*spoilers ahead, if you have not seen the finale of LOST please stop reading immediately!*
Since 2007 I have not been able to listen to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" without becoming flooded by a tidal wave of conflicting emotions. I feel angry, happy, sad, nostalgically reminiscent, cynical, curious and disappointed. It all meshes together pretty well, and not too long after hearing the song I start to get the itch to hunker down and watch "The Sopranos" again for the second, third or millionth time. In my head I see Tony sitting in the booth at the diner waiting for his ungrateful -if not entirely righteous in their indignation- family make their way towards him amidst various shady characters that may or may not be about to shoot them all. Then, the abrupt cut to black, lack of audio, a brief moment of "what the hell just happened" and roll credits. Did I mention this happens every time? Well, it does, because "The Sopranos" was for me something akin to a religious experience. It wasn't that I loved watching mobsters shoot each other or anything like that; I didn't play the "who gets whacked this week" game with my friends. I loved the story, the characters, the moral ambiguity and the style it was all produced in. To this day, I have not seen a better television show before or since -yet "Mad Men" is starting to encroach on sacred ground, if you ask me- Tony and his glorified crew of New Jersey goombahs showed up on HBO 11 years ago. I miss "The Sopranos" almost every day. Where some people rant and rave about "The Wire" (and rightly so, from what I've heard and seen) there is just something about "The Sopranos" and the way it ended that has continued to make it an interesting show long past it's expiration date rolled on by.
For all the criticism the end of "The Sopranos" received from critics and fans alike, I've got a feeling the ending of "Lost" is going to be the one that might actually get people to throw hands in the street over differing opinions. It's just something about the fans of "Lost" that makes me think there is going to be a zeitgeist fueled backlash that may or may not cause meta-riots in the para-streets between all the different factions of fanboys and girls out there.
Where the ending of "The Sopranos" was challenging and required one to be of an open mind; the ending of "Lost" was like a watermelon, de-seeded and pre-sliced served up on a platter. They myriad enigmatic plot twists, story arcs and characters that the show had become known for and very rightly praised over were thrown away in favor of making the finale accessible and understandable even to the most casual fan. That, to me, is a vicious cop out that was completely and totally unnecessary for a show that had been such a game changer over the course of the past 6 years. Still, I can't say I hated it though, and in looking back over the history of the show I would be remiss if I didn't say there were some terribly klunky episodes that left me feeling like I'd wasted 45 minutes of my life looking at an emotionless, overly complicated mess (read: any "Kate-centric" episode... you all know they were terrible).
Sacrificing some quality for the sake of advancing the shows plot lines had been something I'd grown too complacent about over the years. I'd sigh at the end of a particularly ridiculous, out of context episode and remind myself that "Lost" is different and it's all leading towards something bigger -or more confusing- than anything else network TV has ever tried to accomplish, and for the most part that's exactly what the show did. It overreached and, at times, underachieved, but it was all ok because it was so freaking interesting and engrossing and the cheese actually tasted pretty good once you really got into the show. I didn't care how many times Kate got her own episode because I knew a Ben and Locke episode was around the corner to make up for it, and, hey, Kate was a pretty important part of the show (for a while), it's just that her character was less interesting to me than a tuft of grass on a lonely desert plain. I'm sure others out there would disagree with me vehemently, and that's their right and that's another aspect of "Lost" that made the show so unique and so groundbreaking.
The discussions, arguments and theories that swirled around "Lost" from the second the world first heard the smoke monster and saw the trees tremble in his wake during the pilot are like nothing television has ever seen before. Add in the allegory, allusion and metaphor that the show was jam packed with and there was so much interpretation left to the audience that it was almost impossible not to get sucked in and go beyond the weekly offerings. People, meaning rabid fans, would scour the internet and actually research the symbols and meanings and names of fictional things happening on a fictional show that took place on an island that, we now know, was some sort of mystical stop-gap that prevented evil from seeping out into the world and eventually destroying it. The writers played into this extremely well, leaving clues and hints and little Easter eggs tucked into scenes that the keen eyed fans would notice and obsess over. It was, honestly, the perfect show for the internet age and, shockingly, despite the instant gratification nature of the net generation, remained an utterly unsolvable mystery to the majority of the people who watched it week in and week out. Really, that's just amazing stuff when you put your thinking cap on and give it a good once over in your mind grapes.
