Seeking sports’ new hero we can all look up to

That was an interesting quote from Rory McIlroy about his rival, his idol and, as you interpret it, of sports as a whole. “He is the hero we all looked up to,” McIlroy said about, who else, Tiger Woods.

The players know. The fans know. The folks in management, the people who run the events, who own the teams, who make the deals, certainly know.

Did some observer really tell us that sports were the opera of the poor, long before the time when if you couldn’t afford a night at the Met you most likely could afford a day with the Mets?

Now, from arias to home runs, everything is high-priced. Including the salaries or, in the case of DeShaun Watson, the fine he must pay, $5 million, just to get back on the field after accusations of sexual misconduct. Sex sells.

The numbers make us crazy. And also help make our games what they’ve become, a fascinating blend of star power and high finance.

Maybe when President Biden is talking billions, we don’t even shrug if ballplayers or quarterbacks are talking millions.

ESPN knows. So do the other networks. Who do we want to see? Or, according to the ratings, who do the networks, the producers, the directors, believe who we ought to see?

Sometimes it seemed the only female tennis player was Serena Williams, the only pro golfer Tiger Woods, the only quarterback Tom Brady. Enough already. Or was it not enough?

The Lakers just re-signed LeBron James for two more years, and for $97 million. Bill Plaschke, the fine L.A. Times sports columnist, thought it was a bad deal. The Lakers were mediocre (or worse) with James last season, so why bring him back?

Because he is basketball in Los Angeles, the second biggest TV market in the land. It doesn’t so much matter what the Lakers accomplish, but what James can accomplish. The so-called ultimate team game is dominated by individuals. As are all our games.

You know the famous Michael Jordan response when he was told there is no “I” in team. “But,” he pointed out so accurately, “there is in win.”

Golf has been beholden to Tiger for a quarter-century. People who didn’t care much for golf still cared about Tiger. Or Serena in tennis. Or Brady in the NFL. Or Ronaldo in soccer. Or Justin Verlander in baseball.

Night and day, our games are on, mornings from the Premier League, evenings from some ballpark or tennis complex. Who’s going to bring us in? Who’s going to keep us there?

That’s a question pro golf faces essentially with the rebel LIV Tour challenging the established PGA Tour.

Go after the big names, pay them big bucks — though to Tiger’s credit, he turned down something like $700 million from the Saudi LIV group. The hope to create the excitement that will resonate when new TV contracts are decided.

Woods is very much a part of the action, as he should be. “His voice carries further than anyone else’s in the game of golf,” said McIlroy, who has a significant voice of his own, about Tiger.

The hero golf looked up to is in the process of stepping away. Yet, who knows what’s around the next field or diamond, or court or fairway.

Some 50 years ago, in what turned out to be his last column, the great Red Smith closed, “I told myself not to worry. Someday there will be another Joe DiMaggio.”

There hasn’t been, but there’s been a Hank Aaron. And a Roger Federer, a Michael Jordan, a Tiger Woods, a John Elway, a Joe Montana and so many others.

We await the greatness that was. The hero we can all look up to.

Thoughts on Serena and the changes in sport

The changes in life are magnified in sport, where someone new inevitably moves in while the one we knew and recognized — if not idolized — departs.

Maybe, as in the case of Serena Williams, making us consider our own impermanence as much as hers.

Wasn’t it only yesterday that Serena was the kid straight out of Compton, the younger of two wildly talented sisters? Now, with a kid of her own and well aware her best days as a tennis player are in the past, she has made a decision that may be any sporting heroine’s most difficult.

To say goodbye to the game that has been so much a part of her existence.

At least she made it herself. As opposed to Jed Lowrie. His career as a major league ballplayer may not have been as spectacular as Serena’s in tennis, but it was long, 11 years, and solid, particularly in various seasons with the Oakland Athletics.

Apropos of nothing but pertinent to so much, on Thursday the A’s designated Lowrie for assignment, in effect telling him he no longer could do what was required — less than a week since Serena, in an article for Vogue, told us the same thing about herself.

At 40 and after months recovering from a hamstring injury, Williams sensed she never would get another Grand Slam, much less any other victory. She spoke of a light at the end of the tunnel. What could be called the greatest career in women’s tennis will come to a halt at the upcoming U.S. Open.

Lowrie’s career surely already is at the end, although someone might pick him up as an emergency backup. Lowrie was hitting .180 in 50 games this season.

“It’s just the nature of the game,” said Lowrie, a consummate professional. “I kind of figured it was coming. So yeah, it wasn’t based on some conversations I’ve had. So yeah, it wasn’t a surprise.”

Is anything a surprise anymore?

The last couple of months seem to have been particularly depressing with the deaths of two icons, Bill Russell and Vin Scully, and now the retirement of another, Serena Williams. So much so quickly.

We are the victims and the beneficiaries of the modern world, of television and the internet. We saw Russell make history, heard Scully describe it. These people were not merely champions or announcers, they became family.

As the years pass, all we can do is appreciate the chance to realize what we had — and to hope there might be another Serena (or Bill Russell or Vin Scully) in the future.

For Scully, there were no borders on baseball broadcasts

Red Barber, who made one of the more memorable calls — describing Al Gionfriddo robbing a frustrated  Joe DiMaggio, “back, back, back” — often said there was something special about listening to a baseball game on the radio.

The nature of the sport, with its dimensions — 90 feet between bases is the closest man has come to perfection, it was written — allowed us to perceive what we couldn’t literally see.

So the men who announced the games became an integral part of our sporting lives. Go back, back, back to the Pacific Coast League, to Don Klein and Bud Foster, and those who sat in front of microphones always seemed as much a part of the game as those who stepped to the plate.

A familiar voice in the evening hours, relishing a great catch, lamenting a regrettable strikeout, was just what we needed before the lights were turned off.

The virtually unprecedented response to the passing of Vin Scullly, who died Tuesday at 94, is hardly a surprise.

He was employed by the Dodgers, from the 1950s, when he left Fordham and joined Red Barber. Yet there are no borders on airwaves. Or on respect.

It was 1958 when baseball changed, the New York Giants moving to San Francisco, the Brooklyn Dodgers shifting to Los Angeles. There was nothing at all wrong with the Giants’ announcer, Russ Hodges.

There was something fortunately right with Scully, who teamed with Jerry Doggett.

It was my junior year in college at UCLA, and for a summer job I sold concessions at the L.A. Coliseum, hardly the old ballpark but a 90,000-seat football stadium converted to baseball, where the left field screen was 250 feet away and the right field fence was 400 feet away.

Blithely I scrambled through the Coliseum, the cries for my wares — “Ice cream here” — all but drowned out by the classic voice of Vin Scully.

Did the good folks in Los Angeles not have enough confidence in their ability to watch a major league ball game without being told what they just saw? This was the new age of transistor radios, and those little babies were everywhere.

Finally Dodgers management succumbed to reality, erecting small loudspeakers in right field. No, it wouldn’t have worked in Boston, but this wasn’t Boston.

