Sputtering John

Imagine Tony Stewart running out of gas on the last lap, Adam Venatieri missing an extra point to tie the game with 0:00 on the clock, or Derek Jeter dropping a pop fly to let in the winning run.

It's the worst view in sports -- an athlete frittering away a victory rather than an opponent winning it. What John Daly did (or didn't do) on the second playoff hole at the American Express Championship last Sunday wasn't necessarily tragic ("tragic" is reserved for something more dire like natural disasters) -- just hugely disappointing and deflating.

Damn. We finally had the competition everyone's wished for. Tiger Woods versus John Daly. Yin and Yang. Woods is immensely talented, never ever quits, and is mentally hard as nails. Daly is merely mental with similar natural talent and equally as popular. Both bomb their shots like no other.

The pair showed what professional athletes are supposed to do versus our iffy weekend warrior battles. Yeah, we can hit the occasional miracle flop shot, sand save and 40-foot putt, but to launch drives like those two only occur in our dreams.

We can also miss a putt. I know this is going to sound like heresy, but I hate putting. Every pressure short putt carries a decent chance for calamity, and I for one hate to watch. Doug Sanders ('70 British Open), Scott Hoch ('89 Masters), and Retief Goosen and Stewart Cink ('01 U.S. Open) are prime examples of inglorious leaks. It's one thing to hit a pressure shot into the water ( Daly's drive in the Shell Houston Open playoff with Vijay Singh), but quite another to gag a 3-footer.

There's just something about pressure putting that seems so ripe for doom. Sure, it's an integral part of a sport in which only the best players are able to hit every shot and roll the rock into the cup. It requires a deft touch, nerves, some creativity and consummate skill to read a green and hit the target line. However, it's so exasperating to watch our favorite players launch shots we can only attain in our fantasies, then waste the hole with a meek stab.

One could hear the collective breath blow out our portholes when Daly missed his par putt. The great battle ended in a resounding whimper. He wasted four good rounds and a gargantuan drive (airmailing Woods' 346-yard bomb) on the first playoff hole. A mind-boggling faded wedge around trees landed hole-high 15 feet from pay dirt on the second playoff hole.

Woods said, "It was an unbelievable second shot through the trees. I mean, come on. He lands it there, just over the bunker, perfect, pin high, ho hum."

Daly agreed; "I know...I hit a great shot there."

The gallery went bonkers. The drama was championship boxing at its zenith. Two heavyweights landing crunching haymakers. Woods' two-putt par left it to Daly to either punch him out or move on to the next round. Daly then blew his birdie attempt 3-feet past. The crowd ran to the next hole assuming more greatness was in store.