I don't do recap write-ups, so I'll spare my sparse audience the tedium of a play-by-play in favor of touching upon some of the moving and more important moments of the finale that will have me thinking for the rest of my life.
First off, congratulations to Hurley for being named the island's protector, it was an entirely deserved moment and one that made me extremely happy despite the fact that I and the rest of the world did not get to see one single, solitary second of Hurley in charge other than him asking Ben to be his number 2. It was really astounding to see "the voice of the audience" get to take the reigns and become the new Jacob. As much as I said to myself over the course of the final season, "I wish it would be Hurley," I had little to no hope that it would really happen, but I was wrong and the world of "Lost" is a much better place for it. The actors (Jorge Garcia and Michael Emerson) were brilliant as usual, and the final scene when Hurley asks Ben to come inside the church before telling him he was a "good number 2" was really touching and, had it been between say, Sawyer and Sayid would have been much less ingratiating. This aspect of the finale I was super, super happy with (if you can't already tell).
Speaking of Sawyer...
... I have, since the first time James Ford said "sonofabitch" in an exasperated way, been an unabashed fan of the character and hugely impressed by the actor (Josh Holloway), and when he and Juliette finally re-met in the sideways-verse I lost control and started gulp-crying like a little gilr who just watched her pony get run over by an 18-wheeler. For a character that was so reserved and somewhat guarded throughout the entire run of the show, seeing him let go like that was more moving than I was prepared for. Even though, on the whole, I'm not the biggest fan of Juliette I wanted Sawyer to find happiness somewhere since the agony was as plain as the nose on his face when she died. It was nice to see him get what he wanted, even though he had to die to find it.
Right, by the way, the sideways-verse? Yeah, turns out that was some kind of holding pen for the characters until they made their way into the bright, shiny light or something. Ugh, I wanted to kick a small child when Christian Shepherd came in at the end and gave the heavy-handed, all to easy to stomach wrap up that explained what the hell was going on. It was just a stupid, gimmicky season long thing that was used to make the audience think something was happening when it really wasn't. To be blunt, it pissed me off in such a unique way that I'm still trying to come up with the correct phrasing; which I am, currently, failing at. I suppose for a show that has been so confusing a little levity and straightforwardness was needed, but I was hoping that wouldn't have been the case. I didn't need all the questions to be answered (and they weren't), but it would have been nice to see the ending be a little more ambiguous and, -sigh-, action packed instead of the bland, emotionless meeting in the church that bordered on shiny-town. I'll get over it, but it bugged me.
Honestly, everything else that happened in the finale was something... well, it was something. I can't put my finger on any other moments that had me jumping out of my seat or feeling really, truly compelled to care for what was happening onscreen, because it all felt sort of dead (no pun intended) about 45 minutes in. I have no clue why UnLocke was killed so early on when it seemed like the entire season was gearing up towards some sort of full out war between he and Jack's diminutive group of followers, but that didn't happen, it was an anti-climax punctuated by a pretty sweet jump-punch from Jack to UnLocke; which I mistook as the beginning of an awesome fight scene on a quivering, about to fall into the ocean cliff. I didn't really care about Lapidus or Miles or Richard getting to the plane and getting off the island, because I never really cared about Lapidus or Miles or Richard to begin with; it was another ancillary plot shoe-horned in -in my opinion- to pad out the season. Meh that's really all I have, a resounding meh and a lot of undeserved resentment for a show that has entertained me consistently and piqued my interest and imagination continuously since it's inception.
I really shouldn't complain, because "Lost" was such a great, great show over the course of it's time on the air that to sit here and nitpick over the finale would be unfair to the people who wrote it, produced it, acted in it and directed it; those people really deserve all the praise and adoration in the world for putting together such a fantastic show. My own, snarky opinions of the finale aside, "Lost" was special and not too long from now I'm going to look back and really, really miss it. I'll be out at a bar one night when someone will put The Mamma's and The Poppa's "Make Your Own Kind of Music" on and I'll need to scuttle home to pop in the DVD and start the journey all over again, because, after all, that's what it's about isn't it?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Some Days
Some days something I read or hear that disturbs so much it makes me face reality. I hate facing reality. Reality is one of those things that I try my hardest to ignore at all costs, because the harsh truth of it all is that the world (and the people who live on it) might not be worth saving.
My case in point: People Walk By Hero Bleeding to Death.