Up in the Bay Area, we’ve had Lon Simmons, Hank Greenwald and Jon Miller, clever and astute. But lacking the elements that contributed to the attractiveness of Scully — a base population in the millions, a then clear-channel radio network and an audience trapped in southern California traffic.

In L.A., you grew up listening to Scully almost more than you did idolizing Sandy Koufax. Northern Cal didn’t have that sort of problem. There was only Willie Mays.

It’s hard to say which was a better baseball area, Los Angeles or San Francisco. For sure, the Bay Area never set up speakers to hear what you were watching.

The sudden and explosive acquisition of Juan Soto by the Padres brings to mind the Jim Murray line about the troubles of a baseball team in San Diego: “the Pacific to the west, Mexico to the south and Vin Scully to the north.”

The man was great, even if his calls overwhelmed my yells to sell ice cream. Baseball will miss you.

Since days at USF, Bill Russell was his own man

When I arrived in the Bay Area in the mid-1960s, it was notably provincial. Joe DiMaggio remained the region’s favorite ballplayer over Willie Mays, which was a mistake.

Not that Joe wasn’t great. It’s just because Willie was greater but unappreciated by the newer generation.

And Bill Russell, who had grown up in Oakland and led the University of San Francisco to championships, seemed to be the only basketball player who mattered.

That, we learned in retrospect, was not a mistake.

Russell, who died Sunday at 88, was a man apart, on the court and off. He changed the sport. In time, he also would change social viewpoints.

Choices remain subjective. How we judge remains no less a factor than who we judge. Michael Jordan invariably gets the votes as the best in history. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

Which brings us to Russell. All he could do was win. Everywhere and anywhere.

The boy who in the late 1940s moved with his family from Louisiana was gangly and unskilled. But tall enough, so he earned a place, or at least a temporary one, on the McClymonds High basketball squad.

Maybe William Felton Russell couldn’t shoot, but he would keep others from scoring, especially in time at USF, where he teamed with a kid from San Francisco’s Commerce High, K.C. Jones.

The Dons would win back-to-back NCAA championships (1955 and ’56) and a record 60 straight games. At UCLA, a young coach named John Wooden kept getting asked why he couldn’t get past USF in the regionals. The brief answer: Because of Bill Russell.

Genius is a misused word in sports. But it is appropriate in the case of Arnold (Red) Auerbach, who as coach and GM of the Celtics understood what Russell could provide and maneuvered to get him in the ’56 draft.

Former Senator Bill Bradley, who faced Russell with the Knicks in the 1960s, viewed him as “the smartest player ever to play the game and the epitome of a team leader.”

“At his core, Russell knew that he was different from other players — that he was an innovator and that his very identity depended on dominating the game,” Bradley wrote in reviewing Russell’s remembrances of Auerbach in “Red and Me: My Coach, My Lifelong Friend” (2009) for The New York Times.

Until near the end, Russell was involved in a series of confrontations. In 2007, Russell returned to the USF campus. According to Jerry Crowe of the Los Angeles Times, Russell “stormed off after being told he would  have to pay his own way because his scholarship had expired.

“Dominating the game, indeed. Whatever was the source of Russell’s frustration in any phase of his life is part of what pushed him to excel, if not satisfy himself.”

Russell’s allegiance was to his teammates, not to the city of Boston or to the fans. He refused to sign autographs for fans or even as keepsakes for his teammates. When the Celtics retired his No. 6 in March 1972, the event, at his insistence, was a private ceremony in Boston Garden. He ignored his election to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame — situated squarely in Celtics country, in Springfield, Mass. — and refused to attend the induction.

“In each case, my intention was to separate myself from the star’s idea about fans, and fans’ ideas about stars,” Russell said in “Second Wind: The Memoirs of an Opinionated Man”, written with Taylor Branch and published in 1979. “I have very little faith in cheers, what they mean and how long they will last, compared with the faith I have in my own love for the game.”

The faith placed in Bill Russell from his days at McClymonds and USF was well deserved.

A man named Smith makes history

ST. ANDREWS, Scotland — The words rolled down the 18th fairway of this famous course on a particularly historic occasion.

It was Martin Slumbers, chairman of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, with the annual presentation of the Open winner, “the Champion golfer of the year.” Enlightening words for Cam Smith.

Depressing words for Rory McIlroy. Rory had gone eight years without winning a major championship, and he thought — everybody thought — he had this one, holding the lead until the final 18. But golf can be nothing but sorrow.

Smith, the 28-year-old Australian, did what champions do. He came from off the pace and shot an 8-under-par 64. His playing partner, Cameron Young, shot a 65. McIlroy, the presumptive winner, and certainly from the cheers, the fans’ choice, shot a 2-under 70.

“I didn’t make any putts today” said McIlroy, which is one of the reasons he has had his drought in trying to get his fifth major.

“I’ll be back,” he told SKY Sports, a bit grimly. McIlroy finished second in the Masters and has played well all year, but couldn’t get over the mountain.

Smith is not exactly a surprise. He has won several tournaments including The Players — if that is not a major, and it isn’t, the golfers consider it the next best thing.

Perhaps, because this Open with all the fanfare was at The Home of Golf, there were expectations for a notably exciting champion.

Indeed Smith, with his floppy hat and Australian savoir faire, may be one of the coming greats. On a day that began with light showers and then changed to typical Scottish gloom, Smith showed his talent and persistence.

He has been a comer for a couple of years, and now he can be considered to be a full force. Any Open gives one cachet, and taking the 150th at St. Andrews unquestionably gives the golfer a special place in the game.

The strength of Smith’s game is in his putting. Anybody who can get the ball into the cup is going to be a factor.

“All the hard work we’ve done the last couple years is really starting to pay off,” Smith said to his team, with the trophy in his grip and the tears starting to come. “And this one definitely makes it worth it.”

But Smith, after recomposing himself, made it clear that he intended to put the claret jug to good use, although not at the moment for claret.

“I’m definitely going to find out how many beers fit in this thing, that’s for sure,” he said.

How come Australia, a wine country, drinks so much beer?

Not a good ending for Tiger

ST. ANDREWS, Scotland — This is the way it too often ends, not with a bang or a whimper but a farewell that couldn’t come too soon.

Tiger Woods entered this landmark British Open with the belief — or was it merely the hope? — that a return to the Old Course, where he had won the Open, where he emphatically reminded us of his greatness, would be a step back in time.

But others own pro golf now, and surely this will be Woods’ final Open, except perhaps in a ceremonial role. It is not quite a passing of the torch — no one out there can carry the flame and the game as Woods did — but a sad concession to reality.

The thinking was that a flat links land course, where the ball rolls and rolls, would give a 46-year-old a chance against the 26-year-olds. But Tiger began with a double-bogey on the first hole after hitting into the burn that fronts the green and finished with a 6-over 78.

Woods was unable to take advantage of the favorable conditions, overcast and almost no wind. The tone was set right away on that first hole, leading to the first of five bogeys.

He finally made his only birdie of the day at the par-5 14th, but he'll go to the second round a daunting 11 shots behind the clubhouse leader, Dustin Johnson.

