Watson

I have a hard, fast rule when it comes to sports and those who play them for a living: Never feel bad for a professional athlete. Most make absurd cash, and any setbacks they may endure pale in comparison to that of common, everyday American.

That rule was tested this morning after watching 59-year-old Tom Watson fritter -- gasp, gag -- away a chance to win The British Open.

Standing on the 18th tee, Watson clung to a one-stroke lead over Stewart Cink and Lee Westwood. A par was the only thing that stood between him and the most improbable sports story in a generation, perhaps ever.

Watson laced a drive right down the middle, then a pure 8-iron right at the flag. What looked like a title-clinching shot in the air, took one big hop, bounded over the green and came to rest in the light rough about 20 yards away from the pin.

Watson then played past the whole, leaving himself about eight feet to win the championship. It never had a chance. To be frank, it was the stroke of 59-year-old man who hadn't stood over a meaningful putt in almost two decades.

As bad as Watson's stroke was, it was even harder to watch. It was one of the only times I can remember having sympathy for a professional athlete. That Cink easily defeated a noticeably deflated Watson in a four-hole playoff was hardly surprising -- though no less difficult to watch.

All in all, the word "unbelievable" is used far too often in sports. "What an unbelievable shot, what an unbelievable catch," ect. used to describe feats that can be seen on SportsCenter almost nightly (If anyone still watches that dreadful show).

Had Watson won, however, it literally would have been unbelievable, a once-in-a-lifetime story, right up there with Villanova beating Georgetown and the US hockey team defeating the Russians.

Hell, an African-American, four years removed from the Illinois State Senate, becoming President of the United States would have seemed almost predestined by comparison.

It would have been that big.