You can watch the video if you want, but I warn you it's as hard to stomach as grainy, black and white security camera footage can be. You can even read the article and there you'll learn about a poor 31-year-old, Guatemalan immigrant named Alfredo Tale-Yax who bravely stepped in while a woman was being assaulted and suffered stab wounds to the chest. He would die, slowly and probably in terrible pain, on the sidewalk as numerous people walked by - one even finding it in himself to snap a cell phone camera picture of the fallen hero - without intervening, without calling for help, without so much as a second look. Though, it does look, once it became far too late for anything to be done, that someone took it upon themselves to call for help. Still, a man who unselfishly stepped in to help a complete stranger - what I consider to be a heroic act - was killed.
Today, I consider the entirety of New York City and society at large to be accomplices in this man's death. Not even the woman whose life he may very well have saved decided to double back and call for help on the cell phone you know she had in her pocket, purse or jacket. I'm sure, somewhere deep down in her fearful mind she knew what to do (make the call, save the man's life who just saved hers) but the instinct to run away from harm is so powerful, I'm sure immediate gratitude for her savior was far from her thoughts. I'm sure she would do everything in her power to save the man now, looking back at it and seeing the outcome, but she can't, and his death - his blood - is on her hands as well. As harsh as it may seem to admit, she is no better than the person who attacked her and later killed the man who would protect her and possibly save her life.
I feel shame on a level I did not think possible. I feel disgusted and depressed and sad to see that the state of humanity has withered away to something I do not recognize any more. Hell, I'm not even a good guy. I'm just a nerd with a keyboard who likes to drink more than he should, loves his girlfriend and his dog and tries to keep himself out of trouble. I'm not a hero, and I'm not even a very good writer, but things like this, on a visceral level, make me angry. Very, very angry.
The world and it's people are too beautiful to be treated this way.
My case in point: People Walk By Hero Bleeding to Death.
You can watch the video if you want, but I warn you it's as hard to stomach as grainy, black and white security camera footage can be. You can even read the article and there you'll learn about a poor 31-year-old, Guatemalan immigrant named Alfredo Tale-Yax who bravely stepped in while a woman was being assaulted and suffered stab wounds to the chest. He would die, slowly and probably in terrible pain, on the sidewalk as numerous people walked by - one even finding it in himself to snap a cell phone camera picture of the fallen hero - without intervening, without calling for help, without so much as a second look. Though, it does look, once it became far too late for anything to be done, that someone took it upon themselves to call for help. Still, a man who unselfishly stepped in to help a complete stranger - what I consider to be a heroic act - was killed.
Today, I consider the entirety of New York City and society at large to be accomplices in this man's death. Not even the woman whose life he may very well have saved decided to double back and call for help on the cell phone you know she had in her pocket, purse or jacket. I'm sure, somewhere deep down in her fearful mind she knew what to do (make the call, save the man's life who just saved hers) but the instinct to run away from harm is so powerful, I'm sure immediate gratitude for her savior was far from her thoughts. I'm sure she would do everything in her power to save the man now, looking back at it and seeing the outcome, but she can't, and his death - his blood - is on her hands as well. As harsh as it may seem to admit, she is no better than the person who attacked her and later killed the man who would protect her and possibly save her life.
I feel shame on a level I did not think possible. I feel disgusted and depressed and sad to see that the state of humanity has withered away to something I do not recognize any more. Hell, I'm not even a good guy. I'm just a nerd with a keyboard who likes to drink more than he should, loves his girlfriend and his dog and tries to keep himself out of trouble. I'm not a hero, and I'm not even a very good writer, but things like this, on a visceral level, make me angry. Very, very angry.
The world and it's people are too beautiful to be treated this way.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Dear John: An Open Letter To Mr. Daly
Dear Mr. Daly,
You probably don't remember this, but years and years ago I sent you a letter in the mail asking if, before your arrival at the 2003 PGA Championship at Oak Hill Country Club, you'd like to play a practice round as a guest of mine. I think I was about 17 at the time; which means I sent you that letter way back in 1999 or 2000 as a vague, poorly thought out attempt to help you win that tournament. I distinctly remember foolishly thinking, "oh, he'll probably call me at home and say thank you, and we'll play at least once a summer on the East Course together so he'll know it like the back of his hand when the tournament is here, that will teach the naysayers a thing or two!" However, as I'm sure you've sussed out, things didn't pan out that way and I went along with my business of the time; which consisted of playing more golf than should be legally allowed by law, drinking beer with my high school buddies any chance I could get, going to concerts, smoking cigarettes, chasing girls and the rest of the usual hobbies that overtake the life of a soon to be senior in high school. They were, as the saying goes, my salad days and I loved them and still remember most of them extremely fondly with, perhaps, a few meltdowns during tournaments, some harsh breakups and my first ever hangover.
