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I try to pay as little attention as possible to professional soccer, no matter what the country of origin is. But for back-to-back days I’ve been hit with “breaking news” of some Champions League soccer team stunning another Champions League soccer team with a comeback of Biblical proportions.

Turns out, one team won the first game and the other team won the second game. Now, that sounds simple enough … let’s tee it up for Game 3 and see who the real winner is. You can play it my backyard if you like, but let’s settle this baby.

Then the word “aggregate” started popping up.

First, it was Liverpool losing to Barcelona 3-egg, then coming back and winning 4-nil the next game in the Champions League semifinals. But because Liverpool scored more aggregate goals (4-3), it was winner, winner, chicken dinner.

It was called a “comeback for the ages” … except the ages lasted 24 hours. Tottenham had lost 1-0 to Ajax Amsterdam, then went to Amsterdam and red-lighted three second-half goals to win 3-2. So wait a minute, they each scored three goals total, right? Correct, but there’s another non-sensical tie-breaker and that is “most goals scored on the road.” Since Tottenham scored three, that’ll do it.

This scoring system is how they settle youth baseball weekend tournaments when a bunch of teams go 4-1 in pool play. They play for Twizzlers and Airheads, not for giant piles of money.

I would ask the question of why not play a third game, but this is a sport that refuses to buy into the concept of a functional clock, so I’ll leave it alone.

No doubt these are exciting comebacks, but let’s try to embrace the best-of-three concept that we’ve been using on this side of the pond for a few centuries now.

 

The picture you see is of happier times, is of 2018 times….
Not so Monday, which was Historically Bad.
Clutch Mother Ziltch.
Long story about Clutch Mother Zilch and unless you’ve read Dan Jenkins’ Goat Hills story you won’t get it. The story is good. Great, actually.
The result is not.
I lived the result Monday in the annual Origin Bank Scramble at Squire Creek Country Club in Choudrant, where every day is a good day. Was proud to be there.
And ashamed at the same time.
My team was a virile, sturdy bunch of young and likable guys. No faults. But I was the rotten grape on top of a hot fudge sundae.
I am not very good at golf. Want to be. Try. Fun to play with. Don’t complain. But Monday, I had the Golf Jits you dream about only in your worst 18-hole nightmares.
Could not even putt. Count not hit the ball, standing still, on level grass.
Jits.
In the Roman Catholic doctrine, I am reading that purgatory is “a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.” Don’t know for sure what “expiating” means but it does not sound good.
It sounds like what I did Monday.
We finished at a 3-under 69. Not awful. But if I could have contributed, we’d have had a 64. Maybe a 63. Out of the prize money, but still a joyous time and a solid number, considering.
I have written letters to every member of my team except the DW co-founder, who felt my pain and who I’ve played countless (not really countless, because we’d have counted them if we’d cared) rounds of golf with. He felt sorry for me.
In the letters, I apologized to Origin Bank, Squire Creek, the golfing community, and the American People. I’ll try harder next time.
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