Black Magic...cheers.

Guinness is good for you. Don't believe me? Just ask these three blokes pictured above if it's good for them. I believe they would say it's not only good for you but it's "the breakfast of champions.".

McDowell-McIlroy-Clarke. The Northern Irish Protestant Trifecta. Between them they have won three Golf Majors within the last 13 months. Graeme McDowell won the US Open at Pebble Beach last summer. Rory McIlroy won the US Open at Congressional this past June. And Darren Clarke just won the esteemed British Open at Royal St. George's. What's remarkable about these three is that all are from Northern Ireland. You know the land of "The Troubles." They all lived and grew up as Ulsterman within the dark shadows of The Ardoyne.

The Ardoyne, a restless and impoverished neighborhood in North Belfast, rests in the center of "The Troubles" where "The Arrogant Orange" boldly march through the Catholic section every July while thumbing their noses at "the great unwashed"... begging the Romans for a fight. The Catholics always oblige. Violence occurs. Property is damaged. People are hurt. And the hate continues...unabated...generationally.

Juxtaposed against this ancestral backdrop of enmity in the North of Ireland, is golf. Currently, golf has acted as a temporary bridge between Ireland's Catholics and Protestants. Unquestionably and remarkably, this small area of 1.8 million residents, is producing golfing winners. And everybody loves winners regardless of where they come from. Even in the South, the Catholics are embracing these gifted Ulsterman as their own...for now. Blame it all on the black magic of Guinness, est. 1759. It's inherent frothy healing goodness knows no prejudice or no bottom. And that is good for the fragile peace process even if it's temporary and illusory.

As these three golfing victors quaff down the Republic's finest from the banks of the River Liffey, let us remember the words of the greatly tormented Irish poet, WB Yeates, "The Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy. which sustains them through temporary periods of joy." In other words, enjoy the pints fellas for tomorrow will bring something all together different. Sorry, it's just the way of the Irish...North or South.

So postpone the sunrise...I'll have another dark one for sunset.

Cheers.

My Divided Loyalty

9.0 earthquake. 600mph tsunami. Radiation fallout. 25,000 deaths or missing. Thousands injured. 400 aftershocks. Entire towns wiped off the face of the earth. 500,000 people displaced. Costs of damages in excess of $350Billion. This all happened to the densely populated east coast of Japan on March 11 when a trifecta of disasters descended upon the land of the rising sun.

Arguably, it was the worst human disaster in the modern history of our planet. And the horrible memory of this natural cataclysm of events and the ongoing suffering of the Japanese people hangs grimly over this summer's FIFA Women's World Cup 2011.
Tomorrow, Sunday afternoon on ESPN (check local listings), the superior USA team, #1 in the world, meets the heavy-hearted Japanese national team, #4 in the world, in the women's finals from Frankfurt, Germany, to decide the winner of this World Cup. For me, as much as I want the red, white and blue to win, I equally, if not more so, want Japan to win.

For America, a win would be another well-earned and deserved victory against the very best in the world. Their trophy case which already includes two previous World Cups in '91 and '99 would have to make room for another. America is stacked with talent. Led by two anchors: the ancient warrior, 5'-11 forward Abby Wambach from Rochester, New York (#20 above in the picture heading the ball in for the deciding goal against France in the semi-final), only 31 years old yet old as dirt in the world of soccer; and, by the headstrong and eristic goalie, Hope Solo from Richland, Washington. This team is defined by their Swedish coach, Pia Sundhage, who said, "We are never down and out. We may lose our legs. Our legs may get heavy. But we win. We have alot of heart." They are a team described as fast, physical, big play gals, determined and they play as a cohesive unit. They are on a 9 game winning streak at crunch time. If they defeat the Japanese team, they will party like it's 1999 all over again.