Let me talk about those meltdowns before you think I'm taking a veiled shot at you (and I suppose I'll address the drinking and smoking as well if this is the case). Your persona and the influence you had on me at the time had nothing to do with your drama taking place in the news or some of the, um, trouble you had on the course during that time. I was just a gigantic, overly expectant brat who had a temper that made Woody Austin and Pat Perez look tame by comparison (okay, non-golfers reading this won't understand that last sentence). I would throw clubs. I would curse loudly. I would place the blame squarely on the shoulders of everyone that wasn't me and, if a person was not around to be blamed, sometimes a stray blade of grass or a noisy seagull, and worst of all, I would walk off the course in the middle of a round if I "just couldn't take it". Of course, this only ever happened when I was playing competitively away from the warm embrace of my school's team. I could handle the little 9-hole matches we played every few days, because it didn't really matter what I scored as long as I wrestled 1/2 a point or a point from the opposing player. I medaled a few times, sure, and that was very nice, but, man I was just terrible when it came time to "really play". To this day I am not capable of playing a tournament with the same amount of skill or passion that I play my casual rounds; which is my cautious way of letting the golfing world know that I am a huge wuss that would rather play for fun than pride or money.
As for the drinking, smoking and carousing in general; that was just me being a fearless teenager eager to try out all the things my parents told me not to (within reason, of course). Though, I still smoke and I enjoy a beer or three from time to time, it wasn't because I looked up to you and said "well, Big John does it, I should try it too!" No. Couldn't be further from the truth. I have heard people argue that you are a negative influence, and maybe that's true, but to me, you've always been one of the very few athletes I look up to on this planet. You've always been honest and open about everything that's happened to you, and you've never made a concerted effort to appear to be anyone other than yourself despite the ups, downs, ins and outs you've faced since winning the Open Championship at St. Andrews in 1995 (which is when I first took notice of both golf and yourself).
Good, that enough "ass covering" for everyone? I hope so, because it's over.
Alright, Mr. Daly, let's get down to the nitty-gritty of this whole shebang: I want you to keep playing, keep practicing and keep on driving that bus of yours from tournament to tournament because I am a selfish and hopefully optimistic person when it comes to you and your career. I think that, in this time of flux on the PGA Tour, when it's biggest star has been forcibly removed from the playing field by his own regretful actions, we (the golfing community) are in dire need of your spirit, charm and, more so than those two things, your immense talent. Do I think you'll win if you keep on trucking? No, of course not. I KNOW you will win, sir. Because, in the nearly 20 years you've been in and out of the spotlight one thing has always been obvious about you: when you play your best and your head is in the game, not even the best player in the world can beat you. I firmly believe this to be the case and can't be reasoned with otherwise.
There was a time when people said you were the next Jack Nicklaus -only longer- and that you would take the PGA Tour by storm and win everything you set your mind to winning, and I -whether it be delusional or not is for the public to decide- do not necessarily think that time has passed. I still have more faith in your ability as a golfer than I do that of players who have won twice as many majors as you. I hate to name names, but other players who have reached the later portion of their careers, like Vijay Singh, have continued to win regularly and with great conviction. I don't see why the same thing can't be in store for you, sir. I really, honestly believe that you have more innate talent than any other player on Tour, and I think, deep down, you must believe this too. Just, sometimes, it takes some effort to convince oneself of their abilities. Believe me, I know.
Let me tell you a brief story before the conclusion of this letter.
My girlfriend and I started dating right around the time of the 2003 PGA Championship, so from the get go she knew about my obsession with the game. [In fact, the first words she ever spoke to me were while I was practicing my swing in the living room of the house I shared with my best friend who knew her and invited her over,were "you're making me nervous with that golf club," to which I snidely replied "trust me, I know my way around a golf club..." love at first swing.] Since it was being played at my home course I had the opportunity to volunteer, and because my brother in law was heading up the media center for this particular tournament, that's where I landed. Unfortunately, to my chagrin, that resulted in me not being able to spend much time actually watching the tournament, and I was so busy that weekend I missed the dazzling shot Shaun Micheel hit to clinch victory on the final hole of the tournament -my father, however, was marshalling the 18th fairway and was about 15 yards away while it happened, he doesn't let me live it down-, so I got to see you play the 13th hole during a practice round and that was about it. One of my friend's suggested we drive over to Hooters, where, I believe you were parked that week, and say hello, but I'm not the kind of person who likes to bother anyone else, so I didn't.
