Here’s what I know about Masters champion Scottie Scheffler: Nothing. Well, OK, not nothing. I think he’s from Texas. I’ve heard it mentioned a few times that he and his wife are expecting. I see that he’s grown a beard.
So, no, not nothing, but also not very much at all.
And yet, on Sunday, I was rooting for Scottie Scheffler like crazy at the Masters.
As I’ve written many times, I’m one of the more unusual golf fans around, in that I don’t play golf. At all. In my lifetime, I’ve written more golf books (1) than I have played 18-hole rounds of golf (0). The one time I almost played 18 holes of golf was at Augusta National in 1993, when I was allowed to play the course because I covered the Masters for the local paper. After 16 holes, I left with my buddy Greg Barrett because he was getting married, and we had to race to catch the last ferry. It was OK. I was running out of golf balls, anyway.
So what is there to love about golf if you don’t play it?