In other words, Woods' main priority on Friday will be making the cut. That's a far cry from his previous performances at St. Andrews, where he won the claret jug in 2000 and 2005.

Woods walked off the course tied for 133rd, having bested only two other players to complete their rounds. He was tied with 65-year-old Tom Watson, who had a 76 in his final British Open. It is a trifle ironic that Rory  McIlroy, who is supposed to be the next Tiger, shot a 4-under 66, 12 shots lower than Woods.

"Guys have been shooting good numbers," Woods said. "Unfortunately, I did not do that." Instead, he was headed for a missed cut for the third time in his last four majors.

At least after his ultimate putt, Woods displayed class and respect, doffing his white hat with the familiar TW logo to the fans who stayed the course, after 9 p.m.

The celebrated start Thursday of the 150th British Open gave way to Cameron Young making his debut with an 8-under 64 for a two-shot lead over McIlroy, and Tiger Woods making what could be his last competitive appearance at St. Andrews a short one.

His score would indicate as much. Woods ended his round by taking three putts through the Valley of Sin for a par and a 78, his second-worst score in his Open career.

Woods will try to avoid leaving early from St. Andrews for the second straight time.

The Old Course gets Tiger talking

ST. ANDREWS, Scotland — This was a golfer of our time embracing the game and the course for all time, a man aware of his past and, as all of us, uncertain of the future. But for once seemingly delighted to tell us what he feels.

Tiger Woods and the Old Course, so much history and a perhaps a wee bit of mystery, coming together for the 150th Open Championship.

It was as if Babe Ruth had emerged for a World Series game at Yankee Stadium, a man of the past unworried about the future, regaling us with nostalgia of the good times and the great rounds.

You know he’s ready for the Open, which he won twice here — and even at age 46, and after the injuries from the car crash, has an outside chance to win again.

We didn’t know he was so willing to be part of golf’s past, an aging player who grew up idolizing the names and locations that make golf the beautiful and compelling activity it has become.

“This is where it all began for me as an amateur,” said Woods. “My first chance to play in The Open Championship was here. I'll never forget I played with Ernie Els and Peter Jacobsen the first two days. We had a chance to play with some greats in practice rounds — Freddie Couples, Raymond Floyd, Ollie, (Jose Maria Olazabal), Bernhard Langer.

“I had a great time as a young little kid, and they showed me the ropes of how to play this golf course and how many different options there were. It was eye-opening how this golf course can play as easily as it can be played and also as difficult it can play just by the wind changing.”

Maybe no Scot ever said “Nay wind, nay rain, nay golf,” but those challenges of nature are so much a part of the game along the restless North Sea, the weather cannot be ignored.

Nor can that final walk on the bridge that spans Swilcan Burn on the Old Course’s final fairway.

Every great has stopped there to pose for a minute or so before finishing what he knew would be his last round at St. Andrews. For Tiger, it’s only speculation. He could return. He probably won’t.

“I have a photo in my office when I first played my first practice round, me sitting there, and it means a lot,” he said. “I mean, the history and the people that have walked over that bridge.

“(Monday) to have Lee (Trevino) and Rory (McIlroy) and Jack (Nicklaus) and just stand there with them, that's history right there. The telecast would come on at 5 a.m. on the West Coast to get a chance to watch them play and to see them hit the shots, and listen to Lee Buck talking about the small ball playing over here and what he used to do with it. These are things that makes it so special.”

Woods was asked about the LIV tour, and he dismissed the idea. He remains loyal to the PGA tour, which has enabled him to become a billionaire.

Having shown his appreciation for golf’s history, Tiger was asked if he knew that the new kids, now in their 20s and 30s, would now be as enthusiastic as they went along.

“In what way?” Woods wondered. “I'm trying to understand. The fact that you love the history of the game, and the modern kid probably couldn't tell you the first thing about who won what before Tiger Woods. Well, I think it's different. I guess nowadays you can just look it up on your phone. And you don't have to go to the library and try and figure out who won what. The world has changed dramatically. The history of the game is certainly something that I've taken to the challenge.”

There is not much to challenge when it comes to Tiger Woods.

Tennis thrives on oddballs, not bullies

WIMBLEDON, England — You want a sport of oddballs, characters, there’s baseball, Jim Piersall running the bases backwards. Or there’s tennis. Ilie Nastase was known as “Nasty” for more reasons than his given name.

Both games are virtually timeless. And what is tennis but hitting a ball back and forth across a net? Yawn.

Which is where Nick Kyrgios enters, and apparently from the comments, also entered Stefanos Tsitsipas’ head.

There was history the past 24 hours, although maybe not the sort you would expect at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

Alas, it was the official termination or Middle Sunday. Yes, there have been rounds on four other Sundays since the club was created in the 1870s (and I was here for all four), but they were makeup calls, as it were, replacements for rainouts.

The Middle Sunday break gives a day off to both the grass courts, already turning a bit yellow, and the residents of Wimbledon, Borough of Merton, who live full-time in the area. It was a glorious tradition. But as is the case with so many other traditions, it fell victim to television revenue.

On this Sunday, Frances Tiafoe, the 24-year-old from Maryland, fell victim to the Belgian David Goffin, 7-6 (3), 5-7, 5-7, 6-4, 7-5.

The match went 4 hours, 36 minutes, the first set 70 minutes. Unlike Kyrgios’ win over Tsitsipas 24 hours earlier, there was respect and high praise from both sides.

“It was an unbelievable match,” said Tiafoe. “We both definitely left it out there.”

Contrast those comments with those from Tsitsipas, who condemned his opponent as a bully.

Wow. We’ve heard Kyrgios described as a jokester. As a goofball. As an entertainer. Even as a pest. But a bully? What did he do to take a couple of backhand swipes at his Greek foe, rather than the ball?

“It’s constant bullying,” was the Tsitspas contention. That sounds like something you’d hear in a third-grade class, not from a first-class tennis player.

He said Kyrgios had an evil side. “He was probably the bully in school. I don’t like bullies.”

He doesn’t like losing either, and a third-round defeat in what some say is the biggest tournament of any year must have been particularly disappointing. But griping is unneeded.

“I’m not sure how I bullied him,” said Kyrgios. “He was the one hitting balls at me.”

That’s a longtime tactic in tennis. But it goes with the territory, doesn’t it? You have to place shots where the other guy can’t handle them.

Tennis thrives on controversy. John McEnroe, Jimmy Connors, Serena Williams hollered and played their way into our thoughts. Serena’s blowup with the chair umpire in the 2018 U.S. Open lives on. Of course, screaming doesn’t equal or surpass winning.

That’s part of the reason for the outbursts from McEnroe.

Connors and Serena received so much attention. They won Grand Slam tournaments, Williams all four. Kyrgios still is trying to win one. But if nothing else, he did outlast Tsitsipas.

“Apart from me just going back and forth to the umpire,” Kyrgios said, “I did nothing against Steph.

“But I’d be pretty upset too if I lost to someone two weeks in a row. Maybe he should figure out how to beat me a couple more times and then we can talk.”

Bully that.