Flash forward to 2004 and my girlfriend and I are in the middle of the first year of our relationship; which just so happened to be of the long distance variety. I didn't get to see her very often and when I did get a chance to go visit her at college the time was so limited that we were virtually inseparable when I did make the near four hour drive to see her. It meant everything to me those precious few hours we had to spend together. We were deep into the "puppy-love" stage of our relationship when everything was new, amazing, cuddly and wonderful. Anyway, one Sunday night (I had the following Monday off from work, so I got to stay an extra day) the two of us were walking back from lunch when we saw two or three guys watching golf on the big-screen TV that sat in one of the many student lounges scattered around her campus. I had to stop and look, and on the screen was no one other than you, Mr. John Daly, and (I'll never forget how oddly exhilarated I felt) you were winning the tournament!
I tried, in vain, to explain to my girlfriend that it had been a while since you had won on tour and how you were responsible for me taking up the game and how I would like to spend some time watching the rest of the tournament to see what happens. Always supportive - even back then- she said, "sure, why not I need to study anyway," which I mistook for the type of "go ahead" girlfriends say but don't really mean. Either way, after about twenty minutes of me fidgeting and checking, double-checking and re-checking the scoreboard as it made it's way across the internet, my girlfriend finally said, "okay let's go watch it as it finishes," and that's exactly what we did. I watched as you, Mr. Daly, walked away with the win. I teared up. I high-fived the other guys in the room watching the tournament with us, who were both equally as excited as I was to see you in the winner's circle again. I made a great effort to inform everyone within earshot that "John Daly was back," and "he's going to murder the Tour this year!" My girlfriend, who at the time did not really care for golf or my blunt obsession with it, was just as wrapped up in your "comeback victory" as I and the other golf nuts in the lounge. You just have that sort of personality. It really is remarkable.
Six years later I still feel that way. I know you can do it, Mr. Daly. I know you will do it, but that it won't ever happen if you're forced or feel uncomfortable or are unable to for some reason or another. I, like so many others, have the utmost faith in you (I know I sound like a broken record, but that's the point) and your abilities as a player. Not to mention you've always seemed to be one of the kindest, most loving people ever to catch the public's eye; which is why so many of us love you no matter what happens. That's really the crux of this letter, Mr. Daly; to let you know that win, lose or draw you have some of the most loyal, undying fans in all of sport.
Really, Mr. Daly, no matter what happens you'll always have my support and admiration, and, lo and behold, we're only 3 years away from yet another PGA Championship at Oak Hill C.C, and while I don't have membership privileges there anymore a great deal of my friends and relatives do. So, make of that what you will. I'll always do whatever I can -in a very little capacity, mind you, but still- and I'll never, ever stop supporting you in your quest to achieve whatever it is you'd like to achieve. Hopefully, this open letter will have a better chance of making it's way to you than my last, hand-written letter did all those years ago, but even if it doesn't that's fine. I know, and hope, that you are a busy man and, as of this posting, you are currently tied for third place at the Puerto Rican Open, so your game is rounding into shape and, according to your tweets, so is your mind set. There is, literally, nothing that can possibly stand in your way when you're firing on all cylinders, sir. So, go out there and tear it up. Grip it and rip it and play your game the way you were meant to play it. I know you can do this, sir. I know you can and will do this. Just be patient and good things will happen - on the course at least, sometimes life needs to be pushed along to make it work - and that's really the only advice I'd even try to give you, sir. Just be patient and know that the entire golfing community wants to see you hoist as many trophies as possible in the weeks, months and years to come.
Good luck this weekend! Now go get 'em!
Sincerely,
Jim L.
