Yin and Yang were on the Hazeltine golf course today in Minnesota. The red-shirted one had yin but no yang, striking the ball with characteristic panache, but taking the name of his father Zeus in vain when his ambrosia-fed muscles failed to make putts sink as they should. Doesn’t Tiger mean godlike in Greek?
I know how you feel, Eldrick. Well, maybe not exactly, because my six- and ten-footers succeed with such rarity that my partners and the foursome behind us look on with shock at a brown leprechaun dancing around the green when his Titleist dips into the cup.
The unflappable Y.E. Yang, on the other hand, had both going for him. The South Korean flag with its yin-yang motif was a suitable symbol for his game down the stretch. You can’t have one without the other if you expect to win, in life or in golf. Scoring an eagle on the par four 14th to take the lead, Yang curled a 200-yard shot on the 18th with a hybrid club and sank the birdie putt to claim the victory while Mr. Woods, probably doubtful of his Olympian heritage, slouched toward Orlando as television cameras predictably followed him first after his bogey putt on 18.
Yang, dressed in all-white like a lamb to the slaughter, didn’t get the memo that you’re supposed to sweat when teamed with Woods when he has a 54-hole lead in a major tournament.
Meanwhile, Padraig Harrington did a favor for all of us weekend duffers by singing “Frosty the Snowman” on a par three. To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart, Patrick Moynihan said. I’m sure mine will be broken this week on some par three when I don’t have my yin and my yang.
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