Plaque still at Wimbledon, and so is Isner

WIMBLEDON, England — The plaque remains at Wimbledon, and three rounds into this year’s tournament so does John Isner. Not that he won’t always have a presence here, as much in myth as memory.

He is 37 now. Isner, nearing the end of a career that has produced highlights — that plaque? Wimbledon doesn’t celebrate the ordinary — but never a Grand Slam championship.

That glorious reward remained a possibility, albeit a distant one. But if you’re in the draw, and Isner definitely is, facing the young Italian Jannik Sinner on Friday, anything can happen.

After all, on Wednesday Isner, as always his billed cap turned backwards like he was a baseball catcher, stunned both Andy Murray and an almost obnoxiously but understandably one-sided crowd at Centre Court with a 6-4, 7-6, 6-7, 6-4 victory.

“I did some good things,” Isner said in summary. One of those was defeating Murray for the first time in nine matches.

As pointed out, in a sport where it’s one person against another head to head and shots that normally clear the net miss it by inches, anything can happen.

So much of life is timing. As is so much of tennis. Isner is 6-foot-9, as one might suppose able to angle and power serves (as much as 157 mph, they say) out of sight.

If he had arrived at Wimbledon in the early 1980s, when grass court tennis was a serve-and-volley competition, when Boris Becker and Stefan Edberg were boring and impressing us, who knows how many titles he might have won?

But the pooh-bahs decided there had to be an ace and a reason for ground strokes. So the famed lawns at Wimbledon and the balls both were redone. Sure, there still are aces, but there also are drop shots, and when the guy on the other side of the net is as tall as an NBA center, you hit low and keep your hopes high.

Isner, who grew up in North Carolina where basketball reigns, went to Georgia to play tennis, and could hit the serves and overheads, if never the jackpot, although he was a Wimbledon semifinalist in 2018.

Not that his victory over Murray wasn’t important. Isner called it the top of the list. Murray achieved godlike status in 2012 when he became the first Brit (Murray is a Scot) to win Wimbledon in 77 years. Then he won it again.

“I’m not the player he is,” Isner said of Murray. Whatever, he was enough of a player against Murray, who admittedly has been fighting his way back after hip surgery.

“Yeah, I played in my mind incredibly well,” said Isner. “Of course I served well, but I was thinking outside of my serve I did some good things. Of course, I didn’t win many baseline rallies with Andy, but I think I did what I needed to get a (service) break in the first and fourth set.

“My serve carried me from there.”

It was the 2010 Wimbledon in which Isner had his greatest effect on the game and event in an affair of fate, fable and exhaustion. He faced Nicolas Mahut, another spectacular server.

Play started on a Monday (opening day) and ended on Wednesday. Serve. Ace. Serve. No return. Ad infinitum. But fascinating and historical. A 6-4, 3-6, 6-7, 7-6, 70-68 win. A plaque on the brick wall, “The longest match was played on court 18…”

A plaque removed and replaced. A revision in the rules of fifth-set tie-breakers. A disenchantment.

“That’s all I ever get asked about,” said Isner.

Of course.

A young man from old England wins the Open in New England

BROOKLINE, Mass. — In New England on Sunday, the golf story once more was about a young man from old England.

At the same historic place, The Country Club, where after crossing the sea nine years earlier he took the U.S. Amateur championship, Matthew Fitzpatrick won the U.S. Open.

On an unseasonably cold afternoon in the suburbs of Boston, on a course of long rough and short tempers, Fitzpatrick held on and hung in.

He shot an impressive 2-under-par 68 for a 274 total, which was 6-under but more significantly was one shot lower than both Will Zalatoris — whose 14-foot birdie attempt at the final hole, agonizingly, just missed — and Scottie Scheffler.

On a leader board loaded with stars, 2021 Masters champ Hideki Matsuyama came in another two shots back for third after the low round of the tournament, a 65, while British Open winner Collin Morikawa (66) and four-time major winner Rory McIlroy (69) tied for fifth at 278.

Thls Open had tough situations and great shots, but not the midsummer heat that’s normally a part of the nation’s championship, with golfers (and shivering spectators bundled in sweaters and jackets.

The competition, however, was hot.

At times, Scheffler, the Masters champ and top-ranked player, and Zalatoris, the San Francisco native, toyed with the lead. But Fitzpatrick moved in front for good with a birdie at 15 and was on his sort-of-merry way to not only his biggest win but his first on the PGA Tour.

“For me,” he said about people waiting for the breakthrough, “the expectations were for me to play well, but I feel having won the U.S. Amateur here I feel so comfortable around the place. I knew where to hit it.”

Knowing this is one thing, but playing is even more important. You have to swing fearlessly, if not effortlessly. Any little mistake becomes a very big mistake, as Scheffler understands — he was 6-under Saturday, then fell to 1-under. He edged back to 6-under Sunday but bogied 10 and 11.

That’s a U.S. Open. There’s no place to relax, especially at The Country Club. “I knew it was hard,” said Joel Dahmen. “I didn’t know it was this hard.“ He went from a tie for first on Friday to a tie for 10th.

Scheffler figured to have the best chance. He stumbled.

“I played well,” he said. “I was just one shot short.”

One shot is all the differential you need.

The relief here is the talent and a great course helps produce a great tournament.  And a great winner.

Fitzpatrick has been on the radar since he came over and won the 2013 U.S. Amateur. He was given a golf scholarship to Northwestern, following the path of another English star, Luke Donald, but the talent and the temptations (numerous sponsorship offers) were too great. So he left the classroom for the tee.

His attire is covered with the names of sponsors — including Workday, which for a long while used Phil Mickelson as its prime spokesman. Now Fitzpatrick's career is covered with glory.

Not that it came easily in the weeks leading up to the Open and in the tournament itself. But after bogies at 10 and 11 he played the rest of the back nine 2-under.

The drive on 15 went far right, but he found the ball.  

“It’s funny,” he said. “I've had moments like that all year where I’ve caught a break. Then I hit one of the best shots I hit all day.

“I don’t like to compare myself to a football (soccer) team, but I feel I wasn’t expected to do well, wasn’t expected to succeed. But I’ve won a major.”

Maybe the biggest of them all.

Zalatoris has his chance for a major

BROOKLINE, Mass. — He’s been ready for this, and so has golf. Will Zalatoris has the game — he already finished second in two majors.

Now all he needs is the victory and the nickname.

Like “the Big Z” or maybe “the Z Man.”

In another day, you may be able to call him something more elegant: U.S. Open champion.

But let’s not rush the issue. After all, early on Saturday, it looked as if the guy holding the third round lead of this U.S. Open would be Scottie Scheffler.

Wasn’t Scheffler two strokes ahead after 10 holes? Wasn’t Scheffler leading the season-long Fed-Ex Cup standings?

Ah, but golf can be the meanest of games.

Especially on a day when the wind off the Atlantic is gusting, and when one swing can cost too many shots and a lifetime of agony.

Scheffler double-bogied 11. Then bogied 12.Then bogied 13. Then bogied 14.

He went from minus 6 to minus 1, and even if he would birdie 17 and shoot 71, he would tumble to a tie for third at 208, two strokes behind Zalatoris (67) and Mathew Fitzpatrick (68). Defending champ Jon Rahm double-boogied 18 for 71 and 207.
    