@jal1115
You probably don't remember this, but years and years ago I sent you a letter in the mail asking if, before your arrival at the 2003 PGA Championship at Oak Hill Country Club, you'd like to play a practice round as a guest of mine. I think I was about 17 at the time; which means I sent you that letter way back in 1999 or 2000 as a vague, poorly thought out attempt to help you win that tournament. I distinctly remember foolishly thinking, "oh, he'll probably call me at home and say thank you, and we'll play at least once a summer on the East Course together so he'll know it like the back of his hand when the tournament is here, that will teach the naysayers a thing or two!" However, as I'm sure you've sussed out, things didn't pan out that way and I went along with my business of the time; which consisted of playing more golf than should be legally allowed by law, drinking beer with my high school buddies any chance I could get, going to concerts, smoking cigarettes, chasing girls and the rest of the usual hobbies that overtake the life of a soon to be senior in high school. They were, as the saying goes, my salad days and I loved them and still remember most of them extremely fondly with, perhaps, a few meltdowns during tournaments, some harsh breakups and my first ever hangover.
Let me talk about those meltdowns before you think I'm taking a veiled shot at you (and I suppose I'll address the drinking and smoking as well if this is the case). Your persona and the influence you had on me at the time had nothing to do with your drama taking place in the news or some of the, um, trouble you had on the course during that time. I was just a gigantic, overly expectant brat who had a temper that made Woody Austin and Pat Perez look tame by comparison (okay, non-golfers reading this won't understand that last sentence). I would throw clubs. I would curse loudly. I would place the blame squarely on the shoulders of everyone that wasn't me and, if a person was not around to be blamed, sometimes a stray blade of grass or a noisy seagull, and worst of all, I would walk off the course in the middle of a round if I "just couldn't take it". Of course, this only ever happened when I was playing competitively away from the warm embrace of my school's team. I could handle the little 9-hole matches we played every few days, because it didn't really matter what I scored as long as I wrestled 1/2 a point or a point from the opposing player. I medaled a few times, sure, and that was very nice, but, man I was just terrible when it came time to "really play". To this day I am not capable of playing a tournament with the same amount of skill or passion that I play my casual rounds; which is my cautious way of letting the golfing world know that I am a huge wuss that would rather play for fun than pride or money.
As for the drinking, smoking and carousing in general; that was just me being a fearless teenager eager to try out all the things my parents told me not to (within reason, of course). Though, I still smoke and I enjoy a beer or three from time to time, it wasn't because I looked up to you and said "well, Big John does it, I should try it too!" No. Couldn't be further from the truth. I have heard people argue that you are a negative influence, and maybe that's true, but to me, you've always been one of the very few athletes I look up to on this planet. You've always been honest and open about everything that's happened to you, and you've never made a concerted effort to appear to be anyone other than yourself despite the ups, downs, ins and outs you've faced since winning the Open Championship at St. Andrews in 1995 (which is when I first took notice of both golf and yourself).
Good, that enough "ass covering" for everyone? I hope so, because it's over.
Alright, Mr. Daly, let's get down to the nitty-gritty of this whole shebang: I want you to keep playing, keep practicing and keep on driving that bus of yours from tournament to tournament because I am a selfish and hopefully optimistic person when it comes to you and your career. I think that, in this time of flux on the PGA Tour, when it's biggest star has been forcibly removed from the playing field by his own regretful actions, we (the golfing community) are in dire need of your spirit, charm and, more so than those two things, your immense talent. Do I think you'll win if you keep on trucking? No, of course not. I KNOW you will win, sir. Because, in the nearly 20 years you've been in and out of the spotlight one thing has always been obvious about you: when you play your best and your head is in the game, not even the best player in the world can beat you. I firmly believe this to be the case and can't be reasoned with otherwise.
There was a time when people said you were the next Jack Nicklaus -only longer- and that you would take the PGA Tour by storm and win everything you set your mind to winning, and I -whether it be delusional or not is for the public to decide- do not necessarily think that time has passed. I still have more faith in your ability as a golfer than I do that of players who have won twice as many majors as you. I hate to name names, but other players who have reached the later portion of their careers, like Vijay Singh, have continued to win regularly and with great conviction. I don't see why the same thing can't be in store for you, sir. I really, honestly believe that you have more innate talent than any other player on Tour, and I think, deep down, you must believe this too. Just, sometimes, it takes some effort to convince oneself of their abilities. Believe me, I know.
Let me tell you a brief story before the conclusion of this letter.
