6:10 pm Update
Jordan Spieth is well-positioned to win the Fed Ex Cup and thereby make himself the prohibitive choice for Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year award.
Jordan on the move! Solo third. He’s making a push toward SI’s Sportsman of the Year!
I don’t dislike Stenson at all, but I’m now officially rooting against him. Same for Zach and Casey. Golf needs one of the Fore Horsemen to win — or the sport will die!!!!! The Fore Horsemen are golf.
My (kind of) Pope Story: I watched a lot of the golf yesterday, but I was switching between golf and the Pope, and I abandoned golf completely once the Pope reached New York City. The Pope arrived at St. Patrick’s Cathedral as dusk was descending, and I was reminded of my own fortuitous visit to that church many years ago.
Business finished for the day, I was wandering the streets of midtown Manhattan — as dusk was descending. I had walked by St. Patrick’s many times before — it is very old and beautiful and awe-inspiring, and really stands out, being surrounded as it is by modern skyscrapers — but I had never considered entering. Actually, that possibility had never even occurred to me.
On this day, though, as I walked westward on the 50th Street side of the church, I noticed people entering the church through side doors. The doors were propped open, and the lights inside had that comforting glow all lights take on when viewed from outside as day is turning into night.
I saw two or three people climb the stairs and enter, and one or two come out. I was not dressed formally, but neither were they. I am not Catholic, but never had a church looked warmer or more welcoming. On a whim, not knowing what to expect, I turned up the stairs. Maybe a dozen people were milling around inside. Well, not really milling, but rather going through procedures with which I was unfamiliar, although surely some of them were tourists who, like me, had chanced upon the open doors.
Candles were everywhere, it seemed, and I think I saw people lighting one or two of them; everything was so unfamiliar to me, and I was so out of my element — feeling a little like an intruder even — that my memory did not retain much of what I observed. The candles, a devout Catholic woman performing some religious procedure — did she light a candle? — and a bunch of beautiful stuff. Beautiful stuff: I am devoid of specifics. My lasting memory is of the light, both the contrast going in and the contrast coming out. The Light.
Anyway, that’s not much of a Pope story, I know, but my brief visit to St. Patrick’s truly did leave a lasting impression on me, and I could not help but recall it last night as the Pope entered the cathedral in the darkening city.
I know that doesn’t have anything to do with golf, but I don’t work for The Man; I can write about whatever I want.