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Happy Father’s Day, late in the day, to the other pops out there. I enjoyed mine. Worked in the yard. Had a little cookout for the local family. Enjoyed my gift, the Rock Chalk Championship DVD. (I learned one thing from the DVD: Bill Self is a locker room genius. No singing “Eye Of The Tiger.” No tired “Everyone is against us,” tirades like John Calipari is perpetually rolling out. Just calm, confident speeches that inspire his team. Of course, those speeches would not have seemed as cool had Memphis hit one more free throw or Mario’s shot rimmed out.) Oh, and watched a little golf.

First thing’s first: Tiger fucked up. His crazy run on Saturday would have worked much better on Sunday. That’s a historic way to win a tournament. Now the dramatic birdie putt on 18 today was nice, but after scuffling around all day it didn’t have the same feeling that his eagle – chip-in – eagle run Saturday did. Of course, with the playoff Monday, he still has a chance to do something special for the history books.

And now it comes down to Tiger’s knee vs. Rocco’s back. You know that back is tightening up tonight. I have to say, I’m generally a Tiger Uber Alles guy, but I really enjoyed watching Rocco this weekend. Sure, he’s a nervous guy, which kind of makes me nervous, but I loved his attitude. He was just having fun, enjoying every moment of his run, not getting too down when the inevitable U.S. Open stumbles came, all while acknowledging the greatness of Tiger. Monday’s round should be a lot of fun.

(I actually stayed up and watched an entire NBA game last night, hoping the Celtics would close out the Lakers. Paul Pierce was phenomenal, until he gave Kobe that little opening for the game-clinching steal, but that was not enough. Now they go back to Boston meaning there’s at least one more night where, at 11:00, I bargain with myself: “Well, it could be a great fourth quarter, but that means I’m not in bed until 12:15 at the earliest.” The NBA sucks.)

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