My girlfriend and I started dating right around the time of the 2003 PGA Championship, so from the get go she knew about my obsession with the game. [In fact, the first words she ever spoke to me were while I was practicing my swing in the living room of the house I shared with my best friend who knew her and invited her over,were "you're making me nervous with that golf club," to which I snidely replied "trust me, I know my way around a golf club..." love at first swing.] Since it was being played at my home course I had the opportunity to volunteer, and because my brother in law was heading up the media center for this particular tournament, that's where I landed. Unfortunately, to my chagrin, that resulted in me not being able to spend much time actually watching the tournament, and I was so busy that weekend I missed the dazzling shot Shaun Micheel hit to clinch victory on the final hole of the tournament -my father, however, was marshalling the 18th fairway and was about 15 yards away while it happened, he doesn't let me live it down-, so I got to see you play the 13th hole during a practice round and that was about it. One of my friend's suggested we drive over to Hooters, where, I believe you were parked that week, and say hello, but I'm not the kind of person who likes to bother anyone else, so I didn't.
Flash forward to 2004 and my girlfriend and I are in the middle of the first year of our relationship; which just so happened to be of the long distance variety. I didn't get to see her very often and when I did get a chance to go visit her at college the time was so limited that we were virtually inseparable when I did make the near four hour drive to see her. It meant everything to me those precious few hours we had to spend together. We were deep into the "puppy-love" stage of our relationship when everything was new, amazing, cuddly and wonderful. Anyway, one Sunday night (I had the following Monday off from work, so I got to stay an extra day) the two of us were walking back from lunch when we saw two or three guys watching golf on the big-screen TV that sat in one of the many student lounges scattered around her campus. I had to stop and look, and on the screen was no one other than you, Mr. John Daly, and (I'll never forget how oddly exhilarated I felt) you were winning the tournament!
I tried, in vain, to explain to my girlfriend that it had been a while since you had won on tour and how you were responsible for me taking up the game and how I would like to spend some time watching the rest of the tournament to see what happens. Always supportive - even back then- she said, "sure, why not I need to study anyway," which I mistook for the type of "go ahead" girlfriends say but don't really mean. Either way, after about twenty minutes of me fidgeting and checking, double-checking and re-checking the scoreboard as it made it's way across the internet, my girlfriend finally said, "okay let's go watch it as it finishes," and that's exactly what we did. I watched as you, Mr. Daly, walked away with the win. I teared up. I high-fived the other guys in the room watching the tournament with us, who were both equally as excited as I was to see you in the winner's circle again. I made a great effort to inform everyone within earshot that "John Daly was back," and "he's going to murder the Tour this year!" My girlfriend, who at the time did not really care for golf or my blunt obsession with it, was just as wrapped up in your "comeback victory" as I and the other golf nuts in the lounge. You just have that sort of personality. It really is remarkable.
Six years later I still feel that way. I know you can do it, Mr. Daly. I know you will do it, but that it won't ever happen if you're forced or feel uncomfortable or are unable to for some reason or another. I, like so many others, have the utmost faith in you (I know I sound like a broken record, but that's the point) and your abilities as a player. Not to mention you've always seemed to be one of the kindest, most loving people ever to catch the public's eye; which is why so many of us love you no matter what happens. That's really the crux of this letter, Mr. Daly; to let you know that win, lose or draw you have some of the most loyal, undying fans in all of sport.
Really, Mr. Daly, no matter what happens you'll always have my support and admiration, and, lo and behold, we're only 3 years away from yet another PGA Championship at Oak Hill C.C, and while I don't have membership privileges there anymore a great deal of my friends and relatives do. So, make of that what you will. I'll always do whatever I can -in a very little capacity, mind you, but still- and I'll never, ever stop supporting you in your quest to achieve whatever it is you'd like to achieve. Hopefully, this open letter will have a better chance of making it's way to you than my last, hand-written letter did all those years ago, but even if it doesn't that's fine. I know, and hope, that you are a busy man and, as of this posting, you are currently tied for third place at the Puerto Rican Open, so your game is rounding into shape and, according to your tweets, so is your mind set. There is, literally, nothing that can possibly stand in your way when you're firing on all cylinders, sir. So, go out there and tear it up. Grip it and rip it and play your game the way you were meant to play it. I know you can do this, sir. I know you can and will do this. Just be patient and good things will happen - on the course at least, sometimes life needs to be pushed along to make it work - and that's really the only advice I'd even try to give you, sir. Just be patient and know that the entire golfing community wants to see you hoist as many trophies as possible in the weeks, months and years to come.
Good luck this weekend! Now go get 'em!
Sincerely,
Jim L.
@jal1115
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