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What an exciting year it's been
NEW YORK -- We were just outside of Barstow when the drugs kicked in. Oh, wait, that's Hunter S. Thompson. Uh, we were just outside of Santa Fe when the news sunk in. I was doing 90 mph in our rented minivan when the wife cracked open the sports page, per my request, to check the final results of the Las Vegas Invitational. I had no clue what had transpired in the preceding four days. Scanning the agate, Frances blurted out, "Who the heck is Bob Estes?" To which I replied, "I'm not quite sure myself." A week later, the same sad scenario played out. We were now rolling on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. Different newspaper, different tournament, same befuddlement. "Who is Jose Coceres?" "Beats me. Wasn't he one of the original Bash Brothers?" Anyway, all of this is my meager attempt to explain the extended absence of On Tour. Not long ago I was elevated to the status of big-shot editor, assisting in the production of Sports Illustrated's Golf Plus section. This necessitated a move to the Rock, New York City, and in the process of selling most of the family possessions, packing up the house and driving cross-country with wife and dog, I seem to have forgotten to write On Tour for a month or three. Sorry. No doubt the faithful On Tour readers -- both of them -- were paralyzed with worry. So now that I'm anchored in midtown Manhattan, what becomes of On Tour, one of golf's most cherished institutions, going all the way back to the year 2000 (A.D.)? Perhaps we can rename this column On West 50th Street, and I can file weekly dispatches about office politics. That would be a great way to endear myself to the new corporate overlords at AOL. Even if this idea doesn't pan out, I'll still be popping up regularly on CNNSI.com in the future, form and content to be determined at a later date. Worry not, just because I now wear a suit and tie to work doesn't mean I'll ever get the column in on time. And though I'll miss all those glamorous roadtrips -- like staying in a Hampton Inn next to a Waffle House in some godforsaken suburb down south and staying up all night writing 2,000 words about Barry Cheesman -- traveling less will actually allow me to think more. Like last night, while I was toiling in the office 'round midnight, I got to ruminating on what a long, strange trip this season has been. It began in Australia, where Steve Stricker won a million bucks then apparently retired. This was followed by an exceedingly weird West Coast swing, during which Davis Love and Phil Mickelson had a contest to see who could self-immolate more spectacularly, while at the same time scoring reached record lows. The spring belonged to Tiger, but the grind of completing his Slam at a thrilling Masters rendered him all but lifeless for the rest of the year. The summer is always defined by the three majors, and what a wild hat trick it was. Forget David Toms' ace or David Duval's recovery from the gunch on the 69th hole at Lytham. For my money, the single most heroic shot of the season was Retief Goosen making that three-foot comebacker for bogey to force the playoff at the U.S. Open, after having blown a two-footer that would have won the title outright. The months following the PGA are always a letdown, but never more so than this year. That Mickelson -- No. 2 in the World Ranking as well as on the tour money list -- didn't deign to show up for the Tour Championship seems a perfect metaphor for the sense of malaise that struck the golf world in the months following Sept. 11. (Speaking of Mickelson, did anyone else spot him sitting behind home plate during Game 7 of the World Series, the same day as the Tour Championship's final round?) The improved performance in the majors of both Mickelson and Duval could herald some epic tussles with Tiger in the years to come, but that was only a sidebar to the season past. To my way of thinking the real story of 2001 was the emergence of so many exciting new leading men, young and old. Sergio García matured from teen phenom to polished champion, but it's the other kids who really have me looking forward to the future. The class of '01 -- Charles Howell, David Gossett, Garrett Willis, Matt Kuchar, J.J. Henry -- is collectively one of the greatest crops of rookies ever, and I can't wait to watch them grow up. Equally intriguing is how many solid veterans made the quantum leap to the ranks of cold-blooded Sunday terminators. Toms, Joe Durant, Robert Allenby, Estes, our man Coceres, Scott Verplank and Chris DiMarco all look to be final-round fixtures for years to come. At the end of last year there was much hand-wringing that Tiger had become so dominant he was threatening to make a mockery of the sport. Now the question is, How will he respond to the challenge of so many hardened competitors? I won't be quite as close to the action next year, but that doesn't diminish the suspense. The 2001 season has been over for less than 24 hours. I'm already anxious for '02. Sports Illustrated senior writer Alan Shipnuck periodically waxes about life On Tour for CNNSI.com. Click here to send him a question or a nice, friendly comment.
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