SUNDAYS AT MAJORS ARE LIKE TITLE FIGHTS, without the obvious blood. Now and again, the champ ducks under the ropes unscratched—Tyson over Spinks in 91 seconds, that sort of thing. Converting such lopsidedness to golf: Tiger, at the 2000 U.S. Open at Pebble, at age 24, when he won by 15; Rory, at the 2011 Open at Congressional, newly 22 and winning by eight. (They were both too young to appreciate how hard it all is.) More often, though, by the final bell of a golf championship, there will be blood. If you’re contending, you’re gonna get hit. If you win, you’re gonna clock somebody. Some of the hits might be self-inflicted. Golf is weird that way. For everybody but the winner, Sunday’s pain can be chronic.
These acts of…
