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Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Funk Dat!!!
This post is not about golf. It is about heart and emotion. It is about personality and guts. It is about one of those characters on the PGA Tour who everybody loves, because he elicits from them what he wears on his sleeve every time he tees the ball up in a tournament: the love of the game.
In the late afternoon yesterday, Fred Funk, a 48 year old PGA tour veteran, withstood sustained 25 mile per hour winds over the course of thirty-two holes (in one day) to out-duel players half his age (and the equally road-weary Tom Lehman) and win th4e PGA Championship by a single shot.
Fred Funk is an anomaly in professional golf.
The pressure of professional stroke play compels players to maintain their emotions, to control their fear; and therefore, to maintain stoicism in the face of adversity. Watch Ernie Els' or Reteif Goosen's face after a missed putt, and you can't tell if they are reading a death notice or a winning lottery ticket. Sure, Phil Mickelson wears that perpetually silly grin; and Tiger Woods will be prone to flashing his anger when he hits an ordinary shot. If you look carefully at any of the perfectly fit, perfectly groomed, perfectly well-behaved tour players under 40, you'll find some hint of inward emotion.
But Fred Funk!! Why, his entire body is an advertisement for eternal ebullience. His face is a road map of his soul. His body language shouts at you. You just know how utterly thrilled he is to be playing golf for a living -- no matter where he is on the leader board. He misses a shot, slaps his knee, "aww shucks." Stiff's one from 197 across water? High fives the crowd along the ropes. The man is infectious and loveable. He knows that part of his job is entertainment, and he delivers.
And he has crows feet.
And since I am fifty on Saturday, just a mere two years older than Fred Funk, that's why I am so happy to see him win.
In the late afternoon yesterday, Fred Funk, a 48 year old PGA tour veteran, withstood sustained 25 mile per hour winds over the course of thirty-two holes (in one day) to out-duel players half his age (and the equally road-weary Tom Lehman) and win th4e PGA Championship by a single shot.
Fred Funk is an anomaly in professional golf.
The pressure of professional stroke play compels players to maintain their emotions, to control their fear; and therefore, to maintain stoicism in the face of adversity. Watch Ernie Els' or Reteif Goosen's face after a missed putt, and you can't tell if they are reading a death notice or a winning lottery ticket. Sure, Phil Mickelson wears that perpetually silly grin; and Tiger Woods will be prone to flashing his anger when he hits an ordinary shot. If you look carefully at any of the perfectly fit, perfectly groomed, perfectly well-behaved tour players under 40, you'll find some hint of inward emotion.
But Fred Funk!! Why, his entire body is an advertisement for eternal ebullience. His face is a road map of his soul. His body language shouts at you. You just know how utterly thrilled he is to be playing golf for a living -- no matter where he is on the leader board. He misses a shot, slaps his knee, "aww shucks." Stiff's one from 197 across water? High fives the crowd along the ropes. The man is infectious and loveable. He knows that part of his job is entertainment, and he delivers.
And he has crows feet.
And since I am fifty on Saturday, just a mere two years older than Fred Funk, that's why I am so happy to see him win.