Yes, anything can happen at anytime, especially when the weather is nasty and the rough at the famed Country Club is deep and heavy.

Zalatoris has avoided any real mishaps through three rounds. He showed up confident and prepared, and why not after a second place in the recent PGA Championship at Southern Hills and a second in the 2021 Masters?

“On top of the belief that I belong in the situations,” said Zalatoris, “when I’m off, I’m not that far off.”

Zalatoris, 25, was born in San Francisco and started golf in the Bay Area, even getting a few bits of advice from the late Ken Venturi, who won the 1964 U.S. Open.

Zalatoris’s father, an architect, was spending so much time flying to work in Dallas he chose to move the family to Texas. It was there he played in junior tournaments with Scheffler and Jordan Spieth.

After a year at Wake Forest, Zalatoris turned pro and following a brief stay on the Korn Ferry Tour qualified for the PGA Tour. He’s always had the “sky’s the limit” attitude, in effect asking “Why not me?”

He didn’t have to ask why Scheffler had problems on the back nine. Zalatoris knew.  

“That wind was brutal,” confirmed Zalatoris. “But when I made a mistake I was on the far side of the green or having room where maybe I could at least chip one up. When I played here during the (U.S. Amateur) in 2013, I thought it was the hardest course I’ve ever played.”

And now, for what amounts to the national golfing championship, it’s even more difficult. There only have been Opens at the Country Club, in the suburbs of Boston, and as far as the egos of the golfers are concerned that’s three too many. They hate to be embarrassed.

“I think the biggest thing for me (Sunday),” said Zalatoris, understanding he’s so close to a title and yet still so far, “there are a ton of major champions on the leaderboards, and by no means is the job done.”

In a way, it is just about to start.

An Open of smiling gods and shots off carpets

BROOKLINE, Mass. — Back in the 1950s, when gasoline was 25 cents a gallon and wood golf clubs were really made of wood and not metal, somebody said, “You don’t win a U.S. Open, it wins you.”

Meaning when the golfing gods smile and you don’t double-bogey the first hole in the second round as, alas, Justin Thomas did Friday at The Country Club, you might end up holding the trophy.

Like Scott Simpson. Or Jack Fleck. Or Jack Nicklaus or Tiger Woods.

After two rounds of shuffling and surprises, Collin Morikawa and Joel Dahmen got the smiles Friday, ending up in a tie for first at 5-under.

Defending champ Jon Rahm, Rory McIlroy, Hayden Buckley and Beau Hossler were at 6-under.

As you’ve heard, in an Open, with all those weeds and dastardly quick greens you’ve got to be patient, not to mention accurate, and understand the tournament and the course are designed both to make you miss and make you miserable.

There’s a great quote from the late Tony Lema about the difference between the Masters and the U.S. Open, something like the Masters, with its wide fairways, is fun while the U.S. Open can be agony.

Not so far this Open for Scottie Scheffler, who in April won the Masters, and 36 holes into this Open is one of the leaders.

Golf may be a long walk (spoiled, according to Mark Twain), but things in a tournament can change in short order.

As in the 1966 Open at San Francisco's Olympic Club when Billy Casper picked up four shots on Arnold Palmer in two holes, or Gil Morgan’s unfortunate collapse in 1992 at Pebble Beach, when he went from a record under par to a disaster at the eighth hole.

Here in the suburbs of Boston, where people already were trying to come to terms with the Celtics losing the NBA Finals to the Warriors, the mystery was what happened to a golfer named A.J. Dauffe.

He was in the sole lead after the front nine, and then he wasn’t even one of the 14 names on the board when he finished the round — although momentarily his name kept appearing and disappearing.

He went from 6-under-par at the 10th tee to even par after the final hole, closing with a double-bogey for 32-40–72 on a par-70 course.

Dauffe (pronounced Duffy) is a South African who, after brief stays at a couple of small American universities, joined the Korn Ferry Tour, from which a couple weeks ago he earned a place on the PGA Tour.

Friday he earned a place in golfing lore.

He hit his tee shot on the 14th onto the deck of a hospitality area. Instead of taking a drop, he chose to play the ball where it landed.

“I’m coming over you,” he shouted at spectators below. Later he explained, “I had 278 uphill, and if I drop I’m in the rough. I didn’t want to hit a 7-iron blind. I had a 4-wood in the bag, and the lie is so good on the hospitality carpet.”

He knew where he stood during the round. His name was ahead of everyone else’s. Then he watched it being moved down.

“An up and down round,” agreed Dauffe. “Executed really well, There were some moments when I had to scramble.

“Back nine was disappointing. Did the simple really bad. But you know, if you told me (Thursday) I would be 1-under-par in the top 15 finishing my round (Friday), I would have said yes. Taking everything out of the equation.”

And taking a shot off a carpet.

Rory a leader in more than one way

BROOKLINE, Mass. — Not all that long ago, Rory McIlroy was described as the next Tiger Woods. Now he’s being called the moral compass of golf.

It may be hard to say which label is more complimentary.

Rory’s ability to make birdies — and save an occasional par — remains prevalent and relevant as verified Thursday in the opening round of the U.S. Open.

McIlroy’s 3-under-par 67 had him tied for the early lead. Yet these days, he seems more famous for taking the lead in the PGA Tour’s battle to suppress the new Saudi-controlled LIV Tour.

As a kid in Holywood, Northern Ireland (yes, one “L” but same pronunciation), McIlroy was thrashing adult opponents. After turning pro, Rory matched two guys named Tiger Woods and Jack Nicklaus by winning three majors before reaching age 25, the first of which was the 2011 U.S. Open, when he was 22.

No less compelling was McIlroy’s willingness to speak openly about golf and his successes and even failures, the latter subject being one that players fear. He goes blithely ahead, filling journalists’ notebooks. What an attitude.

Following his fine, if occasionally distressing round Thursday — that rough at The Country Club got him on the fifth hole before he escaped — McIlroy was asked, of course, about the Saudi tour.

And why he’s been so adamant in support of the PGA Tour, the establishment, as it were, against the “we’ll buy you out” rebels of the LIV Tour.

“I'm just being me,” said McIlroy. “I’m living my life. I’m doing what I think is right and trying to play the best golf that I possibly can. I wasn't asked to be put here. I wasn't trying to be in this position. I'm just being me.”

Golf needs heroes, if not villains, although they fit well in the plan. Who would have imagined the villains would not be other players who knock off the stars — majors seem more major when the big guys win — but financiers?

The U.S. Open, as the name implies, is open, so anybody from anywhere who meets qualifying standards gets in, but PGA Tour defectors like Dustin Johnson — the anti-Rory? — won’t be allowed into events such as the Players or the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-Am.

McIlroy’s presence as the standard bearer seems part of a renaissance. No, he hasn’t won all four majors (he lacks only the Masters), but he did finish second in this most recent Masters, followed by an eighth-place finish in the PGA Championship. He appears destined for a high finish in this Open.

