Or, Dress Codes, Mis-Hits, and Man-Boobs

Much discussion took place at the Masters Cookout Party I attended Sunday over Tiger’s choice of final-round golfwear. Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Augusta National, like most country clubs, have a collared-shirt dress code? On any other day, Tiger would’ve been taken aside and asked to change. I guess they made an exception for the guy going into the final round with a three-stroke lead. As it should be.

So what was with that mock turtleneck thing? Or was it more of a mock mock turtleneck? I thought only women could get away with those.

Did anyone catch the four-letter words coming out of Tiger’s mouth after his bad shots? I’ve always wondered how the pros manage to seem so stoic after mis-hits—when I get out on the course I go from mild-mannered mom to cursing sailor. But it turns out Tiger’s human too. I definitely heard the s- word and maybe even the f- word.

Poor Phil. He missed many a birdie opportunity, but kept smiling through the pain. Ben Wright would blame Phil’s struggles on the weight he gained in the last year—he couldn’t make a good swing because his boobs got in the way.

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