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Golf’s Brand Of Pigskin Passion

Late Sunday afternoon, more than 60,000 people wrapped themselves inside as many layers of weather-proofing as possible and pretended to enjoy sitting in below-zero temperatures to watch the Green Bay Packers and San Francisco 49ers blow steam clouds in each other’s facemasks on Lambeau Field’s once-again frozen tundra. It wasn’t quite as cold Saturday in Philadelphia, but once the temperature hovers around a decent double-digit handicap, does it really matter how low it goes? Still, the Eagles and Saints drew a raucous full house, many of the famous Philly fans no doubt relying on their preferred brand of antifreeze to weather the chill. Around the country, we watched, hopefully by a fireplace. Imagine if golf produced the kind of passion football does. Or does it? Do golf fans ever get the legal-in-Colorado high like the one Auburn fans felt after its dreams-do-come-true win against Alabama? No one has ever papered the trees at Augusta National that I can recall, not even after Jack Nicklaus shot 65 on Sunday to win in 1986, though the image of Magnolia Lane decked out in Charmin is amusing. Bobby Jones got a ticker-tape parade down New York’s Canyon of Heroes during his Grand Slam season in 1930 but that couldn’t happen now. No more tickers or tape. Most of us jumped a little bit with Phil Mickelson when he finally won The Masters in 2004 and there was a collective buzz when Tiger holed that bumpy birdie putt to force a playoff with Rocco Mediate at the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines.


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