For Japan, if they win it would be their first victory ever in World Cup play but, more importantly, it would mean so much more to an entire damaged nation. As their coach Norio Sasaki said, "So many victims were hit by the disaster. Even little things, like a win, can give people courage and hope to move on." But they, little David, face tough odds, against the huge Goliath. In 25 tries, the Japan team has never beaten the Americans. They are small. But what they lack in size, they overcompensate with technical brilliance, adept passing and ball control. With foot magicians and scorers like Sawa and Sameshina (who worked at the doomed Fukushima Daiichi Nuke Plant), they remain in games until the final whistle. But what really binds them all together is the hopeful recovery of their motherland. They play in no small measure to help heal a broken nation. That's a heavy load to bear. As Hope Solo said about the Japanese team, "The Japanese are playing for something bigger and better than the game. When you are playing against a team with so much emotion and heart, it's hard to play against that."

So the stage is set for an incredible contest tomorrow. In fact, it's the event in sports for the year to date. Will pure talent and the collective will of teammates prevail over a team that plays with great emotion, skill and joyful purpose? Millions around the globe will be glued to the tube as this question is answered.

In closing, before every game the Japanese national team have played since that fateful March day, they display a banner held by teammates for the world to see. It reads simply:
To Our Friends Around the World. Thank you for Your Support.
They use the world's stage to thank us for something much larger than a game. With the utmost respect and love for my own national team, how can I not root for a team with such humble gratitude?

DO NOT MISS THIS EVENT!

Summer of Uncertainty

The unusual summer violent storms in the Rockies and elsewhere serves as a classic metaphor for the mounting troubles in many sectors of our society. High octane clouds are gathering...daily. And "winter is coming." These clouds aren't the cute white fluffy kind. They are gray, ominous and fat full of foreboding. And the biggest nastiest storm of the century continues to develop in and over Washington DC.

For the past several months, the American public has been overwhelmed by the media and underwhelmed by our politicians with the reality that our country is broke. We are in the hole by $14 TRILLION due to profligate spending and have been mortgaging our future for years. Well, the bills are coming due soon and the USA is at grave risk of defaulting on its colossal debt. We are told that if we don't raise the debt ceiling another trillion dollars by August 2, we won't be able to pay our bills and all sorts of ugly things will happen, least of which is our government will grind to a halt. Is that really all that bad? It seems that when the politicos do "work" they just gum up everything and create a whole lotta static noise. Those curs in government haven't done a whole lot for any of us...for years. As Englishman Samuel Johnson said, "Politics is the last refuge to the scoundrel." And, sadly, scoundrels govern. How did that happen? Simply, those that do...do. Those who can't do go into politics. Those DC clouds will continue to look inimical because of these dysfunctional "elected officials". When and if the clouds burst, then what governor? Uncertainty #1.

In the sporting world, the warring clouds have blotted out most of the sun all summer. The ongoing labor and management strife in both the National Football League, America's #1 sport, and now the National Basketball Association portends a reality of no professional fall and winter sports (sorry, nobody cares about hockey). The billionaire owners and the millionaire players can't agree on a fair distribution of the income. While normal Americans continue to suffer with high unemployment, being overworked or underworked, high taxes on everything, falling home values, costly health insurance, ravaged 401k's, diminishment of services and wages across the board, rising costs on everything, unsavory and embarassing public servants, crummy schools, job insecurity, retirement doubts, ad infinitum..., these cash rich buffoons can't agree on how to slice up a $9BILLION revenue pie. Shameful really. Is there a solution to these impasses effecting sports? Uncertainty #2.

The stock market this summer is about as fragile as a Royal Doulton figurine. Our churlish governmental leadership and the chronic debt crisis in Europe continues to choke out any real momentum in this market. Business does not trust Washington DC. Washington DC does not trust business. And nobody trusts a floundering Europe. Until uncertainty drops the "un" from the word, instability will persist in the market. Growth will stagnate. Stock prices stall. Real huge investment money will be on the sidelines waiting. And if there is one thing that unnerves and upsets the market the most is uncertainty. When will the markets experience sustained growth in a current environment in which government views capitalism, our country's economic keystone, as the enemy? Maybe never or until sanity returns. Uncertainty #3.

So, summer will fade into fall then winter and the above issues and the many others that plague this great country will either be solved or dismissed to a later date. Washington's fiscal irresponsibility on how to handle money kinda reminds me of the always needy and hungry Wimpy of Popeye fame, when he demanded a hamburger today for payment tomorrow, "I'll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today." Wimpy's line was funny in the '60s. Not so now.

