which seems an odd thing for the Type A’s to love, but Golf draws them like moths to a flame.

And you know what?  Those guys could care less who you are screwing or how often.  Seriously?  Alpha Males?  Concerned about fidelity? 

Be serious. 

They probably wonder how the guy had the time to chase the tail, keep it all straight, not get caught and still win tournament after tournament.  In some ways it makes the guy a hero.  They wish they had the time, the chutzpah, or the appeal to pull it off.  It makes for a great fantasy for them if nothing else.

So the idea that Tiger couldn’t win the big one because of lost Karmic energy by not being able to nail some bimbo he found hanging upside down from a pole or that Phil’s great victory came from the sustaining love he has with his ailing wife (no mocking meant there, honest) is absolute crap.

Tiger took a chance in the trees on one of the holes where rather than punch it out, he sought to drive the green over water.  His shot hit a tree the way it would for anyone and cost him a stroke.  Later he three putted a green.  Likewise, his drives were erratic on the front nine of the final round in a way uncharacteristic of him and likely something correctable with practice.  Either that or his left knee that’s been operated on four times based on the incredible way he torques his body is acting up, and he might have a bigger issue requiring a change in swing, ceding yards off the tee.

None of that has a damn thing to do with his sex life or the impact on his marriage.

On the flip side, Phil went eagle, eagle, birdie on three consecutive holes during the third round to pick up 5 strokes in an instant.  In the final round he had a situation akin to Tiger’s where he was in the pine needles and had to chip over the trees, then water, to the green.

And Phil stuck the shot.

That had more to do with why Phil took first and Tiger took fourth than any treacly morality play contrived to sell golf to Lifetime Network devotees who need to load up on golf shirts and other accoutrements for Father’s Day in a couple of months.  That story doesn’t sell to those who play regardless of whether they hit from the white, blue, or red tees.  Anyone who plays knows what it is about. 

These guys have focus.  These guys have concentration.  They were not thinking about any woman or anything other than the muscle memory they have taught themselves through hundreds of hours of repetitive practice.  They know how to block out all extraneous sounds and thoughts and zone in on what’s important.  Tiger was not thinking about whether or not Elin was going to take him back standing over the ball when he three putted.  Phil wasn’t thinking about his wife’s breast cancer when he went all gunslinger while in the lead and chipped out of the pine needles over the water onto the green while his caddy likely soiled himself.

Those guys shut out everything around them and focused.  That’s it.  Nothing more; nothing less.  Players of that caliber can do that.  If they focus on the task at hand like that between the sheets, they probably have no shortage of willing participants to hop in bed with them, either.  Think about that one for a moment.

And the majority of the golfing fans watching them with their eyes closed on Sundays could care less about what they do anywhere other than out on the course.  Media-manufactured morality plays matter not to the core fan base.  

In fact, it actually kind of ticks them off.