“Yeah, a really solid start,” said McIlroy. “You’d take 67 around this golf course any day. Even though I'm standing up here slightly frustrated that I bogeyed the last, it's a great start to the tournament.

“I felt like I did most things well today. I certainly putted well, and I hit the ball in the right spots, and I hit a lot of greens, gave myself plenty of chances. Just basically did everything that you need to do at a U.S. Open.”

Meaning staying on the fairways and not getting frustrated by the speed of the greens. As everyone knows, this is the nation’s championship, and you’ll be tested as much emotionally as physically.

Traditionally, the course gets more difficult, with harder greens and length of rough, as the week goes along.

Asked if after the statements he made on behalf of the PGA Tour he was trying to make one on behalf of his golf, McIlroy said, “Not really. It’s been eight years since I won a major, and I want to get my hands on one again.”

Who wouldn’t?

Phil never afraid to take a shot or a chance

BROOKLINE, Mass. — So he’s back again, back in competition, back at the U.S. Open, which he’s never won — and, after a period of silence some thought was too short and others believed was too lengthy, back in the headlines.

Good old Phil Mickelson has taken the challenge and taken the podium, enmeshed in a controversy of his own creation — that Saudi golf situation — and having as much fun trying to be right as he does swinging a golf club from the left.

At his age Mickelson, who turns 52 Thursday during the opening round, doesn’t have a legit chance for the championship of this 122nd Open, but that hardly matters.

Phil is by far the most interesting player in the field, never afraid to make any shot or until recently any observation. Play it as lies is the essence of golf, and when it comes to Mickelson and his remarks, all interpretations are allowed.

Mickelson’s near misses in the Open — he has six seconds overall — would normally be a primary storyline, but not this time. Phil was one of the people who persuaded the wealthy Saudi princes to pony up (camel up?) hundreds of millions for what is called the LIV Tour, stealing pros from the PGA Tour.

Phil and others who opted for the LIV have been handed lifetime suspensions by the PGA Tour, but the Open (and the British Open) are not controlled by the PGA Tour so Mickelson is here without restrictions. Or regrets. Although not without criticism.

Osama bin Laden, responsible for the 9/11 attacks, was Saudi. Relatives of 9/11 victims have expressed their outrage to Mickelson and other golfers willing to play for Saudi money. Mickelson could only say he has a deep sense of empathy for the families and loved ones. But earlier he had admitted the Saudis killed the journalist Jamal Khashoggi and had a miserable record on human rights.

Surely these were not the sort of conversations heard on an Open course, this time at The Country Club near Boston, but golf is in a state of flux.    

Mickelson has a strange relationship with other pros, admired by many for his play and relationship with spectators, willing to step into crowds. But he’s disliked by others who see him as a bit of a phony.

For the most part, he was a fan favorite — at the U.S. Open at Bethpage in New York, they chanted “Philly Mick” — and he was asked how they might treat him after he deserts the PGA Tour.

“If fans would leave or whatnot,” said Mickelson, “I respect and understand their opinion and I understand they have strong emotions regarding this choice.”

Mickelson said he has worked to curtail what has been both an expensive and, according to rumored threats demanding payoffs, a sometimes anguished gambling habit. One of the reasons he got involved with the Saudis was to pay off millions in wagers.

Phil’s game reflects his personality. And vice versa. He was never a guy to play it safe. That cost him the 2016 Open at Winged Foot ,when he double-bogeyed the 72nd hole and maybe cost him large hunks of the millions he won playing golf.

Still he became arguably the second most popular American golfer next to Tiger Woods.

He won more than 40 tournaments. Won five majors. He did what he felt he needed to do. But that Saudi thing was a sad twist to the tale.

Steph and Rory hit Boston at the same time

BROOKLINE, Mass. — Rory McIlroy arrived on Monday. After a victory. Steph Curry will be arriving Wednesday. After a victory. OK, different sports and technically different cities — Boston literally is next door — but who cares?

We’re dealing with champions here, one involving the U.S. Golf Association, the other with the National Basketball Association, and with two of the biggest names in sports.

Both, through their own brilliance and the good fortune of timing, on course and on court within a few miles of each other in a small patch of New England.

This is always the week of the U.S. Open, golf’s moveable feast, which now will be at The Country Club — when the place opened in the 1890s, no other label was needed.

And it’s usually the week of the NBA finals, now shifting from San Francisco to Boston, where with the Warriors up 3-2, Game 6 will be played Thursday night.

A few hours after the opening round of the 122nd Open.

Without Tiger Woods, still worn out from his struggle last month in the PGA, and with Phil Mickelson more a controversy than a competitor, McIlroy becomes a focus for the Open, and for any major really, especially after his victory in the Canadian Open. Curry is the focus any time the Warriors play, especially since Game 5, when for the first time in his playoff career he did not make a single 3-point basket.

No parallel with McIlroy, although as any golfer he’s had his misses.

It did not take long for an interview with McIlroy, known for his opinions as much as for his success — he has won three of the four majors, other than the Masters — to be asked about the Saudi involvement in golf.

McIlroy stayed loyal to the PGA Tour, which announced those who choose to play the LIV Tour, financed by the Saudis, would be banned by the PGA Tour.

That has no effect on the U.S. Open, organized by the USGA, so people such as Dustin Johnson and Mickelson, who have gone for the Saudi money,  whatever the human rights record, are able to compete in the Open.

“I don’t want to rub your nose in it,” a journalist told McIlroy, “but in February you said this thing was dead in water.” Rory responded, “The U.S. Open?” and the room filled with laughter.

When the questioner stammered, “No, no, no,” McIlroy came back with full force. “Oh,” said Rory, “I thought we were at the U.S. Open.”

Where golf is at is anyone’s guess — well, right now it’s in Massachusetts — but the reference is to the game’s future.

“I took a lot of players’ statements at face value,” said McIlroy, about mistaking how many would remain with the PGA. “You had people committed to the PGA Tour. People went back on that. That’s where I was wrong.”

The way he plays golf, the way he represents himself, McIlroy rarely is wrong. His confidence is tempered with just enough humility to come across as someone with a sense of fairness as much as a sense of self.

He’s been there, done that and would relish doing it again.

The talk had turned from the people who turned from the PGA Tour to the very real idea of winning. Someone wondered why McIlroy is, if unintentionally, a leader of remaining with the PGA Tour.

“Because in my opinion,” he said, “it’s the right thing to do. The PGA Tour was created by people and tour players who came before people like Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer. They created something and worked for something. And the PGA Tour has certainly given me a lot of opportunities.”

And like the other sporting star in town now, Steph Curry, Rory McIlroy has taken advantage.

Does Steph already rank with Willie and Joe?

Go ahead and toss up the names, the way Steph Curry might a long jumper: the Bay Area’s most compelling athletes.

The list is arbitrary, of course, people who touch the headlines but no less importantly touch the heart.

You start with Willie Mays, naturally, one of a kind, and if you didn’t have the great fortune to see him play in person, surely you’ve caught the films, of him catching a fly ball or hitting a home run.

After that? Surely Joe Montana, who starting with one poignant pass play helped turn a franchise of mediocrity into one of destiny.