Finally, the making of money and the distribution of money is at the core of all of these issues. Money by its very nature is uncertain. With that in mind, uncertainty will be with us for some time. So get used to it. But what is certain anymore? Anything? As our brilliant statesman of the 1700's, Benjamin Franklin pithily said, "Certainty? In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes." Ouch. Hmmmm...we got that going for us which is _________ (fill in the blank).

The Moonscape Open

On Thursday morning, golf's oldest major, The 140th Open Championship at Royal St. George's in Sandwich, Kent, England, just north of the Cliffs of Dover, gets underway on a dunesy windswept links course southeast of London. It is said on clear days, which are rare, one can see the coast of France across the English Channel from St. George's.

156 intrepid golfers will attempt to plant their country's flag as the Sunday victor/survivor on a patch of earth that looks more like the moon or an unmade bed than seaside England. And who will raise the Claret Jug as conqueror of the links this weekend? Don't have a clue. Everybody in the field is a favorite on this damnable piece of fescue. Whoever wins may recall another Neil Armstrong-moonscape "esque" line, "my win is one small step for (enter country) and one giant leap for never returning here again."

You may not know much about the venue so please indulge me. Royal St. George's is hosting The Open for the 14th time in Open History. Only three courses have more appearances than St. George's. The venerable St. Andrews is the alpha dog in The Open rotation with 27 visitations.

The last time The Open visited St. George's in 2003, a Kent State grad from Ohio, #396 in the world at the time, a 300:1 shot, playing in his first ever major championship, the ever-visored and unspectacular Ben Curtis, won by one stroke over the tormented Dane, Thomas Bjorn. Ben may have won The Open but Bjorn surely lost The Open with his stunningly feeble bunker mishaps on #16 that fateful Sunday afternoon. After receiving the jug, the stunned Curtis said, "I had no illusions of winning. I was just coming over to have some fun." and have a few pints. Got Yuengling?

So after 8 years away, The Open returns to St. George's. What can the players expect from this gnarly quirky quagmire of a golf course? Englishman Justin Rose summed it up best, "It's like playing on the surface of the moon. It's very much humps and bumps and you're very much at the mercy of the course in terms of the kicks and bounces you get. That's the great thing about links golf, though, you need to embrace that." And don't forget to bring a copy of spiritualist Eckhart Tolle's book Living a Life of Inner Peace. You'll need heavy doses of peace while you're walking through 72 holes of golf's perverted interpretation of Dante's Inferno.

St. George's will be a very stern test of golf for the best in the world. Certainly it will have the requisite R&A demonic contrivances for protecting par. Reduced par. Firm and fast everything. Length and narrowness. Holes that require a compass. Fairways with more bumps, angles and rolls than Totie Fields. Bunkers that resemble foxholes. Unreachable fairways. Unreachable par 3's. Bunkers that resemble bombholes. Dunes three stories plus tall and covered with steel wool. Rough that tangles hosels. Blind shots to nowhere yet somewhere. Greens as curvy as Katy Perry. Pins in Katy's no-nos. And just for added punishment and glee, the R&A will dial up the wind to skirt raising levels which seemingly changes direction on every hole. Ooops, I almost forgot the four letter word of the British Isles, RAIN. And all of this is presented as a honorable objective to protect the golf course from it being embarrassed by pin hunting fools on the world's stage. No worries there. For par will be safe. Surely, when the weekend is complete, the only embarrassment will be foisted upon the legion of professional golfers who will look like Joe-sixpacks on Sunday morning at the Muni.

So, if you like maddening golf and seeing grown men cry this is the tourney for you to watch. Again who will win this survival of the fittest? My money is on another 300:1 shot who just wants to have a good time. Someone with luck on his side, a peaceful brain and a steady hand on the tiller. John Daly. Not.

How 'bout Fredrik Andersson Hed 300:1 shot from Sweden winning? He looks the part. With that bald moondome head and relative obscurity, he may be the surprise awaiting us all. It would be fitting for someone so forgotten to win on a course that is so forgettable. Go FAH! I'm pulling for ya.

These Gals are Good!

