Schadenfreude takes a holiday … to Augusta National

It was the best of times and it was … the best of times, baby! That is if you happen to be a devotee to grisly god of Schadenfreude.

Oh my, how we were laid low (temporarily) as El Tigre resurrected the double-clutch fist pump after a Sunday eagle putt @ 8. His nifty par save on 9 appeared to grease the existential skids of redemption + kick-start something that might gladden hearts in multitudes of Shoney’s waitresses throughout this great ‘all-you-can-eat buffet’ nation of ours … but NO!!! The dark deity of delight from others’ misfortune played a trick on Mr. Woods meaner than arthritic Phil Mickelson forced to wolf a pile of tofu burgers.

Sunday 2011 Tiger = 36 (even par) on back 9 = no real ‘stones’ when reaching stated desire of “just being in the mix” coming down the stretch = “A big no-can do on that 1 year delayed comeback, Houston” = borderline snarky post-round interview (yet again) with CBS = his new monogram should be T4A3 for ‘Tied 4th Again At Augusta’. Yeah, baby!

“Oh, mighty Shiva (or insert here deity name of whomever you deem most appropriate as his obviously needed new religion’s top dog), how can you disappoint me so”, Tiger was heard to wail, no doubt, Sun. night back at his P.O.T.S. (Piece On The Side) compound just outside Augusta proper. To use Tiger’s own ad nauseam comment on state of his swing, yeah, you’re real close, buddy … to almost same degree that Col. Mohmar Gaddafi anytime soon will be tapping his 401K & additionally satisfying his reputed need for Ukrainian ‘side action’ by retiring to FL’s ‘The Villages’ – with, by the way, highest +65 STD rate in entire U.S. ... but, I needlessly digress.

Seriously, I'm sure Charl ‘I’m the So. African major winner not named Player, Els, Goosen nor Immelman’ will be a great champion. Look at how dominant last So. African to win the Masters has been ... Ahem. Nevertheless we’ll all be pouring cement around this hypothesis in not too distant future when, by sheer coincidence, gas is expected to return to to $2/gal., Egyptian Sandals resort slated to open & Pres. Trump tapped for NAACP's Medgar Evers Man-of-the-Year award.

Those pinpoint prognostications aside, it was a great - best in years - Master’s. By the numbers: 8 different men held/shared lead on Sun., 5 tied simultaneously on back nine, 4 different hole web-cams available via Masters.org & 2 CBS commentators still believed Rory McIlroy could regroup before permanent ‘Shank City’ citizenship conferred to that mop-headed potato-meister.

Rory, Rory, boiled potatoes, Rory, Rory … Understood that you're just an innocent casualty of the toxic karma leaping about group ahead on Sunday, but … good God man, buck it up out there!

Tom Watson still leaves, each Augusta round, a peanut butter & jelly sandwich on 13’s tee for his late Caddie, Bruce Edwards. [B.E. used to nibble on such there because of its isolation from galleries.] If wiley Kansan had made cut, old looper's ghost Sun. would have been munching on soggy bread thanks to Ulsterman’s personal waterworks following tee ball frolic with Rae’s Creek tributary.

This is the Masters, young Mr. McIlroy, not the final scene from ‘Old Yeller’; get grip/act accordingly. If still weepy, rent copy of 'The Limey' & mimic main character - excepting accent - repeatedly.

Sure, I'm a bit hard on the lad. One would think, however, his growing-up amidst paramilitary & perhaps seeing some relative parading around in camo + knit ski mask, might have done the trick in backbone area, eh? Guess Rory was at bar getting a round of Guiness pints for his mates when proverbial brass potatoes were handed-out. Oh well, never to fret as shaggy Rory's horizon of links dominance about as extended as John Ensign’s senatorial career. Very next week, new Euro hotshot – Matteo Manassero – waxed R.M. on final day to become first whipper-snapper to win 2x before 18th birthday.

Moving forward, expect Rory is reduced merely to cuttin’ sod for barely post-pubescent Itai’s roof (so to speak). Besides, at least younger of these ball-strikers knows how to get his hair trimmed properly and not look like ‘Spicoli’ audition material for No. Ireland cast of ‘Fast Times At Ridgemont High’. [River-dancing subs for surfing in this imaginative off-shoot]

Re youth's prospects in general, it should be noted that David Bowie 4-some of ‘Young Americans’ – 'Little Rickie' Fowler, Hunter 'Chipper' Mahan, Bubba (no nickname needed) Watson & Dustin 'Fuggly Face' Johnson - all failed to show-up competively at this year’s 1st major. Furthermore in post Magnolia Lane news, lattermost dude, Dustin Johnson, self-entered for yearly dumb-ass Tour Player competition with May ‘Golf’ magazine profile.

After admitting hands-on involvement - as a 16 year old – to help steal a gun, buy bullets for it & that gun later being used in a murder committed by someone else, lanky lad was asked about status of his longtime Caddie, Bobby Brown. Usually club-toters don’t come-up in such pieces, but his man on the bag still being blamed for not cautioning Dustin better during 2010 PGA Championship debacle and/or earlier failure to settle down So. Carolinan @ frightful US Open final 18. “His job is secure,” definitively stated Dustin ... until “deciding to part ways” announcement broke literally before magazine's next issue could hit stands.

What a tool! 'F. Face' DJ comes-off as punk in interview. F-bomb flies repeatedly as this intellectual lightweight’s catch-all adjective. Reminded of Donnie Brasco explaining myriad uses of fugetaboutit.

Long-ball hitter didn't, suprisingly, decide to take talk show 'complete spilling-of-guts' approach in mag story. Instead Mr. Johnson neglected to reference his 2009 DUI shortly after 1st Tour win nor address indirect PR lynching of LPGA’s lovely (see left) Natalie Gulbis earlier in '11. [Blonde club-swinger said she was in relationship with D.J., but he later ducked claim when his main squeeze found-out].

Excrement - pure + simple = Dustin Johnson. Shall we nominate this obvious & odious character midget as newest target for No. American Schadenfreude fan club? "Here, here!," says my best amigo below.