No, the selections are as much dependent on priority as history: Reggie Jackson, Willie McCovey, Catfish Hunter, Jerry Rice, Rick Barry, Patrick Marleau — the choice is yours. Except for the guy who had that game of games on Friday night, the guy who virtually alone kept the Warriors alive for yet another championship, Curry.

That was some achievement, that stunning 107-97 Warriors win over the Celtics and an angry, aggressive, foul-mouthed crowd in Boston. The Warriors hit the boards. The Warriors played defense. The Warriors hit the jackpot.

There is a reluctance to make this personal, but I have been covering their games since the 1960s, for the Chronicle, the Examiner, the Oakland Tribune; covered 17- and 22-win seasons; covered their championships in ’75 and in ’15. ’17 and ’18. But I can’t remember a more impressive and emotional victory as the one on Friday.

So many factors, so many people. Indeed, basketball is a team game — hit the open man — but in no other team sport is the individual as important. He — or she — can shoot, dribble, rebound, pass and play defense. It’s what he does with the ball and what he does when the other team has the ball.

And what he does for his teammates.

Curry has had bigger scoring nights than the one Friday when he finished with 43 — there was a 50-pointer earlier this season — but perhaps not one as significant.

He was on a bad foot. He was on a franchise trailing two games to one. But Curry got on a tear. Once more.

“The heart on that man is incredible,” said teammate Klay Thompson. “You know, the things he does we kind of take for granted from time to time, but to go out there and put us on his back, I mean, we’ve got to help him out on Monday. Wow.”

Yes, wow. Monday, Game 5 of the best-of-seven NBA finals will be at Chase Center, where the fans who could get no closer than a TV screen — at a watch party or a tavern or their own home — will be able to express their joy and appreciation.

What is sport but another form of entertainment, if dictated by results and a scoreboard? The Warriors have captured the imagination of the region, mainly because of their success but also for their style.

Curry always has been likable. At 6-foot-3, a relatively small man in a supposed big man’s game, he can swish 25-foot baskets with disarming ease, which only contributes to his appeal.

This has been pointed out through the years, about stars such as Montana and Jim Plunkett and Buster Posey.

Curry is unique. He’s been called the best shooter ever. He’s a treasure. And not least, he comes across as a pleasant, well-meaning person. In a crazy world, Steph seems a symbol of sanity.

And he’s not bad with 3-point shots either.

Warriors up against Celtics, profanities

Steph Curry was trying to persuade us, if not himself. The Warriors, he said with a quiet affirmation, have been here before.

Not really. They haven’t been down 2-1 in an NBA final with the next game — in this case, Friday night — at TD Garden in Boston, where banners hang and obscenities fly.

They haven’t faced a lineup as muscular and physical as that of the Celtics, who don’t take the air out of the basketball but with their height and weight have been able to take the Warriors out of their game.

Michael Wilbon, on “Pardon the Interruption” Thursday, said don’t put too much into one result. The playoffs historically are inconsistent, coaches installing changes virtually as soon as they watch the videos.

But what are the Warriors to do about Jason Tatum? Or Jaylen Brown? Or Marcus Smart, who roughed them up Wednesday night, transforming what had been athletic ballet for the Dubs, soaring and scoring, into a pulling match?

What the Warriors are to do with their own tough guy, Draymond Green — who, alas wasn’t tough at all, calling himself “soft” — is wait.

“Everybody has bad games,” said Warriors guard Klay Thompson, who scoring 25 points (second to Curry’s 31) had a very good one.

“Draymond is a reason we’re here. We wouldn’t be the Warriors without Draymond. He brought us to heights we’d never seen before.”

Klay means to the finals a sixth time in eight years and to a championship three times in five years.

Thompson himself is a huge part of the equation. The question is how can the Warriors find their offensive magic against the defense-minded Celtics?

There is no question the Boston fans use language that, to borrow a line, would make a sailor blush. “All those F-bombs,” said Thompson.

But of course. You want to know about the people who go to sporting events in Boston, check into some of the things they yelled at Ted Williams at Fenway Park. Oh my.

The playoff games in Boston don’t start until a few minutes after 9 p.m. eastern time. What are you going to do until then, walk the Freedom Trail? It’s not that everyone is a lush, but there’s a reason the Patriots didn’t play Monday Night Football games at old Schaefer Stadium.

The game the Warriors play Friday night will include Curry, Steph promised on Thursday. “It would be tough without him,” agreed Thompson. Late in Game 3, Boston’s 6-foot-9, 240-pound Al Horford landed on Curry’s frequently injured ankle.

But he was able to walk gingerly off the floor and return to the game. Been there, done that, in effect was what Curry, iced and taped, said on Thursday.

“Plenty of times before,” reminded Curry. “It wasn’t as bad as It seemed when it first happened.”

Steph pointed out the Warriors couldn’t get their points mainly because Boston got too many. So much of the Warriors offense is predicated on how they play — or in Game 3, didn’t play — defense.

At their best, they’re grabbing rebounds and sweeping down court. For that to occur once more, even against the rugged Celtics, is not an impossibility. Even in Boston.

“We’ve been in hostile environments before,” said Curry. “We can’t get too emotional. We’ve clawed our way back, did it the last game.”

Indeed, from an 18-point deficit in the first half, the Warriors worked themselves into a lead in the third quarter.

Encouraging. Enervating. Especially against the Celtics, who rebound so aggressively and keep trying to knock you down while, in NBA lingo, you keep trying to knock down the shots.

“I think it’s just playing better, playing harder, playing as a unit,” Thompson said about the key. “I don’t think we need to make incredible adjustments. I just think we need to come out with that force, that Warriors brand of ball that has been so successful this past decade.”

If he doesn’t think so, why should anyone else?

Pederson’s HRs help keep Giants relevant

SAN FRANCISCO — It wasn’t as if the Giants had become irrelevant. Not after posting the best record in baseball a year ago.

But they were getting pounded of late. And the headlines belonged to the Warriors, who were a step away from the finals. And the 49ers, never in the shadows, were holding drills.

So what the Giants did the past couple of days was of considerable importance. Not only did they end a painful five-game losing streak, but they won consecutive games in a manner that made one ask, “Where did that come from?”

There they were at the beginning of the home stand, getting beat 10-1 and 13-3. The games not only were unwinnable, but for the local populace unwatchable. Yes, Kruk and Kuip have some wonderful anecdotes, but how about some runs?

Like sevens come, elevens come — to borrow a line from the old baseball musical “Damn Yankees” — in the nick of time those runs came, many off the bat of Joc Pederson, some more from the finally healthy and resurgent Evan Longoria.

On Tuesday night, after an advisory talk from a guy named Barry Bonds — who well knows the art of hitting — Pederson slugged three home runs, had eight RBI and in one of those crazy classics, the Giants overcame leads, blew leads and beat the Mets, 13-12.

"It was probably the best offensive performance that I've ever been around, considering all things, like big moments in the game, the ability to be resilient even in that last at-bat against one of the tougher relievers in baseball," said Giants manager Gabe Kapler. "It was the best individual performance I've seen."