This Thursday morning 156 professional and qualifying amateurs tee it up at the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, Colorado, for the 66th U.S. Women's Open Championship. I was there earlier this week watching the practice rounds and realized one thing after years away from the women's game, these ladies can play!

The venue for this year's tournament is the classic Broadmoor East Course set at the base of Cheyenne Mountain with Will Rogers Shrine perched on the top. Where it is noted that all putts on Broadmoor's devilishly sloping greens fall away from the shrine except on certain diabolical pin placements.

The course is a blend of old school and new school design. In 1918, the revered master designer, Donald Ross, created holes 1-6, 16-18. While the father of modern American golf design, Robert Trent Jones, Sr., re-crafted holes 7-15 which opened in 1948. The USGA has set up the course to be the longest course ever for women's golf at 7,047 yards to compensate for altitude benefits. Along with length, 4" rough, stimped greens at 11, mercurial winds, and lots of long uphill holes, this Open will protect par with a vengeance. How does even or over par sound for a winning score? Ladies start your engines. It's go time!

The field is stacked with experienced and talented women golfers. Defending champion Paula Creamer, Morgan Pressel, Cristie Kerr, Juli Inkster, Brittany Lincicome and a host of Asian women too numerous to mention except for one, Yani Tseng, are all capable of winning this prestigious event. My money is on Yani.

For those of you who do not know about this 5'6", 22 year old phenom from Taiwan, Yani Tseng, is arguably one of the finest lady golfers ever to play the game. Experts are comparing her talent and her dominance on their respective tours to another 22 year old, recent USGA Open Men's Champion, Rory McIlroy. But before we coronate Yani, she must win this tournament to achieve that distinction. If she does win on Sunday, she will possess a career grand slam at a very young age. That has never been done at age 22.

Presently, Yani is #1 in the world in women's golf. She hits the ball off the tee on average 270 plus yards and accurately. A boomer with precision, that's a good start. She ranks first in greens in regulation, third in putting, first in scoring average, first in birdies, first in rounds under par, first in wins, first in money winnings. Why wouldn't anybody pick her to win after stats like that? All that aside, what's equally impressive about her is her mental toughness which one needs in order to be a champion at that level. Her toughness and work ethic is legendary even at such a green age.

A couple of years ago when Yani exploded on the tour. The Chinese government tried to woo and seduce Yani and her family with millions of dollars and perks beyond measure. The catch was she had to renounce her Taiwanese citizenship and embrace mainland China as her new nationality. Without missing a beat the story goes, she said, "I cannot change my nationality. Sorry." Her father was less diplomatic, he said, "go to hell" in Chinese. Some things in life just aren't for sale. Don't the Chinese get that?

So, Yani has the God given physical talent and a mental toughness from a certain fatherly gene pool that has made her a success at every level. But as we all know, luck is a huge gift in tournaments like the Open. Will all the forces meld favorably for a victory stroll up the 72nd hole on Sunday for Yani? I hope so. Anybody who says no to the brutal Chinese government is a hero in my eyes.

Yani begins her quest this morning paired with "Miss Pink", Paula Creamer. It should be an exciting weekend of golf, especially if the local wandering bear makes another appearance cavorting in the bunkers like he did in 2008 during the Senior Open. I can't "bare" the thought.

An American Story

On our nation's birthday today, it just seems appropriate to share with you a personal story of a young girl, her family and the great American dream.

In 1995, I was working for an international sports firm in the Midwest. On several occasions, I would travel to Florida to work on several ongoing projects. One such project took me to one of our properties, the Nick Bollettieri Tennis Academy in Bradenton, Florida. As many of you may know, Bollettieri's is a training ground for some of the greatest tennis players that have ever played the sport. However, since the mid-90s, Bollettieri's has morphed into a much grander sports academy complete with dormitories, classrooms, family housing, golf courses, gymnasiums, fields, etc that now caters to all competitive sports. To say that Bollettieri's is a tremendous success is a huge understatement. Gifted kids from all over the world go to Bollettieri's for one reason, to make it big time in their chosen sport. I'm going to tell you about one of their graduates. Only in America could this happen.

