Rocco's Modern Life

On the one hand, you've got to be pretty excited about surviving 91 holes alongside El Tigre.  Most would sooner go 91 rounds in Kimbo Slice's backyard. There's also the $$.  Plus, he got to be the world's darling du jour, and in the twilight of his career at that- he's now cracked the PGA's top 50 after coming into the Open at No. 158.  Not half bad.

But on the other hand, he was so close, darn it all! I left on an extended bathroom break in the middle of class to go hunt down a TV and watch sudden-death-hole No. 7.  Rocco's final putt lasted at least 27 minutes, by my watch.  At the halfway point, I was positive it was going in; the Disney sports movie music was already playing in my head.  But then it didn't.  And that was that.

Normally, I'm the type that enjoys watching the Tigers and the Federers swing the world by the tail;  I shamelessly hop on most steamroller bandwagons (except the Spurs, of course).  But I was really pulling for ol' Roc (not that I was the only one).  I guess when you've got guys like LeBron, who was the toast of the NBA before he could even legally drink a toast, and guys like me, who, at age 23, have nothing more than a Cub Scout day camp bow-and-arrow 1st place finish to brag about, you like to see the nobody best the somebody.  Rats.  If the Celtics hadn't absolutely humiliated the Lakers tonight, I might still be discouraged.  Mr. MVP's 7-22 shooting was the cherry on top, by the way.

On a related note, Tiger wasn't the only one playing through pain.  Check this out-I was going for a big block (mission accomplished) and kind of forgot about landing.  My ankle crumpled, and it sounded like someone crunching an empty water bottle.  I tried to walk it off (a.k.a. keep your distance in case you cry, WHICH I DIDN'T!), and actually got back in the game and scored a few.  So take that, Tiger.