Then Wednesday afternoon, in the sunshine at Oracle Park, Kapler decided to give the left-handed batting Pederson a rare start against a lefty, the Mets’ Thomas Szapucki.

Joc hit another homer, his fourth in 15 hours or so and 11th of the season; Longoria hit his first two of the year after being on the injured list for more than a month. Mike Yastrzemski hit one, and the Giants breezed, 9-3, on a mildly windy day, pun intended.

“If nothing else, you know when a player like Joc steps in the batter’s box today, he has a good idea of where the barrel is,” Kapler said. “That just means you have this feeling in your hands, in your body, about where the sweetest spot on the bat is.”

While the Giants, who now begin a road trip at Cincinnati, were in their funk, Kapler played the manager role perfectly, which is not getting too down in a losing streak or too enthusiastic in a winning streak. He pointed out the little things that cost his team games and contended they were correctable.

What he couldn’t foresee was Pederson, who grew up in Palo Alto, having a few days like Bonds or Babe Ruth. Yet that was the hope of the Giants front office when he was signed as a free agent during the winter.

According to Susan Slusser of the San Francisco Chronicle, for his walk-up music — got to have your own, of course — Pederson has been using ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.”

Whatever works, as they say. But please, no spangled clothes.

What worked for Longoria was being patient as he recovered from finger surgery during spring training. Then he was out Tuesday with a jammed left shoulder. The two long balls Wednesday indicate he’s ready.

So perhaps are the not-ready-to-be-irrelevant Giants.

After PGA, Thomas elated, Tiger sore

On a Sunday to remember, a young man who had referred to himself as an underachiever came from seven shots behind to win a major golf tournament.

His golfing future seems secure.

On a Saturday to forget, a not-so-young man who often had expressed confidence in himself was hurting physically and mentally and withdrew from this one.

His golfing future seemed questionable.

Justin Thomas at last accomplished what he had set out to do, and in such a momentous way, meeting expectations and becoming one of the game’s elite with a victory in the 104th PGA Championship at Southern Hills in Tulsa.

That was some 24 hours after the player recognized as the finest of the era, Tiger Woods, proved all too human in attempting to repeat his surprising post-accident success of the Masters.

Aching and frustrated, Woods shot a 9-over 79 Saturday, subsequently dropping out of a major as a pro for the first time in his career.

“Well, I’m sore,” he said in explanation. Which might have been predictable. Not that very much is with Woods from this moment.

Tiger always told us he never entered an event unless he thought he could win — and of course he did win so frequently, 82 times, including the 15 majors.

One of those was the PGA at Southern Hills back in 2007, when Woods was healthy enough and younger. Now he is 46 and, after the March 2021 car accident that nearly cost him his right leg, is in need of continuing treatment.

Not many believed Woods would play the Masters in April. He not only played, he made the cut. A couple days after the first round, even he was unsure about making the PGA.

Again he made the cut in a major, but his game became a problem after his body became a problem.

After his 4-over 74 on day one, there was a brief return to the Tiger of the past, a 1-under 59. Then the weather turned nasty.

In the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma, the wind “comes sweeping down the plain.” In the PGA, it swept over fairways and greens, chilling and challenging.

Woods wasn’t the only one affected — Thomas shot 74 Saturday, and 67 in each the other three rounds in regulation — but Woods was the only one who had been undergoing daily therapy.

All of a sudden, that romp (plod?) to a win in the 100-degree heat of the 2007 PGA (the tournament was held in August that year) was impossibly distant.

He alluded to himself Friday after the round as “Humpty Dumpty,” his team of doctors and therapists rebuilding him each night. Yet ever the strong-willed individual, he refused to blame his play Saturday on finishing late Friday and having no time to recover.

“It’s not bad,” he had insisted. “I just didn’t play well. I didn’t hit the ball very well and didn’t get off to the start I needed. I thought I hit a good tee shot down 2 and ended up in the water and never got any momentum. I didn’t hit many good shots and consequently ended up with a pretty high score.”

His playing partner, Shaun Norris of South Africa, said of Tiger, “You feel so so sorry for him having to go through this. He’s swinging nicely. I think he’ll be back.”

Maybe not for the U.S. Open in June at The Country Club outside Boston but probably for the British Open at St. Andrews in July.

Thomas will be at every major. He’s a two-time PGA champ. Maybe not Tiger Woods, but not bad for a former underachiever.

Justin Thomas: Good words, great shots

TULSA, Okla. — One minute Justin Thomas is knocking himself: “I’ve performed very poorly in the majors.” The next, he’s knocking concession prices at the current major, the PGA Championship.

And then, he’s knocking down the flagsticks at the PGA Championship.

He’s exactly what golf needs, someone just enough out of control with his comments but for the most part in full control of his shots.

The self-criticism was made to Canadian journalist Mike Hall in April. The gripe was about the cost of beer at Southern Hills Country Club — $18 for a can of Michelob.

“Yeah, very pleased,” said Thomas of his play on Friday. “I played really, really well today. The conditions were obviously very difficult. I stayed very patient, tried to get in my own little world and get in a zone and just tried to execute each shot the best I could . . . and am glad to have a good round to show for it.”

That’s the sort of happy talk the people promoting the sport and dispensing clubs and balls like to hear and read.

But it’s not the stuff that captures attention. Bad news sells, and as you may have noticed from the candid observations from Thomas, other than his brilliant two rounds, the news was bad.

The only things that have have that spoiled Thomas’ career were expectations, his and ours.

Thomas, 27, has been blessed and cursed. He is the son and grandson of teaching pros. He also is a longtime pal of Jordan Spieth.

Jordan has his own troubles, but they exist because he doesn’t win everything, and never mind the Masters., U.S. Open and British Open.

That both Thomas and Spieth are outspoken is a joy for the media. Someone who finds little joy in the game described golf as nothing more than hitting a ball with a stick, all alone (other than galleries) in a meadow.

Other than for the purists — “Did you see how he opened his stance?” — controversy is as necessary as competition. Unless someone shoots 59. Even non-golfers would appreciate that — or is named Tiger Woods.

So Thomas’ words about himself, underachieving, or about the price of concessions at Southern Hills are not unworthy. No failing. No ripoffs.

What’s wrong with Thomas’ game?  At the moment, nothing. Asked if perhaps he put too much pressure on himself to succeed, he said, “I don't know. It's golf, so it's pretty hard sometimes.

“I mean, I like this golf course. I feel like I'm playing well. We're halfway through so it's still a long way from home, but I'm very, very pleased with where everything is at and the frame of mind and state of mind that I'm in.”

State of mind would apply to everything, everywhere. When things go well, you’re delighted. When they don’t, you tell people you should be doing better.

“You can't force things, so I'm not sure,” he said. “I've never played this golf course in competitive rounds other than these last two days, so I'm probably not the best person to ask.

“It was long enough ago that I don't necessarily remember watching to know what happened (at the PGA in 2007). I know Tiger won here, and that guy was pretty good with the lead, so I think he's kind of an outlier.”

That’s an interesting term from any golfer, underachiever or not.