I was meeting with the Director of the Facility one day in the center of the campus next to the tennis courts. All the while, I was mesmerized by this tall skinny blond girl who was pounding tennis balls within full view of where I was sitting. Ball after ball after ball. See couldn't have been more than 10 years old. She spoke a language of which I was unfamiliar. I asked someone who the young girl was. He didn't know her name but he thought she was from Russia.

As the months and years passed, I would return to Bollettieri's on a regular basis. Several times I would observe from afar this same young Russian girl mentioned above hitting balls on the tennis court. Always hitting balls...hard with purpose...in the hot Florida sun. One time I asked her instructor about the girl. Here's the story that was told to me.

In 1995, the first year I saw her hit balls, this young 8 year old Russian girl and her father, Yury, emigrated to the USA, looking for opportunity. Neither one spoke English and had $700 in their pockets. Somehow they landed at the doorstep of Nick Bollettieri. The young girl was a tennis player. Albeit young tennis player but a very good one for her age. She was raw and shy. Bollettieri took her in and gave her Dad a job as a dish washer in the cafeteria. For the next several years, Bollettieri paid for all her expenses while Yury worked odd jobs. Eventually, her mother, would secure a visa to join them in Florida. While honing her skills on the courts for hours a day, she also became proficient in learning her new adopted language, English. She took a high school course load and graduated. Nine years later, this young Russian immigrant, won the Ladies Final at Wimbledon in 2004 at age 17. Her name, Maria Sharapova. In front of the whole world, she gave a polished victory speech in perfect English from Centre Court. Nick Bollettieri and Yury were crying in her courtside box. I was crying in my tv room at home.

Maria's story is what America is all about. Risk. Hope. Faith. Freedom. Hard work. Opportunity. Reward. Gratitude. And a bit of luck along the way. Notwithstanding our current governmental ineptitude and economic malaise, America remains a beacon to those around the globe who aspire for a greater life, much like Maria and Yury. As Ronald Reagan said so eloquently in 1984, "America is a shining city upon a hill whose beacon light guides freedom-loving people everywhere."

On this 4th of July let us celebrate our freedom, not take it for granted and thank God for those enlightened and inspired men who made it all possible. We are all beneficiaries of their courage and genius.

God bless America.

Tour de Souffrance 2011

Today marks the start of the 98th Tour de France, aka The Tour of Suffering or as others call it, "Tour de Souffrance." In the small French village with a long name of Passage Du Gois Le Barre-de-Monts, 21 teams comprising of 219 lean and underfed, doped-up, finely-tuned bicycle maniacs from around the world will take off in wild abandon for their annual 21 day ode to suffering.

For the next three weeks, these athletes will endure a virtual self-inflicted torture from which most human beings would die. They will endure physical and mental hardships beyond comprehension. They will push their bodies where no body should ever go. They will expose themselves to the weather and wind, to the road, to the topography, to each other and to their own souls. Some previous Tour riders have said of the Tour, "it's like running several marathons a week for three weeks." Think about that line for awhile. In short, they will be punished daily and for what? For the brief moment in time to wear the desired yellow jersey, the "maillot jaune", proclaiming to the world the general classification leader. Crazy? Oui.

Typically, all Tour courses are leg killing. However, this year's Tour course had to be designed by some malevolent soul from a dark moldy cave in Montignac in the southwest of France. Really, riders not only have to cover 2100 miles in 21 days but they have to climb le Galibier twice within 24 hours near the end of the race. Is that necessary? I thought death in sport died in the Middle Ages.

The mountain pass of Galibier is a HUGE CLIMB. Galibier is in the southern region of France near Grenoble. Remember the 1968 Winter Olympics there with France's native son, skier Jean-Claude Killy? Remember those beautiful snow-capped mountains in the French Alps? That's Galibier's neighborhood. It is almost 8700 feet above sea level. It will stage (#18) the highest finish in Tour history. The locals say, it's so nasty "the eagles don't fly up there." Yet these boys will pound those Cervelo pedals over 6-10% gradient upslope for hours to summit that beast of burden. You'd have to be on drugs to do THAT! And at the end of it all, they all hope that yellow jersey will be waiting for them at the top.

Well, good luck boys, watch out for potholes and curbs and may the French gods keep you all safe on your journey through the belle French countryside.

See you in Paris on July 24.

Au revoir.