2006 U.S. OPEN: KICKED IN THE ASS BY A WINGED FOOT

After having attended the 106th U.S. Open on Friday, we learned a few things:

Winged Foot (West) Golf Course is gorgeous, but it can kick your ass. Firm, undulating greens, graduated rough that is 6" in some spots, incredible length (the picturesque 512 yard 9th leading up to the clubhouse is a freaking par 4). In a word: brutal. Just ask Retief Goosen, Sergio Garcia, Davis Love III and defending champ Michael Campbell, all of whom did not make the cut. Oh yeah, and some guy named Tiger (picked to win on this blog), who at +12 missed his first cut in a major event since turning pro in 1996.

We managed to jinx every player we decided to go see play on the course. In the morning, we did a full circuit of the golf course to check it out and see as many players as we could, and in the afternoon we seeked out those on the leaderboard who were playing well. Along with the aforementioned Tiger, here's a short list of players we mushed: Harrington was playing great until we met him on the 13th, where he carded a bogey (he birded the 18th as soon as we left); Kenneth Ferrie was shooting -4 on the day, but we saw him shoot consecutive double bogeys on 14 and 15; David Duval was cruising along at -4, but doubled the 6th while we were waiting for him to tee off on the 7th.

The New York galleries are apparently still gay for Phil, following him around with even more fervor than Tiger. When we asked one spectator why he was a FIGJAM Phollower, he said, "Because I went to Arizona State." Uhm, so fucking what? I went to Villanova, but that doesn't stop me from saying that Howie Long is a dick. Tiger has long been considered "more machine" while Phil has been considered "more human". But with Tiger turning 30, getting married, and having his dad pass away in the span of a couple of years, while also appearing to be mortal at some of these tournaments, he seems more human than ever. Phans of Phillis claim they like him because "he's a regular guy", but to me he just seems like a rich, spoiled, San Diego kid with a goofy grin who's never worked a day in his life. Anyway, we avoided the Philophiles in the afternoon, in the same way we steered clear of the Tiger Tsunami in the morning. Always a great choice, it allows you to actually ENJOY the day.

Canadians actually follow around Mike Weir, although they're inconspicuous and polite. I mean, they look exactly like us, and some of them even live among us! What's that all aboot?

It was nice to see David Duval shoot a 68 to make the cut on Friday. It was good to see him play well, and the crowd was really behind him. Not suprisingly, Freddy Couples and Padraig Harrington are also big fan favorites.

As on The Simpsons, crotchety old man C. Montgomerie is NOT a favorite. If you cough or fart while he's addressing his ball, he'll step off. It's no wonder why everyone hates him. Somehow a New Yorker belting out a sarcasticly derisive "We love you, Monty!" is more cutting than if he had just booed him instead. Monty burns my ass with his attitude.

Henrik Stenson is too Swedish to win the Open. He's too Swedish for his shirt, so Swedish IT HURTS.

Ian Poulter may not win this, but at least he has his own line of clothing. As Nick Faldo said: "Yeah, you're only on the tour for 5 minutes and have your own clothing line. Forget about winning 6 majors." But he was in James Joyce last Friday, so I respect him despite his hideous pants.

Tadd Fujikawa is even smaller and younger looking in person. However, Mike Lupica is a midget, and Tadd could kick his ass.

Cab companies have the balls to charge $40 to drive you 11 miles from White Plains to Nyack; yes, I know gas is expensive, but it's not like it's doubled in price since March, when we were only charged $25 for the same trip. Meanwhile, you get what you pay for with the $1.50 TZXpress bus, the most unreliable bus service ever. This is why people decide to drink and drive, because the alternatives are horrible.

They only had Bud and Michelob Ultra at the U.S. Open, so since they didn't sell beer, those Guinness pints at the James Joyce tasted fantastic. We were long overdue to ReJoyce.